Chapter 870
“You…” she stammered, choking on her rage and terror. “You people…”
K.C. took a step back, his face resuming its impassive mask. “I trust my meaning is clear, Instructor.”
Sloane stared at him, her chest heaving. The fight went out of her, replaced by a cold, simmering hatred. She had been utterly, completely defeated.
She spun on her heel and stalked away, her retreat filled with the promise of future violence.
She knew she couldn’t touch Caroline directly anymore. The crude approach was finished. Public humiliation, private insinuation, improvised punishment, and sudden trips to command had all become dead ends. Caroline had learned to put everything on record. Bell had made it clear someone was always watching.
But there were other ways.
She would design a training exercise. A legitimate, by-the-book exercise that was so inherently dangerous, so unforgiving, that failure meant serious injury. Or death.
An exercise that was technically optional, but that no true candidate for Tier One would ever refuse.
An exercise that would give her the perfect cover for an “accident.”
K.C. watched her go, his eyes cold. He knew this wasn’t over. It had only just begun.
Caroline found K.C. Bell waiting for her in the shadowed space between the barracks buildings. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of unease through her. He was a ghost, an instrument of a power she couldn’t see.
He approached, his face the same impassive slate it always was.
“Trainee Thompson,” he began, his voice the official, sterile tone of a man reading a report. “Instructor Hawke’s behavior was unprofessional and unacceptable. The incident has been recorded, and the Colonel has authorized a formal final notice.”
It was a neat, tidy explanation. A story for the official record.
Caroline looked him straight in the eye, her own gaze cutting through the pretense. “Why?” she asked, her voice quiet but sharp. “Why is she doing this?”
She didn’t wait for an answer before asking the real question, the one that had been eating her alive. “What is she to him? To Colonel Romero?”
For the first time since she’d met him, a flicker of something, hesitation, discomfort, crossed K.C. Bell’s face. It was gone in an instant, but she saw it.
“Instructor Hawke and the Colonel served together,” he said, his words carefully chosen. “They have a complicated history. That history does not typically interfere with her professional duties.”
The non-answer was an answer in itself. Complicated history. The words confirmed every dark suspicion, every jealous fear that had taken root in her heart. Jarrod had a past with this woman, a deep one, and he had hidden it from her completely.
The color drained from her face. The feeling of betrayal was a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs.
“He’s a liar,” she whispered, the words meant for herself, but he heard them.
K.C.’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. The urge to defend his commander warred with the strict orders of his mission. The mission won.