Page 5 of Beckett (Warrior Security #2)

But in the corner, miracle of miracles, a bare bulb hanging from a wire. I found the switch, held my breath, flipped it.

Dim yellow light flooded the space.

Electricity. Actual electricity.

I could have cried. Hell, maybe I did, just a little.

The shed was about twelve by twelve. Bigger than my car. Bigger than some of the motel rooms I’d stayed in. Push the old equipment to one side, lay out my sleeping bag, and I’d have a place. A real place.

More crates were stacked outside that I could use to block the door at night.

Make it harder for anyone to sneak up on me.

The gaps in the walls would let me see anyone approaching.

Multiple exit points if I needed them—the door, that loose board in the back wall, maybe even up through the roof if desperation demanded it.

For the first time in three months, I felt something that might have been hope.

“Finding everything okay?” Lark’s voice made me jump so hard I nearly went through the roof without needing an exit strategy.

“I—yes. Sorry. I was just—” My brain scrambled for an excuse that wouldn’t sound like I was casing the place for a break-in.

“Looking around? It’s fine.” She studied the shed with a critical eye. “Keep meaning to deal with this eyesore. But somehow there’s always something more pressing.”

“It seems pretty solid still.”

“I suppose. Though I wouldn’t want to be in here during a storm.” She turned back toward the barn. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the cats. Fair warning—they’re all divas.”

I followed her, already planning. I’d need to be careful. Leave every day in my car like I was going home to town, then circle back after dark. Park somewhere hidden and walk in. Make sure no one saw me coming or going. Clean up any evidence each morning.

Lark wouldn’t understand. She’d want to help, probably offer a couch or connect me with services. But those things left trails. Asked for information I couldn’t give. Required trust I couldn’t afford.

Lark would be gone for the next two weeks anyway. But Beckett would be here. I’d have to keep it secret from him too.

Although part of me—the stupid part that hadn’t learned its lesson about trusting people—wanted to tell him who I was.

Tell him about Todd. Watch his face change when he realized I was the sister his Army buddy had talked about.

Maybe hear a story about my brother that I didn’t know, some memory from their time overseas that would make Todd feel less gone.

But that was dangerous thinking. Connections were dangerous. Caring was dangerous.

Better to be nobody. Better to be invisible.

Still, as I watched Beckett work with the dogs that afternoon, I couldn’t help but notice things. The way his whole body changed around the animals—tension melting, movements flowing instead of sharp. The patience in his hands as he guided them through security drills.

This was the man Todd had described. This version. And I could see how my brother had liked him so much.

Beckett had four dogs in the training ring—a Belgian Malinois that moved like controlled lightning, a Rottweiler built like a tank with focus to match, a Dutch Shepherd who watched Beckett’s every micromovement, and Jet.

Poor Jet.

While the others executed perfect defensive positions, lunged at the padded arm on command, and held their ground with focused intensity, Jet kept missing cues.

When Beckett gave the attack command, Jet approached the training dummy with his tail wagging, more interested in making friends than taking down threats.

“Jet, focus.” Beckett’s voice stayed patient, controlled. Not mean, never that. But I could see the slight drop in Beckett’s shoulders, the way he rubbed the back of his neck. He knew what Lark had told me—some dogs just weren’t meant for security work.

While Beckett reset the other three dogs for another drill, Jet noticed me cleaning water bowls near the fence. His head tilted, those intelligent brown eyes studying me with curiosity instead of staying on his trainer. Then, decision made, he trotted over.

“Jet,” Beckett called, firm but not harsh. “Back in position.”

But Jet had already reached me, sitting just out of reach, tail sweeping the dirt in slow, hopeful arcs.

“Hey, boy.” I kept my voice soft, glancing at Beckett. “You’re supposed to be training.”

His tail wagged harder. When I didn’t immediately pet him, he scooted closer, until his nose brushed my hand, gentle as a question.

“I’m sorry,” I called to Beckett, wrapping my fingers lightly around Jet’s collar. “I’ll bring him back.”

I walked Jet back to the training area, feeling Beckett’s storm-gray eyes tracking our movement. The other three dogs remained in perfect position, waiting for their next command. Jet, meanwhile, kept trying to lean against my leg.

“He’s drawn to you,” Beckett said, his tone unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to distract him.”

“Wasn’t blaming you.” He took Jet’s collar from me, our fingers brushing for half a second. “Some dogs are built for protection work. Others…” He looked down at Jet, who was now trying to sniff my pocket for treats. “Others are built for something else.”

“He seems sweet.”

“Sweet doesn’t stop threats.” But there was no harshness in his words, just fact. Beckett moved his hand to scratch behind Jet’s ears, the gesture unconsciously gentle. “Go on, back to the kennel. We’re done for today.”

Jet hesitated, looking between Beckett and me, then surprised us both by walking back to sit beside me instead.

Beckett’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Looks like you’ve been chosen.”

“I don’t—I’m just here to clean.”

“Tell that to him.”

Jet settled beside me while I worked, a warm presence that asked for nothing but proximity. Every time I glanced up, Beckett was there with the other three dogs, putting them through their paces. Professional. Focused. Existing in his bubble of controlled calm.

Must be nice, having that kind of steadiness. That certainty in your own capability. No wonder Todd had admired him. When Beckett finished, he put all four dogs back in their crates. Jet seemed sad to leave me, but I knew that couldn’t be right.

By late afternoon, my body ached in ways that had nothing to do with fear. Good aches. Earned aches. As the sun was getting close to setting, Lark paid me. I had to force myself not to clutch the money like a lifeline.

“I leave for a couple weeks starting tomorrow. I’ll just pay you when I get back, if that’s okay? If for some reason you need to head out of town before then, let Beckett know and he’ll pay you, and I’ll pay him back.”

I grimaced. That was so reasonable, but it also meant I only had yesterday’s and today’s money to get me through the next two weeks. I forced myself to nod. “Yes. Of course.”

“Great. Try not to let him scare you off.” She said it lightly, but there was concern underneath.

“He won’t.” Survival was more important than worrying if one of my brother’s friends liked me or not.

I walked to my car then drove away like I was heading to town, watching mirrors until the Pawsitive property disappeared behind trees. Then I pulled off onto a logging road I’d passed that morning, partially hidden by overgrowth. Killed the engine. Waited.

An hour. Two. Until dusk painted everything purple and gray.

Then I grabbed my sleeping bag and backpack and made my way back through the woods. It took a while, but that was okay.

The shed was exactly as I’d left it. Dark. Empty. Waiting.

I blocked the door with crates, spread my sleeping bag in the corner where I could see all approaches. Changed into my warmest layers. Ate two precious spoonfuls of peanut butter and half a slice of bread.

Through the gaps in the walls, I could see lights from the main house. Beckett would be staying there starting tomorrow.

Did he ever think about Todd?

Did he know Todd had a sister who used to laugh at his terrible jokes and steal his fries and text him random memes just to make him smile during long shifts?

Did he know Todd was gone?

The darkness pressed in, familiar as breathing now. But for once, it felt less like being hunted and more like being hidden. I curled into my sleeping bag.

Tomorrow, I’d do it all again. Work. Hide. Survive.

But tonight, for the first time in months, I had walls around me and a plan that might actually work. And if I dreamed about steady hands and storm-gray eyes and the kind of calm I’d forgotten existed—well.

No one had to know that either.