Chapter 20
Hunter
The road into the trailer park was more cratered than paved, each pothole rattling my truck’s suspension. Rusted-out cars sat abandoned in dirt patches that barely passed for front yards, weeds creeping through broken windows, paint peeling in long, curling strips from the sides of the single-wide trailers. I’d seen worse places, but not by much.
This definitely wasn’t where a millionaire ex-scientist should be living.
Jada shifted in the seat beside me, adjusting the blanket she’d wrapped around the kittens. They were nestled in her lap, tiny bodies rising and falling with each soft breath. She stroked a finger along Sir Pounce’s head, her voice a hushed murmur. I couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t matter. The gentleness in her tone was enough.
She needed them right now. Needed something soft and sweet to hold on to. She’d hardly slept at all last night.
As I pulled the truck into a spot outside Beckett’s trailer, my body went tight, instincts kicking to life in a way I couldn’t shut off. I felt like we were being watched. My muscles coiled, breath slowing, senses sharpening. The familiar itch between my shoulder blades set in, that deep, animal awareness of eyes being on me.
I knew better. Logically, no one would know we were here. Jace hadn’t found a single trace of surveillance on Beckett—no red flags, no alerts that we’d be showing up. Just an ex-scientist who’d disappeared from the world, living in a dump like this instead of the mansion his bank account could have afforded.
Nobody was watching us. Still, my PTSD didn’t care about logic.
I scanned the row of trailers, my gaze skipping over broken porch steps, sagging roofs, trash bags stacked against chain-link fences. A small, boxy TV flickered inside one of the units, the dim glow making the dirt-smeared window look like a fish tank. Nobody was visible, but I still didn’t relax.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension down. We weren’t here to fight. We were here for answers. I needed to get myself under control.
Jada unbuckled her seat belt, carefully putting the kittens back in their box. “This is where he lives?”
I glanced at the faded numbers nailed to the side of the trailer. “Yeah.”
We got out and walked toward Beckett’s trailer. The rickety wooden steps groaned beneath my weight as I reached the front door. A battered screen hung half off its hinges, and the door behind it was a sickly shade of yellow, grime caked around the handle. I knocked twice, firm but not aggressive, keeping Jada a step behind me.
Movement rustled inside. A shuffle of feet. The door cracked open a few inches, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of a bloodshot eye and a mess of greasy hair.
Then the smell hit. Jesus .
The door swung open fully, and I locked eyes with Dr. Anthony Beckett—what was left of him anyway. He was tall but gaunt, his shirt hanging off his frame like it belonged to someone bigger. His face was unshaven, his jaw hollowed out, cheeks sunken. But what stood out the most was the way his hands trembled at his sides, a constant, uneven twitching that told me he was either strung out or sick. Maybe both.
This was going to be a challenge.
I shifted to put myself more fully between Jada and Beckett in case there was trouble. He squinted, staring at her, his forehead wrinkling in concentration.
“Do I know you?” His voice was raw, like he hadn’t used it much lately.
Jada hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
He stared at her harder, the shakes in his fingers growing worse. For a second, I thought he might actually recognize her. But then he blinked, muttering under his breath, something about how memory was a fickle thing.
I cut in. “We’re here about the memory-loss drug.”
That got his attention. His head jerked up, his unfocused eyes sharpening for the first time since he’d opened the door. For a second, I thought he’d slam it in our faces, but instead, he let out a rough, humorless laugh.
“Of course you are.” He stepped back, waving a shaky hand. “Come in.”
Every instinct screamed at me to keep Jada outside, but I knew we weren’t getting any answers that way. So I stepped through the doorway first, scanning the inside quickly before letting Jada follow.
The air inside was just as bad as Beckett’s appearance—stale sweat, old booze, something sour clinging to the walls. Papers and empty bottles littered the counters, and the blinds were drawn tight, shutting out what little daylight the trailer’s cracked windows would have allowed in.
Inside, Beckett moved like a man who had too much energy and no real direction for it. He paced, his steps uneven, one hand raking through his hair over and over. Every few seconds, he’d pause as if he’d just remembered something urgent, only to shake his head and keep moving.
Jada stayed close, her fingers brushing against my back. She wasn’t scared—I could tell from the steady way she watched Beckett—but she was cautious. That was smart on her part. I kept myself between them anyway.
