Page 28 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Audra

The last of the water buckets hit the ground with a satisfying thud, and I straightened, pressing my hands to the small of my back. My muscles ached in that good way that meant honest work, and despite everything, I couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips.

Yesterday’s PR success still hummed through me like electricity.

The way Beckett’s face had shifted when he’d seen the press release I’d created—surprise melting into something that looked almost like pride.

After so long feeling worthless, I’d actually contributed something.

Like I had value beyond just surviving another day.

The thought that had been circling my mind like a persistent fly pushed forward again: Could I really stay here? Build something real in Garnet Bend?

“You look happy today, boy,” I said to Jet as he pressed against my leg, tail wagging as if my mood was contagious.

“I am too.” I scratched behind his ears, earning a contented groan. “Things might actually be turning around.”

Beckett had been scarce today, just like yesterday. He’d stopped by the kennels this morning, apologizing again for needing space. Last night had been rough once again.

“I understand,” I’d told him, and meant it. “Take all the time you need.”

The relief in his expression had been worth the tiny lie. Truth was, I missed him. Missed his steady presence, the way he moved through space like he belonged there. Missed talking and joking with him as we went about our duties each day. Missed learning more and more about dog training.

Could I really be an actual trainer like he’d said? I knew the answer was yes. He wouldn’t say so otherwise, not even to save my feelings.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was feeling good.

This morning, Beckett had handed me the envelope from Lark, looking almost uncomfortable about playing messenger. “She sent it through me due to your lack of means for electronic transfers,” he’d said gruffly. “Two weeks’ pay, plus a bonus. Said you earned it.”

I had to sit down on the nearest hay bale, my legs suddenly unsteady.

Since destroying my credit cards and disappearing into a cash-only existence three months ago, every penny had been accounted for, rationed, stretched.

Now I didn’t have to count each dollar. Didn’t have to choose between gas and food.

Didn’t have to wonder if I’d have enough for even the cheapest motel if sleeping in my car became impossible.

With the cabin provided, no rent to pay, no utilities to worry about—I could actually save some of this. Build a cushion. The relief made my throat tight with unshed tears.

“We’re okay,” I whispered to Jet, who’d followed me to the hay bale and now rested his head on my knee. “We’re actually okay.”

Since Beckett wasn’t around and the afternoon chores were done, I decided to head into town. The grocery store. I could splurge a little, make Beckett a real dinner. A thank-you for everything—the job, the cabin, the encouragement.

A steak dinner. My mouth watered at the thought. Rib eye with a perfect crust, baked potato loaded with butter and sour cream, green beans sautéed with garlic. The kind of meal I used to make for Todd when he’d had a rough week.

I was half tempted to bring Jet with me into town, just for the company.

But dogs weren’t allowed in grocery stores, and besides, I couldn’t let fear control me.

Nearly three weeks had passed. Not a single sign of my stalker.

No pictures. No messages. No prickle at the back of my neck that meant eyes were tracking my every move.

Perhaps I’d finally lost him.

The drive into Garnet Bend felt different today.

The mountains stood guard around the valley, permanent and protective.

Main Street dozed in the afternoon sun, people going about their small-town routines with small-town concerns.

A mother pushed a stroller while her toddler tried to pet every dog they passed.

Markman’s General Store sign signaled to astronauts in space.

Peaceful. Safe. The life I used to have before everything went wrong.

The grocery store parking lot was half full. I grabbed a cart and headed inside, already planning my menu. The rib eyes in the meat section were beautiful—well-marbled, thick cut. I selected two of the best ones, then moved on to the produce section.

“Audra! Good to see you.”

I turned to find Coop beside the tomatoes, his own cart loaded with enough protein to feed a small army. Chicken breasts, ground beef, what looked like an entire pork loin.

“Hi, Coop. Stocking up?”

“Always.” His ready grin put me immediately at ease. “Burning calories like we do at Warrior Security, got to keep the fuel coming.” He glanced at the steaks in my cart. “Special occasion?”

“Just thought I’d cook dinner for Beckett. A thank-you for…everything.”

His expression softened, something knowing in his eyes. “That’s real nice of you. He doesn’t let many people do things for him.”

“I’ve noticed.” I set the steaks carefully in the cart. “He was doing great, but then the last couple of days have been rough. He’s been keeping to himself.”

“Yeah, he does that. Pulls back when he feels vulnerable.” Coop leaned against his cart, studying me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. “But the fact that he let you help? That’s huge. Beck doesn’t trust easy.”

“I just happened to be there.”

“No.” His voice carried the weight of certainty. “You were there, and you didn’t run. You didn’t panic. You called for help when he needed it. That matters more than you know.”

We stood there for a moment, surrounded by the afternoon bustle of shoppers selecting their dinners and debating cereal brands, while something extraordinary hung in the air between us.

“Hey,” Coop said suddenly, glancing at his phone. “You know what? Today’s actually Beck’s birthday.”

The words knocked the breath from my lungs. “What? It is? Why didn’t he tell me! Should I do something? Get a cake? Throw a party? Invite people over?”

Coop held up a hand, chuckling. “Whoa, absolutely not. Beck would hate that. A party would stress him out more than anything. He’s not big on attention or fuss.”

“But it’s his birthday.”

“And the best gift you can give him is not making a big deal out of it.” His expression turned serious.

“So, no party.”

