Page 20 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Beckett

The morning sun cast long shadows across the property as I cleaned and oiled the hinges on the barn doors. My hands worked automatically, muscle memory from years of maintaining equipment, keeping things functional, fixing situations that had gone sideways.

The repetitive motion usually helped quiet the noise in my head, but today, something felt off. A tension in my shoulders that wouldn’t release. A slight tremor in my fingers that made gripping the oil can harder than it should be.

Two nights since that kiss. Two nights of keeping my distance, giving Audra space to settle into the cabin without pressure.

Two nights of remembering the way she’d felt against me, soft and trusting, before I’d pulled back.

The dreams had been worse since then. Not Rodriguez this time, but Audra—running from shadows I couldn’t see, calling for help I couldn’t give.

Across the yard, she emerged from the barn with Jet at her heels.

The German shepherd’s tail whipped back and forth with enough force to bruise, batting against her legs as they walked.

She laughed at something—probably Jet trying to carry three tennis balls at once; no wonder he was never going to make it as a security dog—and the sound carried on the morning air like music after months of silence.

She looked different. Rested. The dark circles under her eyes had faded to pale shadows, and maybe it was just my wishful thinking, but it felt like her clothes didn’t hang quite so loose.

This morning, I’d caught her singing while filling water bowls.

Some pop song I didn’t recognize, her voice light and unselfconscious until she’d noticed me watching.

Then she’d flushed pink and focused intently on the task at hand.

My phone buzzed, making me jump—another sign that my system was running too hot. Lark’s name lit up the screen.

“Hey,” I answered, wedging the phone between ear and shoulder while I twisted wire around the fence post.

“Beck! How’s everything going?” Her voice carried that forced cheer people used when they wanted good news but expected complications.

“Fine. Animals are fed and healthy. No disasters whatsoever.”

“And Audra? How’s she doing?”

I watched her across the property, now throwing a tennis ball for Jet, who bounded after it with pure joy. “She’s shown up every day. Works hard. Animals like her.”

“That’s great. I was worried she might disappear. She seemed pretty skittish when I hired her.”

“She needed a place to stay,” I said carefully, working to keep my voice steady. I didn’t mention the shed. “So I moved her in to the cabin. I hope that’s okay.”

Silence. Then, “Yeah, no problem, although it’s a mess. I should have thought of that myself. Driving back and forth from town every day would have been expensive on what I’m paying her.”

“Seemed practical.” I kept my tone neutral, professional. Like I hadn’t installed a new dead bolt. Like I hadn’t stocked her kitchen with enough food for two weeks. Like I hadn’t kissed Audra back with everything I had before walking away.

“Listen, Beck, I hate to ask, but would you be able to stay a few extra days? There’s this new facility that just opened—similar concept to Pawsitive Connections, but focused more on therapy animals for kids.

The owner wants to pick my brain about setup and operations.

It would be an amazing networking opportunity. ”

“How many days?”

“Maybe three or four more? I’ll pay overtime, of course.”

“No need for overtime. I’ll clear it with Hunter.” Not that it would be a problem. Things were quiet at Warrior Security right now, and the guys could handle anything that came up. “Should be fine.”

“You’re a lifesaver. And Audra’s really doing okay? I know you weren’t thrilled about her being there.”

The tremor in my hands got worse. I clenched my fist around the pliers, willing it to stop. “Yeah, she’s doing fine. I’ll let you know if the extra days are a problem once I talk to Hunter.”

“Thanks, Beck. I really appreciate this.”

We hung up, and I pocketed my phone, turning back to the barn door. The sun climbed higher, warming my shoulders through my flannel shirt, but I felt cold. That crawling sensation under my skin that meant my body was gearing up for a threat that didn’t exist.

Not today, I told myself. Keep it together.

My mind wandered as I got back to work, trying to focus on anything except the growing pressure in my chest. What was Audra running from? The fear in her eyes wasn’t normal. It was abject terror, the kind that changed you permanently. The kind I recognized because I carried my own version.

Rodriguez would have liked her. Would have made some joke about me finally finding someone as stubborn as I was. Would have?—

A loud crash exploded from the barn. Metal hitting concrete, the sharp clang reverberating across the property.

The world tilted.

Metal grinding against metal.

The convoy’s lead vehicle disappearing in smoke and flame.

The sound that meant everything was about to go wrong.

The barn door dissolved. Montana vanished. The morning sun became the brutal Afghan glare that hid threats in every shadow. My nostrils filled with the stench of burning fuel and copper—blood, so much blood. The taste of dust and death coated my tongue.

“Contact left! Contact left!”

Rodriguez’s voice, clear as if he stood beside me. But Rodriguez was dead. Had been dead for three years, two months, sixteen days. I could still feel the weight of his body in my arms, hot blood soaking through my gear, his eyes going glassy as he tried to speak through the gurgle in his throat.

“Beck, where’s my covering fire?”

“The dog alerted. Why didn’t you see it?”

“We trusted you!”

My hands were slick—blood or sweat, I couldn’t tell. My heart hammered against my ribs like automatic fire, each beat a bullet that might tear me apart. The air turned thick, too heavy to breathe, like drowning in reverse.

Rodriguez down. Miller screaming. The interpreter’s eyes, wide and unseeing, reflecting the sky he’d never see again.