Beckett’s fingers twitched, rubbing against his palm as he muttered, “You government?” His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and suspicious. “Because if you are, you can turn your asses right back around. I’m retired. Done. Finished. And I made damn sure I’m never going back to work.”
“We’re not government,” I said evenly.
He snorted, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe me. His pacing picked up, his bare feet moving soundlessly over the stained linoleum.
“We’re just here for information,” Jada added, her voice calm. “We need to know everything you can tell us about the memory-loss drug. Blank Space. ”
Beckett’s whole body went rigid at the name. His eyes locked on Jada like she’d just struck him.
“That’s what they’re calling it?” His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. Then his lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that fits. Perfect, really. That’s what it does, isn’t it? Leaves you with nothing but a blank goddamn space where your life used to be.” He let out a dry, humorless chuckle before his face twisted again, as if he’d just remembered something awful. “That’s what they wanted, you know. Something clean. Something irreversible.”
His pacing stopped abruptly, and he turned toward us, his hands shaking harder now.
“I’m not making more,” he said sharply. “Not now, not ever. I don’t care how much money they throw at me. I don’t care what threats they make. I won’t do it.” His voice rose with each word, his movements jerky, like he couldn’t quite control his own body.
They . Could be a company, could be the government. I wasn’t sure.
“We’re not asking you to make more,” I said, keeping my voice measured, steady. “We just need to know if there’s a way to reverse it. Some sort of antidote.”
Beckett’s breath hitched. His hands twitched like he was trying to shake something off. His gaze darted between me and Jada, suspicion creeping back in.
“You say that,” he muttered, his pacing growing more frantic. “They always say that. They want an antidote, then suddenly, they’re asking for another batch of the drug itself. A few vials. A test run. Just a small, controlled release.” His voice rose, thick with hysteria. “I know how this works! I know how they work!”
His hands shot to his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. He paced faster, jerking to a sudden stop before starting up again, like a wind-up toy with a broken mechanism.
I need to de-escalate this and fast. “Beckett?—”
“No!” His voice cracked as he pointed a shaking finger at me. “You can’t trick me! I’m not making more! I won’t go back there! I won’t! ” His breath heaved, his chest rising and falling too fast. He was spiraling.
This was going nowhere. I was seconds away from pulling Jada back, getting her the hell out of here, when she did something that had my heart seizing in my chest.
She stepped out from behind me.
“Jada,” I warned, my arm twitching to stop her. But she ignored me.
She closed the small gap between them and laid a gentle hand on Beckett’s forearm. “We’re not government. We’re not a company or organization,” she said softly, her voice low, steady. Calm. “We’re not here to force you to do anything. I promise.”
Beckett stiffened at the contact, his breathing still ragged, but he wasn’t shaking as much now. His wide, bloodshot eyes flicked to her face.
“I was given the memory-loss drug,” she said simply. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t remember my family, my life. I don’t even know what my own name means to me.” Her fingers curled slightly against his arm. “I just need to know what you know about the drug and its effects.”
Beckett went still. His gaze locked on her, the paranoia in his expression shifting into something else. Something raw. “You were given it?” His voice was a whisper now.
Jada nodded.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Then, after a long, heavy beat, he let out a shuddering breath. “So was I.”
The air in the room changed. I exchanged a look with Jada, my mind already piecing it together. “Did the government make you create the drug?”
Beckett’s fingers twitched. His jaw tensed, then loosened. He gave a short, jerky nod.
“They didn’t force me to create it,” he said, voice hollow. “I created it myself. It was supposed to be for trauma victims. Soldiers. Kids who had been through hell. A beta-blocker that could target specific memories. That’s what it was supposed to be. Then the government found out about it. Realized it could be used as a weapon if tweaked.”
My stomach turned to lead. “They forced you to do it.”
Beckett gave a broken laugh. “They don’t take no for an answer.”
I didn’t press him to explain. I didn’t need to. The man standing in front of us, his body worn thin, his mind cracked, was all the proof I needed.
Jada’s hand was still on his arm, her touch grounding him. He looked at her again, something like regret flickering across his face.
“I figured out they couldn’t continue to force me to make more if I couldn’t remember how,” he said. “So, I injected myself with the drug. And here I am.”