She stepped out around from behind the podium, planted her left elbow on the lectern, and stared down coldly at the impudent reporter. The room fell silent. Tense, dead silent.

When she could have heard a pin drop, she gave up all pretense of pleasantness and said tersely, “Just what do you think I’m doing here? Playing dress up with the boys? I came here to be a SEAL, and that’s what I intend to do. This isn’t a game.”

If the instructors across the back of room had been dogs, they would all have been tilting their heads at her quizzically. She felt their confusion, even from the other side of a large theater. Poor dudes had no idea what to make of her.

Mission accomplished. Griffin had told her to take the fight to the SEALs and not wait passively for them to bring the fight to her. They would still do everything in their power to break her, but at least this way they might respect her a little while they did it.

She nodded crisply. “If you ladies and gentlemen have no more questions, I’d like to get on with my training.”

She didn’t wait for the rear admiral to join her on stage. She was frankly too ticked off at the moment to deal with pressing the flesh and pasting on pageant smiles. As she stalked off stage right, Schneider scurried out to the podium to thank everyone for coming and to give out the schedule for future press conferences to update them on her progress through the course.

Seriously? The media was going to get report cards on her? No wonder the guys in the back were scowling like they’d been force-fed battery acid.

“Lieutenant Tate!” Schneider whispered loudly from the stage. She glanced back, and he was waving frantically at her to join the admiral, who’d come out from the wings on the other side of the stage and was fielding a few questions.

She deliberately misunderstood him and waved back, then all but ran back to the office, where she quickly changed into a utility uniform and combat boots. She slapped her baseball cap on, pulled it down low, and rushed from the building before Schneider could corner her.

She burst out into the warm California sun, duffel bag over her shoulder, pageant tool kit abandoned in the office. Spotting an enlisted man about to climb into a big green utility truck across the street, she jogged over to him.

“Hey, I’m lost. Any chance you could give me a ride over to the Center?”

“You mean the BUD/S school?” the guy blurted out.

“Yes, please.”

“Climb in.” She clambered into the cab, and the driver threw the big vehicle into gear, asking, “You gonna be working admin over there or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Cool.”

Yeah. Something like that.

Chapter 15