Page 3 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Beckett Sinclair

Ryan Cooper’s fist caught me square in the ribs, driving the air from my lungs in a grunt that echoed off the gym walls. It hurt like a bitch, but it was a good hurt.

“That all you got?” I wheezed, bouncing on the balls of my feet, hands up. My shirt clung to my back, heavy with sweat that smelled like fear residue and exhaustion.

“Brother, you’re the one who looks like death warmed over.” Coop circled me, all loose limbs and easy grace despite the sweat darkening his T-shirt. “When’s the last time you slept? And I mean really slept, not that zombie impression you’ve been doing.”

I answered with a jab-cross combination that would have dropped most men.

Coop slipped it like water, his counter-hook glancing off my shoulder.

We’d been at this for forty minutes, trading punishment in the makeshift gym attached to Warrior Security’s main building.

The space wasn’t much—concrete floors sticky with sweat, fluorescent lights that hummed like a mad beehive, a heavy bag patched with duct tape where someone had split the leather.

“Sleep’s overrated.” I pressed forward, working his body, each impact jarring up my arms into shoulders already tight with yesterday’s tension.

“So’s dying young from a heart attack.” He caught my wrist, using my momentum to spin me into a clinch. His breath came hot against my ear. “The dreams again?”

Dreams was too gentle for what visited me at night. Dreams didn’t leave you tasting copper and cordite. Dreams didn’t make you check your hands for blood that had washed off years ago.

I broke free with an elbow that missed his temple by design, not accident. “Drop it.”

“Can’t drop what I’m not holding. But you sure as hell are.

” Coop backed off, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Just saying, there’re people you can talk to.

Hell, we’re sitting smack-dab in the middle of the Resting Warrior Ranch, which, in case you haven’t heard, has made a name for itself helping people with PTSD?—”

“I said, drop it.” We all knew what Resting Warrior Ranch stood for. We were here because we believed in that mission—so the RWR team could focus on it, and Warrior Security could handle the dirty work.

The edge in my voice killed Coop’s grin.

He knew better than to push when I hit that tone.

We’d served together—first in the military and for the past year here at Warrior Security—long enough for him to recognize the walls going up, reinforced concrete between me and anything resembling emotional vulnerability.

“All right, all right.” He grabbed his water bottle, taking a long pull. A drop escaped, trailing down his throat. “Changing subjects. You ready for your babysitting gig?”

I unwrapped my hands, the tape coming away stained with pink where my knuckles had split. Again. The sting felt clean, honest. “Hanging out at Pawsitive Connections while Lark’s at her conference? Hell yeah.”

“Exactly. You, alone on a farm with a bunch of animals for a couple weeks. Sounds like heaven for an antisocial bastard like you.”

“Better company than most humans.” I shrugged.

“Ouch.” Coop clutched his chest in fake hurt. “And here I thought we had something special.”

I grabbed my towel, rough terry cloth scratching against two days of stubble. The movement pulled at old scar tissue along my ribs—shrapnel souvenir from my last deployment. The one that got Rodriguez killed, while I walked away with scratches and a lifetime of 0300 wake-ups.

“You heading over there now?” Coop asked, back to serious. He could read my moods better than most, knew when to joke and when to let things lie.

“Yeah. Want to check the security setup before Lark leaves. Make sure everything’s tight.”

“Good thing there’s nothing to steal but dog food and rabbit pellets.” He paused, studying me with those too-sharp eyes that had kept us both alive in places where looking away meant dying. “Beck, you know if you need?—”

“I’m good.” I didn’t let him get any further. I already knew what he was going to say. His offer of help I didn’t deserve and couldn’t accept.

I grabbed my gear bag and headed for the door. Behind me, Coop called out, “Give my best to the dogs. Tell them Uncle Coop will bring treats since mean ol’ Beckett is so stingy.”

“They don’t need more treats,” I shot back. “Rosie’s already on a diet.”

“That’s cold, man. Depriving a lab of snacks.”

I let the door swing shut on his laughter, cutting off whatever else he might have said. The Montana morning hit like a slap—thin mountain air that burned my lungs clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow. My truck waited where I’d left it, primer-gray and ugly as sin but reliable.

The drive to Pawsitive Connections took twelve minutes. I knew because I’d timed it, memorized every turn, every blind curve where someone could set an ambush. Every hill that could hide an IED. Old habits that civilian life hadn’t managed to kill.

The place spread out before me like something from a kid’s book—white buildings with green trim, split-rail fences drawing property lines, pastures rolling toward mountains that scraped the belly of the sky.

Morning sun turned everything gold and soft, the kind of light photographers called magic hour.

I parked near the main building, gravel crunching under tires that needed rotating.

Through the windshield, I noticed movement.

Two figures near the barn. Lark’s red hair caught fire in the morning light.

The other woman—stranger, potential threat, unknown variable—stood with her weight shifted back, spine too straight, arms crossed like armor.

Interesting. Also, stressful.

I climbed out, boots hitting packed dirt still damp with dew.

A few dogs in the nearest enclosure started up—happy barks, tails windmilling.

Duke, the failed police shepherd. Rosie, the lab mix who washed out of guide dog training for being too friendly and lived for Cooper’s—or anybody else’s—treats.

They knew my scent, my walk, the jingle of the leash clips in my pocket.

“Beckett!” Lark waved me over, her smile bright enough to power half of Garnet Bend. “Perfect timing. Come meet Audra.”

The stranger turned, and I got my first real look at her. Five-six, maybe five-seven. Hundred and ten pounds if she was lucky, and luck didn’t seem to be her strong suit. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut, collarbones standing out like accusations above her worn T-shirt.

The kind of thin that came from choosing between gas and food—and picking gas.

But it was her eyes that made my gut tighten.

