Page 27

But this was not the time for unpleasant familial realizations.

“Bethan,” General Henry Colin Wilcox said warmly. The warmth would have been surprising, but she knew he was always extra chummy when friends of his were around to witness it. “Gentlemen, this is my oldest daughter. Bethan, this is General Ambrose and General Darlington. Old friends of mine. Old friends.”

“And this is Jonas Crow,” Bethan replied after greeting the generals, and made herself smile in what she hoped was a suitably giddy manner.

She watched her father and his general buddies size Jonas up, then square their shoulders, indicating they were fully aware of at least some of his capabilities.

Meanwhile, Jonas slipped into character. There were various gradations of his characters, including Bethan’s favorite: a drunken sports fan he could pull out in bars, complete with uproarious singing. The character he was playing tonight was the one he’d been leading up to since they’d arrived with his arm slung over her shoulders, that huge grin, and the careless confidence he wore like a suit tailored specifically to his body.

It was all part and parcel of Fake Jonas Crow, security expert, who maybe skatedjust this sideof the kind ofsoulless mercenaries the Alaska Force team had determined were more than likely responsible for whatever had happened to the Sowandes.

Bethan knew that. She’d had her friends in Alaska outfit her with a suitable wardrobe for not only the daughter her parents wanted but the kind of woman that Fake Jonas would likely have on his arm. But that didn’t mean she was prepared for the full-force version of it.

Because Jonas was so good at playing themaybe not a good guythat it almost hurt.

She accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and practiced her happy smile, as if she’d never been more delighted in her life than to stand around with a bunch of military men who were ignoring her service while falling all over one another to bro it up.

As usual, she found herself questioning whether or not she wanted to be mad about it. Because that was what it came down to, wasn’t it? There were always slings and arrows. The only thing that changed was her reaction.

Earlier versions of herself would not have stood for this. She would have busted into the conversation to remind everyone standing there of her accomplishments, all of which she felt certain they knew.

But happy-go-lucky Fake Jonas pivoted from the conversation he was having about impenetrable male things, with a lot of supposedly salty male humor Bethan assumed was mostly funny when the men could patronizingly apologize for it. His hand found the small of her back, and she deeply regretted the backless gown the moment his palm slid into place.

She was dressed like a woman, not a soldier.

And his hand was on the small of her back, which wasn’t the same thing as holding her hand for show, no matter what she tried to tell herself.

Her body couldn’t seem to get the message that this was a mission, too. That his touch meant nothing. There wasabsolutely no reason for that fire to swell in her, to dance and flicker like an open flame, making her feel molten hot and heavy in places she normally preferred to pretend didn’t exist on the job.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know that fire was there. She just never fueled it. Because there was no point.

He had always made his feelings about her perfectly clear.

Except tonight, standing in a loose collection of generals— one of them her father—Jonas slid her a dark look, and her stomach seemed to topple out of the bottom of her body. It was a sudden, shocking, hollow sort of feeling, because he clearly felt it, too.

She couldseethat he did.

And that only made everything... sizzle.

Bethan had to take another, longer pull from her wineglass to get a grip.

“We’re ignoring the superstar in our midst,” Jonas said. And there were so many layers to the tone he used. A hint of pride, but laced through it, that patronizing note that she knew the men who were all suddenly gazing at her would pick up on. “Not many who can say they made it through Ranger School. And what? A handful of women so far?”

Bethan watched her father. The other generals made appropriate noises, but her father did not. She found herself standing straighter, as if prepared for combat. On some level, it shamed her that Jonas, standing there beside her with his hand literally on her back, couldn’t help but be fully aware of how conflicted she felt in her father’s presence.

Because the general was not making suitable noises. He was looking the way he always did. As if Bethan’s entire career were nothing but a bid for attention.

“Birdie and I are very proud,” he said at last. He rattled the ice cubes in his drink. “Tell us more about this Alaskaoutfit you’re involved with now, Bethan. Keeping you busy?”

Next to her, Jonas did nothing. He didn’t shift. He didn’t make a noise, or glare, or stiffen in any perceptible way. Yet she still knew that he was furious. She told herself it was Alaska Force’s honor he was concerned with, not hers. Because he certainly couldn’t have failed to hear that same patronizing note in her father’s voice, as if he were asking after some childish hobby of Bethan’s. Possibly finger painting.

It was her turn to flash a winning smile. “I keep my hand in,” she said, with a self-deprecating little laugh.

Because the sad truth was that the army had taught her how to handle her father. Left to her own devices, they would likely still be fighting—even here. Still, it wasn’t until she and Jonas made their excuses and left the little knot of high-ranking, practically interchangeable men that she felt that she could breathe again.

Especially since she seemed to be the only person at the party who could see the simmering fury written all over Jonas.

“Maybe your father is our guy,” he said in an undertone as they stood together at the edge of the party where the patio gave way to the rolling fields, as if they were lovers taking in the view.