Page 29 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Beckett

The late-afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the gravel as I walked from the kennels toward the guest house, my shirt stuck to my back with sweat from the training session.

Atlas had finally mastered the perimeter sweep I’d been drilling into him for weeks, while Duke and Rosie had executed their tracking exercises flawlessly.

Good dogs. Predictable. They did what they were trained to do, unlike the chaos that had become my life since Audra showed up.

The smell hit me first—meat searing, garlic, something sweet baking. My steps slowed as I approached the front door. Through the window, I could see movement in the kitchen. Audra was here, cooking.

I’d been reserved for the past couple of days.

PTSD was a beast that didn’t take things like basic conversation into consideration.

Didn’t care that today was my birthday. If anything, my PTSD liked to remind me that Rodriguez wasn’t ever going to have more birthdays, so there was no way I should get to enjoy mine.

Audra had given me space to work through it. She hadn’t crowded me or pouted because I wasn’t paying her attention. She’d just offered her sweet smile when she caught my eye and still held me at night even when I was distant during the day.

And now she was here. I pushed open the door and froze.

The small table was set with two plates, actual cloth napkins that hadn’t been there this morning, and a candle that looked suspiciously new sitting between them.

The whole place smelled like a real home instead of the functional space I’d been inhabiting.

“Perfect timing.” Audra turned from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. Her smile was bright, but something flickered underneath it, immediately drawing my attention. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“What’s all this?” I moved deeper into the room, noticing the changes. She’d cleaned—really cleaned. The windows sparkled. The counters gleamed. Even the ancient coffeemaker looked like it had been resurrected from the dead.

“I made dinner.” She turned back to the stove, stirring something in a pan. “Rib eye steaks, baked potatoes, green beans. Hope you’re hungry.”

I was, but that wasn’t the point. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” Her shoulders tensed slightly as she plated the steaks. “It’s your birthday.”

The words landed like a punch. I hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t mentioned it. Hell, I’d been trying to forget it myself—thirty-four years old and what did I have to show for it besides dead friends and nightmares?

“How did you?—”

“Coop.” She carried both plates to the table, movements precise and careful. “I ran into him at the grocery store. He mentioned it.”

There was something off about the way she said it. A tightness around her eyes, a forced casualness that didn’t fit. She set the plates down and gestured for me to sit, but I stayed standing, watching her.

“Coop needs to mind his own business.”

“He was just being nice.” She moved to pull something from the oven—rolls, golden and steaming. “We chatted for a minute while he was stocking up on protein.”

That flutter again, like she was editing as she spoke. My instincts, honed by years of reading hostile situations, started firing. Something had happened at the grocery store. Something she didn’t want to talk about.

“Everything okay?” I kept my voice neutral, moving to wash my hands at the sink.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Too bright. Too quick. “It’s your birthday.”

I dried my hands slowly, studying her reflection in the window above the sink. She was arranging the rolls in a basket, but her hands shook slightly. Just a tremor, barely visible, but there.

“Audra.”

She stilled and glanced out the window. “The steak’s getting cold.”

I turned, leaning against the counter. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” She met my eyes, and the smile she gave me was beautiful and completely false. “Can’t a woman make a birthday dinner for someone who’s been kind to her without it being a thing?”

Kind. That word sat wrong between us. Kind was what you called strangers who held doors or helped with groceries. Not whatever this was between us.

But I let it go. For now.

“Smells amazing.” I pulled out her chair first, old habits from a mother who’d insisted on manners even when we barely had food on the table.

She sat, that false smile wavering for just a moment before reforming. “Todd taught me this recipe. Said steak was foolproof for impressing people.”

We ate in relative quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds our silverware against plates and Jet’s hopeful whines from where he’d stationed himself between our chairs.

The food was perfect—the steak exactly how I liked it, the potato loaded with butter and sour cream, the green beans crisp with just enough garlic.

But Audra barely touched hers. She cut tiny pieces, moved them around her plate, took small bites that she chewed forever. Classic anxiety behavior. I’d seen it in enough soldiers before missions that went sideways.

“Todd was right. It’s really good,” I said, trying to ease whatever was eating at her.

“Thanks.” She pushed a green bean across her plate and looked out the window again. “I’m glad you like it.”

Jet shifted, pressing against her leg. Dogs knew things. Sensed changes in energy, in emotion. Right now, he was practically vibrating with the need to comfort her.

