Page 4 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

Audra

I pressed my back against the barn wall, waiting for my heart to stop trying to escape through my ribs. Beckett Sinclair. The Beckett Sinclair whom Todd had talked about. My brother’s voice echoed in memory, warm with the kind of respect he rarely gave anyone.

“Beck’s good people, Aud. Saved my ass more than once overseas. Kind of guy you want watching your six.”

The same man who’d just looked at me like I was something he’d scrape off his boot.

Gruff didn’t even begin to cover it. Borderline hostile was more accurate. Those storm-gray eyes had categorized me in seconds and found me wanting. Threat assessment complete: untrustworthy female, probably trouble, definitely unwelcome.

I’d been expecting—what? Some version of the hero from Todd’s stories? Someone who might offer the kind of steady protection my brother had described?

Instead, I’d gotten walls. Ice. A man who wanted me gone yesterday.

Which was fine. Perfect, actually. Better that Beckett wanted nothing to do with me. Safer for everyone if I just kept my head down, made as much money as I could each day, and figured out my next move.

Todd was right about one thing, though; in another life—my old life—I would’ve absolutely been attracted to Beckett Sinclair.

He was definitely handsome. Not the polished kind of handsome, but the weathered kind—shaped by grit and years that took more than they gave.

Six-two, built solid from work more than some fancy gym.

The scar slicing his eyebrow spoke of close calls, the sort you didn’t walk away from unchanged.

But it was his eyes that caught me. Watchful.

Guarded. Carrying a pain that felt familiar, like we’d both learned the same hard lesson about loss.

His calm control was something I craved like water in the desert. That ability to stand still without constantly checking shadows, measuring distances to exits, calculating how many seconds it would take to reach my car.

What would it feel like to move through the world with that kind of certainty? To know you could handle whatever came at you?

But he obviously wanted me out of his town as soon as possible. Message received, loud and clear.

He didn’t know my last name. Lark had only introduced me as “Audra.” Good.

Better to keep it that way. If Beckett knew I was Todd’s sister, it would only lead to questions I couldn’t answer, sympathy I couldn’t accept, or worse—some misguided sense of obligation that would put him in danger.

I just needed to make as much money as I could and then take off before my past caught up and destroyed this place too.

“Ready for the full tour?” Lark appeared in the barn doorway, her smile a little forced around the edges. She’d noticed the tension between Beckett and me. Hard not to when it had practically drawn sparks.

“Yes, please.”

“Don’t mind Beckett,” she said as we walked. “He’s not big on new people. Takes a while to warm up. Though warm might be overstating it. More like he goes from arctic to just regular cold.”

I managed something that might have passed for a laugh. “It’s fine. I’m just here to work.”

Lark led me through the property, her chatter filling spaces that might have demanded responses.

Pawsitive Connections was bigger than I’d realized yesterday, when exhaustion had narrowed my focus to just the basics.

Multiple barns spread across acreage that rolled toward the mountains.

Fenced pastures where horses grazed, their breath steaming in the morning air. A training ring with agility equipment.

“We handle all kinds of animals,” Lark explained, guiding me past a pen where goats investigated our presence with rectangular pupils that always made me think of demons.

“Started with dogs—service animals, emotional support, some security training. That’s Beckett’s specialty, actually.

He’s brilliant with the security dogs, even if they can’t all make the cut. ”

We paused at another enclosure where a llama regarded us with magnificent disdain.

“That’s Fernando. He thinks he’s royalty. Probably is, honestly. We use him for therapy sessions sometimes. Amazing how many people find llamas soothing.”

“Therapy?”

“Oh yes. We work with veterans mostly, but also trauma survivors, kids with disabilities. Animals don’t judge. Don’t ask questions. Sometimes that’s exactly what people need.”

My throat tightened. No questions. No judgment. Just existence without examination. “That sounds perfect.”

“It can be. We also rehabilitate animals for rehoming. Some come from bad situations, need to learn to trust again. Others just need basic training so they can find families.” She gestured toward a smaller building.

“That’s the cat house. Yes, we call it that on purpose.