I’d failed them. Failed to read the signs. Failed to call a halt in time. The K-9 had alerted—hackles up, low growl—but I’d been watching the wrong sector. Three seconds. That’s all it would have taken. Three seconds of attention in the right direction and they’d all still be alive.

“Beckett? Are you okay?”

A voice cutting through the gunfire. Female. Wrong. There were no women in our unit.

“Beckett? Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

Hands on my arms. Small, gentle hands that shouldn’t be here. The enemy. Had to be. I reacted on instinct, muscle memory taking over—grip, control, neutralize. My fist pulled back, body coiling to strike.

“Oh shit. Okay. Okay, don’t hit me. Please, Beckett. It’s me, it’s Audra.”

Audra . The name fought through the chaos, but my body wouldn’t listen.

Every muscle locked in combat readiness.

I could feel her bones under my fingers, fragile as bird wings, and I was gripping too hard but couldn’t stop.

The part of me still anchored in the present screamed warnings, but the part drowning in the past was stronger.

“Beckett, look at me.” Her voice shook, hitching on tears she was fighting. “You’re in Montana. You’re safe. There’s no danger here. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.”

No. Wrong. The danger was always real. The second you forgot that, people died. I’d learned that lesson in blood and failure.

“Please,” she said, and now I could hear her crying, feel her trembling under my grip. “Please, Beckett, you’re scaring me. What’s happening? Are you sick? Should I— Jet, no, stay back!”

The dog. Whining. Pressing against my leg. Another heartbeat in the chaos, steady and real. But not enough to pull me back from the edge.

I collapsed to the ground. My chest felt crushed, like someone had parked a Humvee on my sternum. Each breath came shorter than the last, lungs refusing to expand fully. The world started to fragment at the edges, darkness creeping in like spilled ink.

This is bad. Really bad. Worse than it’s been in months.

“Your eyes,” Audra said, her voice high and thin. “You’re not seeing me at all, are you? God, what do I do? How do I help you?”

Through sheer force of will, I managed to shift slightly. The movement sent lightning through my locked muscles, but it made my phone slide partially out of my pocket. The effort left me shaking, sweat running cold down my spine.

“Your phone?” Her voice caught with hope. “You need your phone?”

I couldn’t nod. My neck had turned to stone, every tendon pulled tight enough to snap. But she understood somehow, maybe from the way my gaze flickered down.

“Okay. Okay, I’m going to get it. But you’re holding my arms. You have to let go.”

Let go. Simple. Impossible. My fingers had become steel cables, digging into her arms hard enough that I could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin. I was hurting her. I had to be. Another sin to add to the collection. Another person I was harming when I should protect.

She shifted, working around my grip, her breath coming in short gasps. “Can you ease up just a little? Just enough so I can reach? Please, Beckett. I know you don’t want to hurt me. I know you’re trying to fight whatever this is.”

The darkness pushed closer, narrowing my vision to a pinpoint. Time running out. If I went under completely, if I lost the ability to communicate at all, she’d be alone with someone in full PTSD lockdown.

With effort that felt like lifting the entire world, I willed my fingers to loosen. Not much. A fraction. But enough that she could twist, could contort herself to reach.

Her hand found my phone, pulled it free. The screen was cracked from where it had hit something when I’d first grabbed her, spider-web fractures across the glass that caught the light like broken promises.

“Who do I call?” Desperation made her voice crack. “9-1-1? Should I call 9-1-1?”

No. Not that. They’d take me to a hospital. Sedate me. Make everything worse. I needed someone who understood. Someone who’d walked through this particular hell and come out the other side.

“Coop,” I managed, the word scraping out like broken glass, leaving my throat raw.

“Coop?” She looked at the phone, then back at me, tears streaming down her face now. “Is that a person? A contact in your phone?”

The smallest movement that might have been a nod sent agony through my neck. The darkness wasn’t creeping anymore—it was rushing in like a tide, threatening to drag me under completely.

“Call,” I whispered, though it was more breath than sound. “Coop.”

She fumbled with the phone, the cracked screen not responding to her shaking fingers. “It’s locked. I need your passcode or—wait, your thumb? Can you?—”

I couldn’t move my hand from her arm, couldn’t manage the coordination. But she was smart, resourceful. She worked my thumb free enough to press it to the sensor, had to try three times before the phone recognized the print and unlocked with a soft click.

“Coop,” she muttered, scrolling through contacts with trembling fingers, her tears dropping onto the broken screen. “Cooper? Ryan Cooper? Is that him?”

The smallest movement. Yes. That was all I had left to give.

“Okay. I’ve got it. I’m calling him.” She looked at me, those hazel eyes wide with fear but also fierce determination. “Just hold on. I’m calling Coop. He’ll know what to do. He has to.”

The phone in her hand, my lifeline to someone who could help. She understood now. She would call him, and Coop would come, and maybe this time I wouldn’t destroy everything I touched.

Jet pressed harder against my leg, whining low in his throat. I could feel Audra’s pulse beneath my fingers, rapid and frightened. The taste of dust and blood filled my mouth. Rodriguez’s voice echoed in my head over and over, asking why I’d let him die.

The darkness flooded in like water through a broken dam, and I let it take me, knowing I’d done all I could. Got the phone to her. Got her Coop’s name. The rest was out of my hands—hands that still couldn’t let her go.

The last thing I heard was her voice, urgent and scared but determined. “Please pick up. Please, God, let him pick up…”

Everything went black.