Page 2 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Cash . No forms. No trail. That was exactly what I needed.

“I’ll work hard. I don’t know animals, but I learn fast.” I tried not to sound too desperate.

“Where are you staying in town?”

The question I’d been dreading. “Still…figuring that out.”

She nodded slowly, drawing the wrong conclusions. She thought it was domestic violence, probably. Bad boyfriend. If only my monster were that simple.

“Let’s start with today. See how it goes. I really could use the help.”

Relief made my knees liquid. “Thank you. I—thank you.”

“Come on, tour time.” She paused. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Sarah? Jessica? Michelle? I’d worn so many names, they’d stopped feeling real. But exhaustion made me reckless.

“Audra Cartland.”

My real name. Stupid. Dangerous. But for one day, I wanted to be the girl Todd had called Aud, who’d had a family and a future and reasons to smile.

Lark led me through the property, chattering about operations. Evidently, Pawsitive Connections dealt with all sorts of animals. Dogs dominated, but I spotted cats, rabbits, horses, even a distant llama.

And it was so nice to have a normal conversation. I’d forgotten the rhythm of it.

“We train service animals, emotional support, some security dogs. Also rehabilitation and rehoming. Whatever connects the right animal with the right person.”

“That sounds amazing.”

The barn smelled like safety—hay and dog food and routine. Rows of kennels, occupied by dogs who watched us with curiosity instead of fear. Lark showed me the different foods. I was almost hungry enough to eat some of it myself.

“Feeding time first. Think you can handle it?”

I took the bucket she offered like a lifeline. Physical work. Clear purpose. Something beyond the endless loop of watch-run-hide-repeat.

As I measured kibble according to the wall chart, Lark narrated each dog’s story. Seizure alert. PTSD support. Guide dog in training. Work that mattered. Work that helped.

“So, Audra, what brings you to Garnet Bend?” Her question was casual, innocent.

I kept my eyes on the food bin. “Needed a change. Heard it was nice here.”

“It is. Small town, so everyone knows everyone. We look out for one another.”

That was what terrified me. Looking meant seeing. Seeing meant questions. Questions meant lies or truth, and both were dangerous now.

We worked through the morning, feeding and watering.

My muscles remembered this kind of honest fatigue, so different from the bone-deep exhaustion of constant vigilance.

When we moved to cleaning kennels, I welcomed the mindless task.

Scoop, spray, replace bedding. Simple. Clear. No decisions that might get me killed.

“You’re good with them,” Lark observed as a skittish terrier mix actually approached me for a sniff. “Natural calm energy. Animals sense that.”

Calm . I almost laughed. If she only knew the hurricane inside me.

We worked through the afternoon, sweat replacing the mountain chill on my skin. My stomach had given up growling and moved to sharp, hollow pain. The peanut butter sandwich I’d had last night before I’d fallen asleep felt like days ago instead of hours.

“That’s good for today,” Lark finally said, stripping off work gloves. “You really helped me out. Can you come back tomorrow? Dawn would be great—that’s early, but that’s when they need feeding.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

She pulled two twenties from her wallet. “For today. More tomorrow if you can work again like you did today. Sound good?”

Forty dollars. It would get me more gas. Food. I could get out of town. Keep going.

“Thank you.” The words came out thick with more than gratitude.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Lark disappeared into a storage room and returned with a small red gas container. “There’s about a gallon in there—should be enough to get you to town to fill up properly.”

My eyes burned. “I—I can’t?—”

“Sure, you can. Bring the container back tomorrow.” She pressed it into my hands. “There’s a bathroom on the far side of the barn if you need it before you go. Has a shower if you want to bring a towel and change of clothes tomorrow or whenever you’re working.”

I nodded, throat too tight for words. Kindness was dangerous. It made you soft, made you visible, made you want things you couldn’t have.

“Thanks,” I managed.

Lark’s smile was gentle. “I hope to see you tomorrow, Audra. You’re welcome here. This is a safe place, as long as you don’t have any dog treats in your pockets.”

She knew I wasn’t planning to come back. Knew I was going to keep running. She didn’t even judge me for it.

“Thanks.”

She smiled and headed for her house across the property, already pulling out her phone to check messages. Normal person with normal problems.

The gas container felt heavier than it should as I walked to the bathroom. Inside, fluorescent lights hummed like angry wasps. I set the container down and faced the mirror.

A stranger stared back. Hollow cheeks carved deep shadows beneath cheekbones sharp enough to cut.

When had my face become all angles and edges?

My collarbones jutted out like accusations above my worn T-shirt.

Purple-black circles ringed my eyes—not just tired, but something worse. Something hunted.

My hair hung limp and dull, nothing like the thick curls Todd used to tease me about. Now it was split ends. Grease. The color seemed to have leached away along with everything else, leaving something the shade of old dishwater.

I leaned closer to the glass. Twenty-eight years old, but I could have been forty. Or fourteen. My eyes had gone ageless the way trauma makes you ageless—too old and too young all at once.

Who was this woman? When had Audra Cartland disappeared, leaving only this ghost wearing her name?