“You sure everything’s okay?” I tried again. “You seem…”

“I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than she probably intended. She softened them with another smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Lies. All of it lies. But pushing would only make her retreat further, so I focused on my food and tried to ignore the alarm bells going off in my head.

She stood abruptly when we finished, gathering plates before I could help. “There’s cake.”

“Cake?”

“You know, birthday. Chocolate. Three layers.” She carried our plates to the sink, movements almost frantic. “Coop said you had a sweet tooth.”

“Coop says a lot of things. But in this case, he’s right. I do love cake.”

She pulled the cake from the counter where it had been hidden behind the coffeemaker. It was beautiful—dark chocolate, perfectly frosted, looking like something from a bakery window rather than the barely functional kitchen.

“You made this?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

“Don’t sound so shocked.” For the first time tonight, her smile seemed genuine. “I used to bake all the time. For Todd, for neighbors, for colleagues. Birthdays, holidays, or just because someone looked like they needed cake.”

She cut generous slices, and I had to admit, it was perfect. Rich, moist, with just enough frosting. The kind of cake that made you remember birthdays when they still meant something good.

“This is incredible.” I meant it.

“Good.” She picked at her own slice, breaking off tiny pieces but not really eating. “You deserve something good on your birthday.”

That word again— deserve . Still something I was trying to work through.

“Thank you,” I said, because what else was there? “For all of this. You didn’t have to?—”

“I wanted to.” She pushed her slice around the plate with her fork, then set it down carefully. “You’ve been so good to me. To Jet. This was the least I could do.”

The words hung between us, heavy with something I couldn’t name. She stood slowly, started gathering the dessert plates even though we weren’t finished.

“You don’t have to clean up now,” I said. “Sit. Finish your cake.”

“I’m not really hungry.” She carried the plates to the sink, movements getting faster, more agitated. “Actually, I’m not feeling great. I think I should probably head back to the cabin.”

“What? Why?” I was on my feet too, instinct kicking in. “Stay. Have some more cake. We could?—”

“I’m not feeling well.” She wouldn’t look at me, already moving toward the door. “Just…probably coming down with something.”

Jet whined, following her, pressing against her legs as if he could keep her here through sheer will.

“Audra, talk to me.” I moved to block her path to the door, not aggressively, just enough to make her stop. “Whatever happened today?—”

“Nothing happened.” Her voice cracked on the lie as she looked out the window again like she might jump through it. “I just need to go back to the cabin. Get some rest.”

She was shaking now, fine tremors running through her whole body. Jet pressed harder against her, his whine escalating to something close to a keen.

“Okay, that’s okay,” I said slowly. “Let me drive you. Or we can walk. Enjoy the evening air.”

“No.” The word came out fierce, desperate. “I’m fine. I just need… I need to be alone right now.”

Every instinct I had screamed to stop her. To demand answers. To fix whatever was broken. But I knew I couldn’t push her to share what was troubling her; that would only make the situation worse.

“Okay.” I stepped aside, though it killed me to do it. “But if you need anything?—”

“I’ll let you know.” She managed another smile, this one so fragile it looked like it might shatter. “Happy birthday, Beckett. I hope all your birthdays are wonderful.”

She reached up and kissed me softly. Tenderly.

Then she was gone, Jet slipping out the door with her. The door closed with a soft click that felt too final.

I moved to the window, watching her walk toward her car with Jet pressed against her leg. Her movements were too quick, too rigid.

The candle on the table still flickered, casting shadows across the remains of dinner. She’d been so wound up all evening, barely touching her food, hands trembling as she’d served the cake. Even Jet had been whining, pressing against her like he could absorb whatever was frightening her.

And that weird tension when she’d mentioned seeing Coop at the grocery store—something had happened there. I’d ask him about it tomorrow.

I blew out the candle and put the leftover cake in the refrigerator. The dishes could wait.

Standing at the window again, I watched the soft light from her cabin, barely visible from across the property. My gut screamed for me to go to her, get her to tell me what happened so I could help. But I forced myself to stay. She needed space tonight, even if I hated giving it to her.

“Happy birthday to me,” I muttered, settling onto the couch that felt too empty without Audra curled up beside me.

The cabin light stayed on late into the night. I knew because I couldn’t stop checking, that crawling sense of wrongness keeping me awake long after I should have been asleep.

Something was definitely wrong. I just didn’t know what.