Chapter 331
[ 555 words ]
Chapter 331:
Before stepping into the shower, Caroline had stripped off her soiled scrubs and sealed them inside a biohazard disposal bag she found beneath the sink. She had placed the bag in the collection chute by the door, as instructed by the faded printed label on the wall. It was a standard decontamination protocol, one she had followed half-consciously, her exhausted mind focused only on getting clean. She had assumed replacement clothing would be waiting when she finished.
Now, reaching for the scrubs she expected to find folded on the sink, her hand met empty air.
Caroline stepped out of the shower, grabbing a rough, military-issue white towel to dry her hair. A quick scan of the small bathroom confirmed the scrubs were gone. She hadn’t heard anyone come in; the water had been too loud, her focus too scattered. A small, laminated card had been slipped under the door while she was inside. She picked it up and read the standard base logistics note: “Contaminated articles collected for biohazard disposal. A replacement uniform has been requested from Medical.” But there was no replacement in sight.
Cursing softly under her breath, she wrapped the towel tightly around her body and stepped barefoot into the cold, stark bedroom.
She opened Jarrod’s metal locker, scanning the meticulously organized rows of tactical gear and uniforms.
𝗝о𝗶ո 𝘁𝗁e 𝘤𝗈𝗺𝗺𝘶𝗇𝗂𝘵𝘆 𝖺𝘁 𝗴𝗮𝘭𝘯𝗈𝘷𝘦𝗅𝘀.c𝘰m
There was absolutely nothing female or small in the locker. It was entirely filled with lethal, oversized masculinity.
Shivering from the cold blast of the air conditioning, she grabbed one of his clean, olive-drab uniform shirts off a hanger.
She slipped it over her head. The thick, starchy fabric was surprisingly soft and smelled faintly of his cedarwood soap.
The shirt was comically huge on her, its hem falling to her mid-thigh and leaving her long legs completely bare.
She had to roll the massive sleeves up past her elbows just so she could use her hands.
She looked at her reflection in the small mirror on the locker door, realizing she looked entirely, dangerously inappropriate for a military base. The sight sent a cold prickle of warning down her spine. She was a trained operative on a base full of soldiers, and she was standing in the quarters of the most possessive commander in JSOC. Walking out like this was unthinkable. She grabbed a spare wool blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it securely around her waist like a makeshift skirt, tucking the end firmly at her hip. It wasn’t elegant, but it covered her legs completely.
Now that she was adequately covered, she turned her attention to the communication panel. Her CIA training kicked in. She scanned the room for a secure comms panel, found one by the door, and activated the screen. It presented a simple directory: COMMAND, MEDICAL, QUARTERMASTER, MESS HALL. She pressed MEDICAL, hoping to reach Evelyn, but the system required an extension code she didn’t have. Trying to reach the guard post directly yielded only a busy signal, likely because K. C. was communicating on a primary tactical channel.
Frustrated, she decided her fastest option was to establish quick visual contact with K. C., who was stationed right outside, to request a clothing runner. The blanket would make the interaction brief and professional.
She cracked open the heavy steel door of the quarters just an inch, peeking her head out into the hallway.
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