Page 2 of Protected By The Green Berets

What had Johnson said his name was? Keller something?

“How do you know that?” I asked him. The intensity in his eyes was doing something to my insides. My belly fluttered as I watched his jaw flex.

Probably pissed that I’m questioning him.These special forces guys tended to be the most alpha of alpha men. All muscle, brawn, and bravery, and they thought the sun rose and set on their asses. This one happened to be delicious on top of being a badass, so I could only imagine his ego was the size of Jupiter. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to judge, but I’d been around enough of these military guys to know how they were.

“We’ve been in contact with some informants of ours. They may be able to help us with Harris as well. These two items are not independent.”

That caught my attention. A slow smirk spread across his face as the look in his eyes turned challenging. “You’ll be coming with my team to Iraq, Ms. Hart.

“Special Agent Hart,” I corrected him.

He went on like I hadn’t spoken. “You’re there to help us find Staff Sergeant Harris and bring Roj Badawi in for questioning. You’re a tool for us. Make no mistake,Special AgentHart. You’re only coming with us because I was given a direct order to bring you along.”

“This ismycase. You work forme,” I told him.

“Not this time.” His smirk grew wider as the Director cleared his throat.

“You would normally be the one in charge, Zinnia,” Director Johnson told me, “but this isn’t a typical case. The Captain will be calling the shots.”

My mouth dropped open then my eyes snapped over to Captain Douche. Our eyes clashed as fury built up in my chest. This asshole thought he was running the show here, but I wasn’t one of his soldiers. He didn’t get to order me around.

“Keller,” Colonel Williams said in a warning tone. He was trying to head off the argument that was brewing between us. “Special Agent Hart is expected to be invaluable to your team over there. That’s why she’s been invited to go along.”

Invited, my ass.Director Johnson’s words were as much an order as anything. Good thing I was excited about going. Well…as excited as I could be knowing I was going to have to put up with Team Leader Dickhead the entire time. I really hoped the rest of his guys weren’t assholes like he was. Typically, the CIA dictated to the Army on special missions like this. This was a complete reversal of protocol. CIA agents didn't work for the Army. This was already off to a bad start.

* * *

Tuckingthe phone between my shoulder and my ear, I resumed packing as I spoke to my mother. “No, Mom,” I sighed. “You know I can’t talk about it. I just wanted to see if you could water my plants while I’m gone and check on my apartment?”

“Of course I will,” Mom snapped in my ear. She was pissed because—as usual—I wasn’t telling her anything other than I had to go on a business trip.

The meeting earlier today had wrapped up without Keller King or myself exchanging anymore words.

This is going to be a fun trip.I made a face thinking about the length of time we were going to be stuck in each other’s company. He may resemble a Greek God, but he had a nasty attitude.Not unlike that of the Gods.

Colonel Williams had given me the information I’d need to attend the briefing tomorrow. The Green Beret Team would be going over the entire mission and planning to mitigate any unforeseen circumstances. Since I was now a part of their team, I was expected to attend.

We were going to be heading out next week. Until then, I would be staying at the Army base to continue mission planning until we departed.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mom,” I told her, though I’d barely been paying attention. “I’ll be safe, but I have to leave tomorrow. I won’t have any contact while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going that you won’t be able to call me to check in?” she asked, completely affronted at the notion that I wouldn’t be communicating with her.

I managed to mollify her and hang up a half hour later. My bags were packed and I was ready to go. Eyeing the clock, which told me it was ten at night, I knew I should go to sleep. I had to get up early and get on the road if I was going to make it to Fort Bragg in time for the briefing. It would take me around five hours to get to the base, meaning I needed to wake up around three in the morning.

My nerves were jangling and I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep right now. Pulling my blonde hair back into a ponytail, I changed into workout clothes and stepped onto my treadmill. Maybe if I could run my body into exhaustion I could shut off my brain. Maybe then I could get a pair of piercing green eyes off my mind.

The last place that man should be was in my head. Shaking it as though that would clear away my frustration, as well as his image, I started out at a light jog. If nothing else, the running would help me sleep.

Relaxation wasn’t something I did well anymore. I was pretty sure it was a requirement for my job that I be wound up tight and after ten years of doing it, the habit was ingrained. At thirty, my days were filled with nothing but work and sleep. When I wasn’t working, sleeping was the only comfort I had. I didn’t even have a pet because I wasn’t home enough for it to be fair to an animal.

Other thirty-year-old women were married and had families. They met for coffee dates with their friends to catch up on all the latest gossip, or so my sisters informed me. They didn’t get whisked away at a moment’s notice to an Army base with the intention to leave the country within the week.

My parents and two sisters had long since given up on me being normal. I’d never had that expectation for myself, but it’d been hard to convince them that rebelling against the norm was more my speed. I was a great disappointment to them all and it made me feel like the proverbial black sheep. The lack of closeness with my family was something that bothered me. I wanted to belong. I just had never known how to. Eventually, I’d just stopped trying.

When my sisters had been getting dressed for prom, I’d gone to a party with my group of friends and we’d started up a game of volleyball. It’d ended in a drunken display of unathletic skills, but it’d been more fun than being stuffed into a gown and dancing with some boy with sweaty palms.

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