Page 93 of Bennett

Motion Alert. Sensor 6. East Exterior. Temporary Interruption.

Frowning, Bennett tapped into the live feed. The camera image was steady now, nothing but the side alley and the edge of the fencing visible. He scrolled back a few minutes to the recorded feed.

There it was. A flicker.

Not long. A few seconds at most. A faint shimmer in the corner of the frame.

But what made his gut twist?

The time stamp.

It had gone off while he’d been on this couch with Laurel wrapped around him, his mouth on hers, his entire focus sunk deep in her and nowhere else.

He hadn’t even heard it.

“Something wrong?” Laurel asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away, just stared at the screen and scrolled again, trying to catch a shadow, a shape…any damn thing.

“Not sure,” he said, already reaching for his jeans. “I’m going to check it out.”

Laurel didn’t argue. Didn’t even flinch. She just stood and started pulling on clothes, calm as ever.

But even through her calm, he could feel it now.

That quiet they’d enjoyed? That silence?

It had never been peace.

It had been the inhale before something hit.

Aggravation stiffened his spine as he strode to the bathroom for a quick clean up and to get dressed. He was aggravated with himself for slacking on the most important job of his life.

And if whoever was behind the lull thought he wouldn’t notice?

They’d underestimated the hell out of the wrong man.

Bennett emerged from the bathroom dressed and on alert, boots laced, resolve set. Laurel met him at the apartment door, already dressed herself, eyes steady despite the flicker of worry in them.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he said. “Just a sweep to make sure nothing’s been tampered with.”

She nodded but didn’t step back. “Be careful.”

He touched her waist briefly, then the back of her neck. “Always.” Then he added, “Lock the door behind me.”

“I will.”

The lock clicked softly after he pulled the door shut behind him, the metal echoing a little too loudly in the hallway’s quiet.

The corridor was dim, the renovation crew long gone for the night. Every footstep echoed faintly off exposed drywall and scuffed concrete as he descended the stairs with deliberate silence, all senses wired for something—anything—out of place.

Outside, the humid evening air hit him like a damp towel. The faint scent of rain still clung to the asphalt, but the clouds had passed earlier without much more than a sprinkle. He paused at the back entrance, scanning the alley as his hand rested lightly on the sidearm holstered beneath his shirt.

Nothing moved. No breeze, no rustle.

He opened the camera app again, replaying the flicker Carter’s software had flagged. The motion detector had tripped for half a second. Just long enough to register. Just long enough to be a warning.

His jaw tightened.