Page 37 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

The next hours blurred together. Face after face on the screen, people going about their normal lives, shopping for groceries while I’d been shopping for steaks to celebrate Beckett’s birthday.

An elderly woman with her walker. A mother with three kids hanging off her cart.

Construction workers on their lunch break. Most were strangers.

None were him.

Or maybe all of them were. How could I know?

He’d been a shadow for so long, a voice in the dark, hands that grabbed and hurt and disappeared.

I’d never gotten a clear look at his face.

Even that night in the alley, when he’d pressed the knife to my neck, it had been too dark, everything happening too fast.

I didn’t really recognize anyone. The longer I looked, the more the faces began to blur together.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, rubbing my exhausted eyes. “I haven’t seen anyone who looks familiar.”

“It was a long shot,” Lachlan said kindly. “But worth trying. Sometimes victims recognize something subconsciously—a way of walking, how someone holds their shoulders.”

He closed the video files and pushed back from the computer. “I’ll keep copies of everything, run them through some facial recognition software we have access to. Might get lucky.” He rose from his chair.

“Thanks for coming in,” he added, stretching. “I know this wasn’t easy.”

Beckett helped me to my feet—my legs had gone stiff from sitting so long, and the fluorescent lights had given me the beginning of a headache. We were gathering our things, Lachlan walking us toward the door, when Beckett’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly. “It’s Travis. He never calls unless—” He looked at me, then at Lachlan. “Mind if I take this?”

“Go ahead,” Lachlan said. “I’ll give you a few. Come find me before you head out.”

Beckett nodded. “Thanks, Lach.”

Lachlan left and Beckett answered, putting the call on speaker. “Yeah, Travis?”

“I may have found something.” Travis’s voice was tight with excitement, words coming fast. “Several somethings, actually. But you need to see it on a proper screen, not a phone. The resolution matters for what I’m showing you.”

“We can use Lark’s computer once we get back to Pawsitive.”

“Just come here on your way home. It’ll be easier if I can show you. But you know, Audra…”

There was a pause, heavy with implication. Beckett looked at me, something uncertain in his eyes.

“That’s fine,” Beckett said slowly. “We can come to your place. Audra will understand.”

“As long as she gets it.” Travis’s voice was careful.

“She will. We’ll be there in forty.” They disconnected the call.

I shook my head. “I’m missing something.”

“Travis doesn’t leave his house unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Beckett explained to me, his voice gentle.

“He’s… He prefers it that way. Reclusive.

He doesn’t mind the Warrior Security team being there, but others, he generally doesn’t invite in.

People have judged him for being a freak before. ”

I nodded, understanding more than he probably realized. Sometimes the world was too much. Sometimes walls were the only things that felt safe. Sometimes the outside world held too many threats, too many variables you couldn’t control.

“I won’t judge.”

We found Lachlan and said goodbye. He walked us out, promising to keep looking into things on his end. “I’m going to reach out to some contacts in Seattle PD,” he said. “See if they have any similar cases, any patterns we’re not seeing. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

The afternoon sun had shifted while we’d been inside, casting long shadows across the parking lot.

The cool air was a relief after hours in that small room with its recycled air and electronic hum.

I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head as we climbed into Beckett’s old truck.

The vehicle had seen better days—rust spots on the wheel wells, a crack in the windshield that had been there so long it was practically a feature.

But it ran, and right now, that was all that mattered.

“You okay?” Beckett asked as he started the engine.

“Yeah.” I wished desperately that Jet were here, that I could bury my fingers in his fur for comfort. But he was safe at Pawsitive, and that was what mattered. “Just tired.”

“Travis is…different,” Beckett said as we pulled out of the parking lot. “But he’s brilliant. If anyone can find something in the digital trail, it’s him. He used to work for some government agency, though he never talks about it. Whatever happened there, it’s why he doesn’t leave his house now.”

The road to Travis’s house led out of town and into the hills, winding through pine forest. Beckett handled the truck with easy familiarity, taking the curves smooth and steady.

The old vehicle protested on the steeper grades, engine whining, but Beckett knew exactly when to downshift, when to ease off the accelerator.

We were almost to Travis’s place, heading down a steep grade, when Beckett frowned. His foot moved on the brake pedal.

Nothing happened.

“What—” He pumped the brake again, harder this time. Still nothing. The pedal went all the way to the floor with no resistance. “Fuck.”

“Beckett?” The word ripped from my throat as the speedometer climbed past thirty, thirty-five, forty. The truck picked up speed like a boulder rolling downhill, unstoppable.

“Brakes are out.” His knuckles went white on the steering wheel, arms rigid while he fought to control the truck as we picked up speed. “Hold on.”

The truck careened down the hill, engine screaming as Beckett downshifted, trying to slow us with compression. The transmission protested with a grinding sound that made my teeth ache. Trees blurred past the windows. My fingers dug into the door handle, knuckles white.

“There’s a bridge at the bottom,” Beckett said through gritted teeth. “If I can just?—”

We hit the base of the hill doing forty, maybe fifty.

The truck shuddered and swayed. Beckett fought the wheel, muscles straining, managing to keep us on the road as we approached the bridge.

For a second, I thought we might make it.

The bridge was straight, if we could just maintain control across it?—

Then the impact came from behind.

The collision slammed us forward, my head snapping back against the seat with enough force to see stars. Metal screamed, a sound that would haunt my dreams. The truck lurched sideways, tires shrieking against asphalt as Beckett fought for control.

Another impact. Harder. Deliberate.

This wasn’t an accident. Someone had rammed us. Someone had cut our brakes and waited.

The truck tipped, tilted, and then we were airborne. Beckett let out a stream of curses and I screamed. Time stretched like taffy as I saw the bridge railing splinter into pieces, saw the water rushing up to meet us, dark and fast and cold.

We hit the water with a crash that drove all the air from my lungs.