Chapter 871
“I can assure you, Trainee, your cover has not been compromised,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to safe, tactical ground. “To everyone on this base, you are just another trainee. The Colonel’s intervention was limited to correcting a breach of training protocol.”
But she wasn’t listening anymore. Her mind was a maelstrom of hurt and jealousy. She gave K.C. a curt, dismissive nod, her voice turning to ice.
“Thank you, Sergeant Major.”
She turned and walked into the barracks, leaving him standing alone in the shadows.
K.C. watched her go, a rare sigh escaping his lips. He had neutralized one threat, only to detonate a far more volatile one within the very person he was assigned to protect.
He pulled out his encrypted satellite phone and dialed.
“Sir,” he said when the call connected, his voice reverting to its efficient brevity. “The issue with Instructor Hawke is contained. However… the Mrs. is not happy.”
He paused. “She knows you’re withholding information. She thinks you’re lying to her.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then, to K.C.’s profound astonishment, Jarrod’s voice came back, and it held a note of something he had never heard before. A dark, pleased amusement.
“She’s jealous?”
K.C. was momentarily speechless. “…Yes, sir. Acutely.”
“Good,” Jarrod said, the satisfaction in his voice unmistakable. “Understood.”
He was about to hang up, then added a final order. “Contact Dr. Reed. Have the infirmary summon Trainee Thompson for a mandatory post-stress evaluation. I want a full physical workup. I need to know if she’s injured.”
He relished her jealousy, the proof that she cared, yet his concern was real, expressed in the only way he knew how: a clinical, controlling, command-level directive.
Caroline had just sat down on her bunk, the weight of the day settling on her like a physical shroud, when a voice barked from the barracks doorway.
“Trainee Thompson!”
A young medic stood there, holding a clipboard like a shield. Every head in the room turned toward Caroline.
“Per base medical protocol,” the medic recited in a loud, official monotone, “any trainee involved in a high-stress incident is required to undergo a mandatory physical evaluation to screen for potential TBI or other latent injuries. You’ll come with me. Now.”
The excuse was perfect. It was airtight, buried in the dense jargon of military regulations. No one could question it.
Brenna shot her a worried look. “Are you okay?”
Caroline’s blood ran cold. She knew, with absolute certainty, whose hand was behind this. Jarrod.
A surge of pure, unadulterated rage washed through her. The arrogance of it. The manipulation. Did he think she was a puppet, a doll he could summon with a pull of his bureaucratic strings?
But she couldn’t refuse a direct medical order in front of the entire squad. She stood up, her movements stiff with anger, and followed the medic out into the evening air.
The entire walk to the infirmary, a cold, bitter laugh was bubbling in her chest. He thought this was caring? This clinical, high-handed summons?.