CHAPTER 12
Rachel
Hard copies of schematics of the diesel tanker are spread across the huge conference room table. There’s a projected image on the screen that is suspended mechanically from the ceiling. It’s got several pictures of men—all headshots—laid out in rows. It’s the main crew of the tanker. Kynan stands at the screen going over their bios, arms crossed as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. He’s in his element, having effortlessly stepped to the helm of The Jameson Group after its founder, Jerico Jameson, retired to run The Wicked Horse full time.
Doesn’t mean that Jerico is fully out of the game, though. He’s sitting at the other end of the conference table, scribbling notes on a legal pad while Kynan talks. Jerico will often come into our intel and planning sessions as a consultant. He doesn’t get paid to throw in his expertise and advice, but does so only because he still loves this company even if he’s not running it anymore.
We leave in two days to escort the tanker through the Strait of Malacca, an incredibly important trade route between China and India. A quarter of the world’s seaborne oil travels through the strait and thus makes it a very tempting target for pirates. There will be almost twenty-four hours of commercial travel to Singapore, four days on the tanker where we’ll work in three-to-four men, twelve-hour shifts patrolling and guarding the ship with fifty-caliber mounted machine guns. All in all, we should be back to the States within a week if all goes well.
Which it should.
Not all merchants are willing to pay the hefty price for private security, but those who do make sure it’s well known they are protected. I fully expect our ship will be left alone, but that’s no guarantee.
I’m satisfied with our team and I’ve been on ops with all of them before at one time or another except for our newest member, Merrit Gables. He’s only been with Jameson for two months, coming to us straight out of a Navy SEALs enlistment.
Cage, Sal, and Benji will be on the mission, and the last member of our team is Kara Hathaway. She’s a ball-busting blonde who saw a lot of combat action in the Army as a member of a cultural support team. Her main purpose was to question Afghan women, but her job was every bit as dangerous as the special forces she attached with. She went on all raids with them and has some of the most harrowing war stories I’ve ever heard. She also has four black belts in different martial arts and I think she’s personally hoping the tanker gets boarded so she can beat the shit out of some pirates.
“Benji will lead Team One. Bodie, Kara, and Merrit will be under him,” Kynan says as he uncrosses his arms and leans over to place his palms on the table. He looks around the group and continues, “Team Two will be led by Rachel. Sal and Cage… you’re with her. Team One will cover night shifts since that’s the most likely time for an attack. Two has the day shift.”
There’s a faint rustling around the table as we know the meeting is wrapping up. Beside me, Sal raises his hand slightly to get Kynan’s attention.
Kynan looks his way. “What’s up?”
“I’m sure I’ll be an ass for asking this,” he says carefully, “but I would like some assurances that Hart is up to the task of this mission.”
A flash of heat boils me from the inside out, and my head snaps to the right to glare at Sal. His eyes are pinned on Kynan, though.
“She’s up to the task,” I hear from across the table, and I slowly turn to look at Bodie. He has cold, hard eyes locked onto Sal, daring him to argue.
Sal looks across to Bodie and his voice is neutral, refusing to engage in a fight. “With all due respect, Wright, I’d like something more than your word since you’re involved with her.”
I flush even hotter that my personal sex life is now out on the table as a concern for this mission.
“Rachel has medical clearance,” Kynan says in a tone that causes all heads to swivel his way. “She’s got two doctors who have verified she’s fine to go on any missions for the first trimester.”
“Again,” Sal says with determination to make his voice heard. “I’m sure she’s healthy and fit, but what if something were to happen to her out on the tanker? I don’t want to be a downer, but we need to consider that as a possibility. There’s not going to be adequate medical care, and then we’re down a team member.”
To my surprise, Jerico stands up from the end of the table. He slides his hands casually into the pockets of his dress pants. “It’s why we’re sending a team of seven rather than six. If something happens to Rachel, Bodie moves to her team. Sal… you’d take over as leader. Rachel knows the risks and accepts them.”
At this point, my emotions are all over the place. I’m pissed Sal would question my abilities, even if there’s something deep inside of me that admits he’s right to have the concern. I’m healthy, strong, and capable as anyone at this table. But it doesn’t mean I’d stay that way.
I’m also conflicted about Bodie defending me. There’s a part of me that thinks it’s sweet, because he knows how important this job is to me. But there’s a part that hates him doing so, too, because really… he’s not a credible source given his involvement with me.
“Fair enough,” Sal says, and then his voice drops two octaves. “One last thing… I’d like to respectfully disagree with the choice of Hart to lead the team. I think I’m better qualified and well… not prone to emotions.”
My head snaps back his way. There’s no denying Sal is the shit and could do as good a job running the team as me, but now he’s questioning my true abilities despite my pregnancy.
“I can assure you that I’m able to do this job without any issues,” I snarl. I don’t look at Bodie across from me, but I can see out of the corner of my eye when he straightens in his chair.
Sal’s not deterred by the sensitive nature of our discussion, nor how it borders on sexism and misogyny. “Hart… in the last week, I’ve seen you have an emotional breakdown at the gym and toss your cookies from the smell of a hamburger. I’ve got the right to ask these questions.”
Fuck… I know he does. I know it and I hate it, and I don’t know how to deal with it. Maybe I should bow out and just let him lead the team.
Maybe I should just stay behind and let someone else take my team.
“You two should battle it out,” Jerico says nonchalantly. All heads swing his way.
He looks right at me. “Hart… he’s got legit concerns.”
I nod reluctantly.
Jerico looks to Sal. “I think she’s capable but if you want her to prove it, battle it out.”
“What do you suggest?” Sal asks with his jaw locked.
