Page 9 of False Flag

She didn’t take his hand. Instead, her gaze swept down his length. “Oh, I remember you, Jacob. You were quite impressive. Until you opened your mouth.”

Rand laughed. “That bad, huh?”

Jake shrugged. “Hey, all I hear is memorable and impressive.”

Anastacia snickered, then rolled her eyes. “Figures.” She turned her attention to Chris. “At tomorrow’s party, are the teams going to be Valkyries and Raptors versus SEALs?”

Chris shook his head. “We’ll mix up the teams. Neither Rand nor I want to be opposite Kira and Diana. Can’t put future marital harmony at stake.”

Tomorrow’s bachelor and bachelorette party was a paintball war to be played in a forested Raptor training facility about forty-five minutes away. Chris, Rand, and the women who ran FMV had become friends with several Raptor operatives when they assisted with an op that had gone down before Jake joined the team.

Diana stepped up beside her fiancé and said, “Don’t believe them, Staci. They want to mix up the teams because they hope to get Morgan on their side.”

“Well, that too,” Rand said.

Chris laughed. “Is Morgan really that good?”

“Better,” Pax and Rand said at the same time.

“Are all couples going to be teamed together, then?” Staci asked.

“Hell yeah,” Pax said. “Morgan’s always on my team.”

“After that, will names be drawn out of a hat, or will it be like fifth-grade gym class?” she asked. “I didn’t sign up to relive childhood trauma.”

“I’ll pick you,” Jake said just to see her reaction.

“Pass, thanks.”

“I’m an excellent shot.”

“Still no.”

“Why?”

Her smile was beautifully wicked. “I’m looking forward to shooting you.”

“You think you can get the drop on me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Are you a good shot?”

“I’m no Morgan, but I do okay.”

“I’ll take my chances, then.”

Chapter Four

Gerard Campbell had emailed Staci a pass, which got her on the grounds and through the Secret Service checkpoint. After she was searched and cleared, she was led to a living room that was probably called a salon or some other name.

Staci’s childhood homes had been…sparse at best. They had living rooms, and a few times, there’d been a dining room, but usually, it was more of a breakfast nook. None of her homes had ever had a family room in addition to the living room.

It always surprised her to learn how many names could be applied to communal rooms like the one she now sat in. But she hadn’t dressed up to sit alone in a parlor or receiving room. No way. This dress was ballroom material.

She rose from the couch. Or was it a sofa? Davenport? Definitely not a love seat or lounge. Were there more or fewer names for places to park your ass on upholstery than there were for the rooms that contained the furniture?

She was pulled from this line of thinking, thankfully, when Gerard Campbell entered the room.