Page 19

Chelsea
The hush that falls over the room makes my insides clench. I can’t believe this prick put me on the spot again. Even worse, the silence means everyone, SEAL and contractor alike, has heard about the times it’s happened before.
Jackson stares at me, surprised, as if he can’t quite believe what he demanded. Same here, asshole. Not liking the awkward attention, I shrug. “Just don’t slow me down.”
My sassy reply must amuse him. Jackson turns slightly toward me, and one corner of his lips turns upward. The rest of the group responds by scrambling to change and gear up. I make slow, measured movements to pick up my bag and slink toward the changing screen, refusing to show anything but lethal calm.
On the other side, I drop the bag and prop my forehead against a support column, not even caring if I get grease on my face. Sadie laughs beside me and whispers, “Whoa. What was that?”
“Just ignore him. He’s butt-hurt because I wouldn’t join him and some of his buddies for dinner.”
Sadie’s brows rise but then draw together. “That doesn’t sound like the man I know, but then I don’t know him as well as Fish. If Jackson bothers you, I can_”
“No,” I say a little too quickly. “I can handle Bennett, but by tomorrow, he won’t be able to say the same.”
Dani shakes her head while tying her boots. “God help him.”
We finish dressing silently, packing all of our civilian wear to leave with Sambi. The three of us rejoin the others in time to watch the outfitter lay out one of the human decoys. With a rare smile, he explains, “Before you get any ideas, this isn’t a normal blow-up doll. These analogs are made by a Czech company that specializes in deception warfare. They manufacture accurate, life-size inflatables with radar and infrared signatures. If you do your jobs properly, these guys will be the only ones to suffer injury tonight.”
Sambi shows us how to set up the analogs and activate their systems. Afterward, he divvies up equipment for each group, including a two-man raft with an electric motor, two human analogs, and munitions. I prefer using my own gun, but since we all flew commercially, we’re stuck with Knot’s standard issue.
The scout group will be gone by the time we gear up, having only needed rafts to reach the border. That’s where I should be. I was Force Recon, for shit’s sake.
“How much weight do you carry?” Jackson asks, interrupting my inner monologue.
I whip my head around at near-breakneck speed. “Excuse me?”
The SEAL team leader points to our pile of gear. “How much weight can you carry?”
I strap my pack onto my back and reach for the heaviest piece of equipment, the raft. “Don’t worry about me.”
Jackson opens his mouth as if to argue but shakes his head. He straps on his own gear, the decoys, and the cache of fake weapons, then yanking down his balaclava, he mumbles, “Stubborn woman.”
I step forward to follow him outside, and unable to resist, I answer, “Thank you.”
My mission partner scoffs. “It wasn’t a compliment.”
“You sure about that?”
I don’t know why I’m goading him. Just last week, I was employing some impressive verbal acrobatics to avoid having to speak to the man. Now, I can’t seem to stop poking the bear.
Once we step outside the rear garage door, I’m all business. The time for petty bullshit is over. We trudge through the woods to the riverbank, moving silently as ghosts. The trip isn’t without its struggles. The uninflated two-man raft, with its electric motor, pump, and paddles, weighs over one hundred pounds. My pack adds another thirty.
Balancing a downhill hike at nearly double my weight isn’t easy, but I’m a Marine. And I’ll be damned if I let Jackson hear me complain.
Jackson
Danforth, you’re with me. Really? Shaking my head, I feel Fish’s smirk beneath his ski mask as I pass him to lead the group toward the riverbank. Chelsea slogs behind me, struggling with the raft’s weight but saying nothing. Yeah, she’s stubborn. Her choppy breathing is proof of that.
At the water’s edge, I drop what I’m carrying and lift the heavy strap from Chelsea’s shoulder. She doesn’t bark at my assistance, instead making me smile beneath my mask.
“You…get to…carry…it back up.”
I chuff out a laugh. “You got it, boss.”
If I’m not mistaken, I detect a hint of a smile on her face through the small opening in her mask. That has to be a fluke. I withdraw my sat phone from a chest pocket and call to update Knot and Commander O’Reilly on our readiness and timeline. They confirm the scout team is already in position. “I’ll check back in once we’re in the graveyard.”
“Good luck, Lieutenant,” O’Reilly says.