Currently have twelve residents, ranging from barn cats to a Persian who only drinks filtered water. ”

The tour continued—the rabbit hutches, a chicken coop, something Lark called the “small and random” building that housed ferrets, guinea pigs, and a particularly vindictive parrot named Clarence, who apparently knew seventeen different curse words.

“The property extends back to that tree line.” Lark pointed toward the distant edge where forest took over from pasture. “About forty acres total. There’s an old equipment shed back there in the corner, but we don’t use it. Keep meaning to tear it down but never get around to it.”

My pulse quickened. A shed. Deserted. On the corner of the property where no one went.

“Now, let’s talk about your duties.” Lark led me back toward the main barn.

“Pretty straightforward. Feeding schedules are posted in each building. Dogs eat twice a day, cats are free-fed but need fresh water constantly. Horses get hay morning and evening, grain once a day. Cleaning is ongoing—kennels, litter boxes, stalls. I’ll show you where all the supplies are. ”

She demonstrated the food storage system, the proportions for different-sized animals, where to find cleaning supplies.

My hands moved automatically, muscle memory from a life that felt like someone else’s.

A life where I’d had normal jobs with normal responsibilities that didn’t include checking every corner for shadows that shouldn’t be there.

“Think you can handle it?”

“Yes.” The word came out more forcefully than I’d expected. “I mean, it’s straightforward. I can definitely handle it.”

“Good.” Lark smiled. She did that a lot, even though it sometimes didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll work alongside you today, make sure you’ve got everything down before I leave for my conference tomorrow.”

We started with the morning feeding. I measured kibble while Lark told me about each dog in their crate.

This one was training for seizure detection.

That one had washed out of guide dog school for being too distractible but would make someone a perfect companion.

The German shepherd mix in the last kennel was supposed to be learning protection work but?—

“Just doesn’t have the temperament for it,” Lark sighed. “Beautiful dog, smart as anything, but too gentle. Beckett’s been working with him, but some dogs just aren’t meant for security work. We’ll see.”

The shepherd watched me with intelligent brown eyes, tail wagging in slow, hopeful sweeps.

“What’s his name?”

“Jet. Like the gemstone, not the plane. He’s all black except for this one white spot on his chest. We’re not sure what we’re going to do with him. Sweet boy, just not cut out for what he was supposed to do.”

I understood that feeling.

After feeding came cleaning. Physical work that demanded nothing but presence. Scoop, spray, replace bedding. Move to the next kennel. Repeat. My body appreciated this kind of tired—earned exhaustion instead of the overwhelming depletion that came from constant vigilance.

“You really are a natural with them,” Lark observed as we worked. “They can tell you’re safe.”

Safe . If she only knew the danger that followed me like smoke. But I kept my mouth shut, focused on the work.

As the morning wore on, I caught myself glancing toward the corner of the property and the deserted shed Lark had mentioned.

From here, I could just make out its outline through the trees.

Far enough from the main buildings that no one would notice activity there.

Close enough to the outdoor bathroom and shower facilities near the barn that I could maintain basic hygiene.

It might work. God, it might actually work.

Between the shed and the fact that Lark paid cash, I could stay here. Be relatively safe while saving money and figuring out my next move. No hotels eating up my meager funds. No sleeping in my car where anyone could see me, where a tap on the window could mean the end of everything.

The thought of having walls around me, even shed walls, made something in my chest loosen for the first time in weeks.

“I’m going to grab some paperwork from the house,” Lark said. “Can you start on the horse stalls? Let me show you that really quick.”

“Sure.”

She showed me the routine—mucking out, laying fresh straw, checking water. Honest work that left no room for thinking about brothers who’d never answer their phones again or monsters who whispered promises in the dark.

When Lark disappeared around the corner, I walked toward the property’s edge. Just to look. Just to see.

The shed sat maybe three hundred yards from the main barn, tucked against the tree line like it was hiding too. Weathered wood gone gray with age, roof that probably leaked, door hanging slightly crooked. But standing. Private. Almost invisible from the main areas.

My feet carried me closer before I could think better of it.

The door protested when I pulled it open, hinges screaming rust and neglect. Inside, dust motes danced in streams of light that snuck through gaps in the walls. Concrete floor cracked but dry. Empty except for some ancient equipment—a broken wheelbarrow, coils of wire, crates.