Hazel, shot through with gold, and ancient in a way that had nothing to do with age.

She swept the area behind me in a pattern I recognized—checking corners, seeking exits, measuring distances.

The look of someone who’d learned that danger came from unexpected angles.

“Audra, this is Beckett Sinclair. He helps with security dog training.” Lark’s voice carried that forced-casual tone she used when trying to smooth rough edges. “Beckett, Audra’s going to be helping out while I’m gone. Feeding, cleaning, the basics.”

“Beckett Sinclair?” The woman— Audra —did something with her face. A microexpression that flickered and died. Her pupils dilated for half a second. Her weight shifted another inch backward. The pulse in her throat jumped like a rabbit spotting a hawk.

Every instinct I had started screaming. She knew my name. But why?

“Yeah.” I kept my voice flat, watching her like I’d watch an IED that might or might not be armed. “That a problem?”

“No, I—” She swallowed, throat working. Her fingers found the strap of her backpack, knuckles going white. “No problem.”

Liar . Whatever game she was playing, whatever trouble followed her to Garnet Bend, I wanted no part of it. I’d seen what happened when you got tangled up in other people’s disasters.

“Audra’s from Seattle,” Lark offered, clearly sensing the tension crackling between us like downed power lines. “Had some car problems yesterday but made it here and was open to doing a little work.”

“I see.” Distrust fairly dripped from my words. “How long do you expect to be in Garnet Bend?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, barely making eye contact. “I—I’m not sure.”

“Understandable. This town’s not for everyone. Montana isn’t for everyone.” I knew I was being rude, but something about this woman was setting off every internal alarm I had.

Secrets . Top to bottom, she was full of secrets. In my line of security work, secrets almost always meant trouble.

“Beckett’s going to be staying on property for the next couple weeks,” Lark said to Audra, her tone aggressively cheerful now. “While I’m at the conference. So you’ll be working together.”

Audra’s knuckles went from white to bone. The pulse in her throat hammered harder. Working together. Right. The last thing I needed was some runaway with secrets interfering with my nice, quiet two weeks of dog-sitting.

“I should check the kennels,” I said, already turning away. “Make sure everything’s in order.”

“Beckett—” Lark started.

“It’s fine.” Audra’s voice came out steady, but I caught the tremor underneath. Like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap. “I should get to work anyway. Those water bowls won’t fill themselves.”

She fled toward the barn, movements quick but controlled. Not running exactly, but not walking either. The gait of someone who’d learned to evacuate without drawing attention.

“That was rude,” Lark said once Audra disappeared into the barn’s shadow. “Even for antisocial you.”

“She’s lying about something.”

“Everyone lies about something.” Lark’s voice carried gentle reproach, the tone she used on skittish rescue dogs. “Doesn’t mean they’re bad people. Sometimes it means they’re scared.”

“Scared people do dangerous things.”

“Speaking from experience?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because Rodriguez’s voice was back in my head, calling out grid coordinates over the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic fire.

Because my K-9 partner Rex had alerted, hackles up, and I’d missed it, too focused on the wrong sector.

Because scared people did make desperate choices, and I was living proof of how those choices destroyed lives.

“She needs this job,” Lark said quietly. “And I need the help. Can you please just?—”

“I’ll stay out of her way. She stays out of mine. Easy.”

Lark sighed, the sound carrying years of dealing with broken veterans and their sharp edges. “You know, one of these days you’re going to have to stop punishing yourself for whatever happened over there.”

“Maybe.” But not today.

“Fine, but be nice to her, okay? I’m paying her cash, and we both can tell she’s had some shit luck. I wouldn’t be surprised if she bails fast, but as long as she shows up, let her work.”

“When did you meet her?”

“Yesterday. She walked in after running out of gas. To be honest, I was surprised when she showed back up this morning. But I’m glad she did—although more for her sake than ours.”

“I won’t give her any problems as long as she’s doing what you told her to do.”

“Thanks, Beck.”

“Let me get to this, and we’ll touch base more before you leave.”

I headed for the kennels with a nod, leaving Lark standing in puddles of golden light.

The dogs greeted me with enthusiasm that didn’t ask questions or demand emotional availability.

Duke shoved his massive head through the chain link, demanding ear scratches.

Rosie wiggled so hard she nearly levitated.

Through the window, I tracked movement. Audra emerged from the barn carrying water buckets, one in each hand. The weight pulled her shoulders down, but she didn’t stop to rest. Just kept moving, efficient loops from spigot to kennels to spigot again.

She moved like prey—quick, purposeful, constantly scanning. Every few steps, she’d check behind her. Not a full turn, just a slight angle of her head, peripheral vision sweep. Someone had taught her that, or she’d learned it the hard way.

Whatever had driven her to Garnet Bend, whatever made her react to my name like a slap, it was still hunting her. The way she carried herself, the way she had gripped that backpack like a lifeline—this wasn’t someone taking a break from city life. This was someone running.

Not my problem. Not my responsibility. I had enough ghosts without borrowing someone else’s nightmare.

Duke whined, sensing my tension. I forced my shoulders down, made my breathing even out. Control. Discipline. The same skills that had kept me alive in combat would keep me distant from whatever tragedy Audra carried with her.

Lark would only be gone for two weeks. I just had to get through two weeks without getting involved. Without caring. Without taking on another mission I couldn’t complete.

Chances were Audra wouldn’t show up that long anyway.

Through the window, she stopped to push her brown hair back from her face. The gesture exposed the line of her neck, and for just a moment, I saw her shoulders shake. Just once. A shudder that could have been exhaustion or could have been something worse.

Then she straightened, lifted the buckets, and kept moving.

“Simple mission,” I told Duke. “Stay out of her way. Let her do her job. Don’t get involved.”

Duke’s expression suggested he didn’t buy it any more than I did.