“No party. But…” He glanced at the steaks again. “A quiet dinner? Just the two of you? That, he might actually enjoy. Especially if there’s cake involved. Man’s got a secret sweet tooth he thinks nobody knows about.”

“Cake, I can do.” My mind was already racing. Chocolate cake from scratch. Nothing fancy, nothing that screamed birthday celebration . Just a simple chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. The kind of thing that could be a regular dessert on a regular day, if he wanted to pretend that’s all it was.

“You’re good for him, you know,” Coop said quietly, his voice pitched low enough that the woman examining avocados nearby couldn’t hear. “I haven’t seen him this… present in a long time. Like he’s actually living instead of just surviving.”

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, he was already moving away. “I should get going. But, Audra? You’re special to him. Whether he’s said it or not, whether he even knows how to say it—you matter.”

He left me standing there between the bell peppers and cucumbers, something warm and fragile blooming in my chest despite everything I’d taught myself about not hoping for too much. I shook off the feeling and focused on the task at hand.

Cake . I needed cake ingredients.

Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the store with bags full of dinner fixings and everything I needed for a chocolate cake.

The late-afternoon sun painted the mountains gold and purple, and I stood for a moment just breathing in the crisp air.

This was going to be a good night. I would make sure of it.

I popped the trunk and loaded the grocery bags carefully, making sure the eggs were secure and the steaks were in the insulated bag I’d bought.

The cake was going to be perfect. Three layers if I had enough cocoa, two if not.

Either way, Beckett would have a birthday cake, whether he admitted to wanting one or not.

I closed the trunk and walked around to the driver’s door. Something white fluttered under my windshield wiper—what looked like a flyer or advertisement.

I grabbed it absently, my mind already on timing. Start the cake first so it could cool while I prepped dinner. The steaks would need to come to room temperature. The potatoes would take an hour to bake.

Then I looked down at the paper in my hand. It felt wrong. Too thick. Too smooth. Photo paper, not regular printer paper.

My stomach dropped before my brain caught up, and I turned it so I could see what was printed.

The photograph trembled in my hands. The one from Draper’s Tavern just a few days ago—all of us crowded around the table. Beckett, Hunter, Jada, Lachlan, Piper, me. Hunter had taken it for the tavern’s social media, said something about needing pictures of people actually enjoying themselves.

But this version had been defiled. Black X’s obliterated every face except mine. Thick, violent marks that turned my friends—God, when had I started thinking of them as friends?—into erasures. Into absences. Into promises.

My face remained untouched, circled in red ink so fresh I could smell it, metallic and threatening in the fading light.

No. Please, no.

My hands shook so hard the photo rustled like leaves. I turned it over, already knowing what I’d find. The handwriting was exactly as I remembered—precise, controlled, each letter formed with obsessive care.

An eye for an eye.

The same message. Always the same message.

The parking lot kaleidoscoped around me, fracturing into pieces that wouldn’t fit back together as I spun, looking everywhere for who had done this.

My chest compressed, ribs feeling like they might crack under the pressure.

The air turned thick, impossible to pull into my lungs.

I could only stare at the photo, at those black X’s that turned innocent people into targets.

A car door slammed nearby. The sound hit me like a gunshot. An elderly woman walked past, giving me a concerned look. I must have looked deranged, standing frozen beside my car, staring at a piece of paper like it contained my death sentence.

Which, in a way, it did.

Seventeen days. That’s all the peace I’d been allowed. Seventeen days of pretending I could have a life. Of having my little cabin I’d come to think of as home. Of letting myself imagine a future that consisted of more than just running, hiding, looking over my shoulder.

The photo crumpled in my fist, the sound sharp in the quiet lot.

The cake ingredients in my trunk felt like artifacts from another life—one where I was just a woman planning a surprise for a man she cared about.

Where birthdays were celebrated and dinners were shared and people weren’t marked for destruction because of proximity to me.

He’d found me. Despite the cash-only jobs. Despite destroying any electronic trail. Despite choosing a town Todd had only mentioned once in passing years ago, so briefly I’d almost forgotten it myself.

The stalker had found me, and this time, he’d marked the people around me.

The message couldn’t be clearer: I can reach them. I will hurt them. Because of you.

I stood there in the grocery store parking lot, the crumpled photo burning in my closed fist, its weight heavier than anything I’d ever carried.

The mountains that had felt protective moments ago now loomed like prison walls.

The peaceful town that had promised safety now felt like a carefully laid trap.

I had to leave. I had to get out.

I wouldn’t even go back to Pawsitive Connections. I could go right from here. I crumpled the paper further. Damn it, I had left a lot of my money there. My stuff. I needed it.

Jet.

A sob escaped me at the thought. I had to at least say goodbye to him. One more hug. One more time to bury my face in his fur.

I searched every inch of the car for any sort of tracking device but didn’t find one. I got in and pulled out of the parking lot in the opposite direction of Pawsitive, my eyes glued on the rearview mirror. Nothing.

I drove all the way to the next town and went inside a diner, hiding in a corner booth where I could see any cars coming in or out. I stayed there for three hours, sipping on a single cup of coffee long after it went cold.

I wasn’t being followed.

I touched the scar at the back of my neck. Not being followed didn’t change anything. I still had to leave, but maybe I could give Beckett his birthday dinner. Hold it together long enough to show him how thankful I was to have met him. To have loved him.

I couldn’t tell him the truth. The truth would get him killed. I had no doubt in my mind.

But I could at least say goodbye in my own way, even if he didn’t know that was what it was.