Jerico gives a casual shrug as if he has no formalized plan, but I can see that he does. “Three events. You each pick one, I’ll pick the third. Best two out of three wins the honors of leading Team Two.”
“Knives,” Sal says quickly, leveling me with a satisfied smirk. Asshole picked that because he saw how badly I did and the resulting meltdown I had.
“Shooting,” I say, taking great satisfaction in watching him swallow hard. Sal is a good shot. One of the best at Jameson. I’m a million times better, though.
“And the third event?” I ask Jerico as I turn to look back up at him.
He shoots a look at Kynan, who gives a shrug. Jerico taps his chin as if deep in thought, but then he finally announces with a big grin. “A hot-dog eating contest.”
“A what?” I ask in bewilderment.
Sal gives a low, dark laugh that is totally gleeful in an evil way. I’m sure he’s banking on me hurling my guts up from the smell.
Yeah, well fuck you, Sal. There’s no way in hell I’m losing this competition.
I turn to look back at Jerico. “Deal. Let’s get started.”
Everyone starts chattering, and I vaguely hear a few people laying down bets. I glance across the table at Bodie, and he’s staring at me. At first, I can’t read a damn thing on his face, but I’ve spent a lot of time staring at it this past week. I’ve become adept at reading the nuances.
It starts to become clear to me. He’s frustrated my abilities are being questioned, and he’s a little worried about something happening to me while out on the boat with no medical help. He’s also burning with a need for me to avenge myself, all while being put out that he can’t do it for me.
It’s a lot of fucking emotion brewing in him, but all I can do is give him a confident smile. His in return is tight and guarded.
I want to tell him “I got this,” but I’m not sure he’d believe me.
♦
“You okay?” Bodie asks with a quick glance as he pulls my Maserati into my driveway. He asks because the motion of the car is making me nauseous, which is in turn making me sweat and pant.
“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth as he brings the car to a halt. As soon as he puts it in park, I’ve got the passenger door open and I’m puking my guts up all over my driveway.
Ten hot dogs and buns.
Which means I throw up for quite a long time.
I’m vaguely aware of Bodie standing just outside of the range of vomit, patiently waiting for me to get it all out.
When I’m done, my head swims and I sit back in the car seat, breathing hard. My head rolls on the headrest, and I look at him balefully.
He grins back. “You were fucking awesome.”
My smile is weak but genuine. “I was, wasn’t I?”
As expected, Sal creamed me in the knife throwing and I wiped the floor with him on the shooting range. When Jerico had twenty hot dogs brought in from Pink’s and laid ten each out on opposite sides of the conference room table, my stomach started churning.
Sal sat across from me, cracking his knuckles and already smiling in victory as he took in the pale green tint of my skin and the sweat beaded on my brow. Morning sickness really sucked ass. It hasn’t been plaguing me too bad, and is easily controlled by nibbling on a few crackers, but ten greasy hot dogs?
It may have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
The competition was simple. Whoever could eat ten hot dogs in the fastest time was the winner. That meant fully swallowed, nothing left behind. There was also a five-minute puke clause added, where the hot dogs had to stay down that length of time to be declared the victor.
Despite the nausea and violent need to hurl, I cleared my mind and swallowed hot dog after hot dog. All I could think about was taking Bodie’s cock down my throat, and that had to have helped in some way. Sal still had half a hot dog left when I swallowed my last bite.
It was agony waiting out that five minutes, and even when it was up and I was declared the winner and resounding leader of Team Two—Sal gave me a grudging handshake after—I still refused to puke.
I did not, however, hesitate to ask Bodie to drive me home. I had some serious shakes by the time we got in my car, and I moaned and groaned all the way home.
Right now, I’m feeling a little bit better. The fact Bodie thought what I did was awesome makes it an even better victory.
“Thank you,” I tell him softly, looking at him across my pile of vomit. “For defending me in there. Supporting me.”
“It’s nothing,” he says nonchalantly.
“For trusting me to do my job,” I add. That’s really what I’m grateful for. “For not holding me back, even though I know damn well you’re worried about me going.”
Bodie doesn’t respond other than to wave his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the car and inside. Maybe some ginger ale for you.”
With a sigh, I swing my legs out and deftly sidestep the vomit. I’ll come out later and rinse it off. When I meet him, I tug gently on the bottom of his t-shirt to get his attention. “No. Seriously. Thank you for not fighting me on going on this mission. For letting me do this. I know you could raise a stink about it, so I know you’re taking a risk right along with me.”
“Doctor said you were cleared, right?” he asks, although he knows this is so. Dr. Anchors wrote a letter to Dr. McCullough, and it’s in my employment file.
I nod. “And I feel fantastic. Except for a little nausea. As long as I stash some saltines in my duffel when we leave, it will be fine.”
“Then there’s no need to worry,” he says lightly.
None, I think to myself. Other than the fact I’ve had a miscarriage before.
Dr. Anchors spent a lot of time telling me that meant nothing. He said most miscarriages are a one-time thing, and the majority of women go on to have healthy pregnancies after.
I feel guilty because I’ve made a conscious decision not to tell Bodie about my miscarriage. I didn’t feel it relevant after talking privately to Dr. Anchors, and I did it for a very selfish reason. I knew that Bodie would have increased worry if he knew. He might even fight me on going out on missions.
So, I chose to keep that to myself and hope and pray for the best that this baby will continue to stay healthy and the pregnancy will be normal. There’s going to be a time soon where I won’t be able to go out on missions, so I want to take every opportunity to do so.
I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person, but I still have to preserve some part of myself because when this is all said and done, I’m going to lose a big part of me.