Chapter 6
September 29th, 2024
Leighton Watts
E than Quinn had uploaded approximately a hundred new posts since I’d last checked about two months ago. He was definitely prolific on social. Then again, he was promoting his fitness center, so he had to be out there.
I sat up straight in the lounger when I saw one of the photos.
His wife was pregnant again.
It was a regular gym selfie, aside from the small fact that he was lifting his laughing wife in the picture, rather than weights. And the caption read, “I’m working out for two.”
I grinned instinctively, sucked into a world I didn’t know, and I scrolled to the next photo where their toddler son was making a mean face and holding a one-pound pastel-yellow dumbbell. “Excited to become a big brother,” it said. The photo was also a reminder that all active service members and veterans could sign up for free physical rehabilitation training, something I’d seen him promote before.
But it wasn’t my world. I was just an anonymous account with no profile picture, no photos of my own, and I was sitting alone on a rooftop in Arlington, across the country.
Stop. Fucking. Settling.
Take a risk.
I swallowed nervously and shook my head to myself.
What would I even say?
What I really wanted, for more than one reason, was to ask Beckett to push me one tiny step at a time. Partly because it evidently got me hugged, and I’d almost lost my shit downstairs earlier. The moment his arms had wrapped around me, I’d wanted to beg for more and for him to never let me go.
He’d held me for over a minute.
Honestly, I was beginning to believe him too. He’d said life couldn’t be about chasing adrenaline rushes, and he might be right. Something had been about to unleash within me when he’d hugged me. I’d felt something bottled up starting to rattle, like pressure reaching the point where it needed to be released. Then his stupid phone had gone off.
I pulled up my knees a bit and rested my arms around them loosely, and I glanced around the terrace. It was a nice place, but people rarely came out here. One lounge area with low-slung furniture, and two round tables with chairs. Oh, and one of those pillar ashtrays in a corner. And up above, all clear skies.
The stars were out tonight.
The early fall was bringing cooler air too.
I took a deep breath and just sat there. Traffic was a faded background noise from seven floors below. Easy to tune out. I could only see one other building, a ten-story neighbor. The glass exterior was too high to look over.
If there hadn’t been surveillance in every public area in this building, I would’ve jerked off right here. I had too many new fantasies raging in the back of my mind.
Showering with Beckett had been fucking torture.
I fell back again and threw an arm over my face. Maybe I should sleep up here and avoid running into him more tonight. I didn’t even know how to ask him for a hug, much less twice.
The door was suddenly pushed open with too much force, and I saw Beckett coming out, looking like he wanted to murder someone. I sat up once more, my heart starting to race, and I wondered what was wrong.
I’d missed that he’d changed into his regular instructor outfit, utility pants and a Hillcroft tee.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did you get briefed?” Or updated or whatever. He’d said he was going to Operator Adler’s office. She was basically in charge of his assignment now.
He cursed and kicked at a chair.
My eyebrows flew up.
“That stupid …son of a—” He growled and punched the nearest wall. Legit punched it. I was on my feet before I knew it. “I fucking told you, you dumb motherfucker.”
“Whoa—let’s not…put the wall in a hospital, okay?” I approached him from behind and carefully put a hand on his arm, and I was ready for anything. In case he instinctively got defensive. “What’s wrong?”
He sucked in a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, and he kept his back to me for the most part. Like, I could only see a bit of his front.
“I kinda wanna blame your uncle for this, but at least he was smart about it,” he gritted out.
Wait, who? What? My what? Ethan? No, wait. No, no, he hadn’t been employed here. So, um, Darius? Ryan?
“What’re you talking about?” I pressed.
He huffed and scrubbed his hands over his face.
I didn’t realize what I was doing until I watched my own hand and how it was rubbing his back soothingly. But I didn’t stop, because it seemed to be working.
“Back in the day, Darius Quinn was known for three things,” he bit out. “He was one hell of an operator. He hated people. And he used to add a discreet tattoo on his body after a particularly gruesome assignment. Real subtle—no one ever knew what the detail meant, he didn’t talk about it, and nothing could be traced back to a mission or give up sensitive information.” He inhaled deeply through his nose and let it out slowly. Then he turned around to face me, and his anger was clear as day. “From afar, it’s just some intricate design that covers a portion of his chest and rib cage. My dumbass brother I’ve idolized my whole goddamn life thought that was a cool idea.”
Uh-oh. Something told me Vince hadn’t been as smart about it, to use Beckett’s words.
Another breath gusted out of him, and he hung his head. “He started doing the same thing, but he wasn’t as subtle about it. I told him numerous times—I swear. It’s the only time I thought he made a poor decision.” He swallowed and pulled out the chair next to him, and he slumped down in it. “He became more careful, to his credit, but he had one specific tattoo on his shoulder blade where, if you looked up close, you could make out coordinates.”
Shit.
I sat down next to him and just listened.
“It’s one thing if you have dozens of coordinates blending together,” he said. “But just one? It’s a direction for the enemy.”
“So, someone saw your brother’s tattoo?” I guessed.
He nodded with a dip of his chin, and he pulled something out of his pock…oh. The pack of cigarettes his brother used to smoke. Beckett actually lit one up and took a drag from it.
I was probably fucked in the head, but it was hot. As long as he didn’t do it often.
“I was right with my theory, by the way,” he said quietly. “He and I were followed for two days, a week before he died. They have a bunch of photos of us, mostly him. There’s a series of pictures of Vince washing up next to a car that we slept in outside of Mogadishu. Three or four close-ups of his back.”
Of the ink, more precisely, I assumed.
“How do you know?” I murmured.
He blew out some smoke and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Because one of our operators found them in Fredericksburg about three hours ago.”
Fredericksburg, as in…like just south of DC? “You mean here in Virginia?”
He inclined his head. “Here’s where bad becomes worse.” He tilted his head toward me. “The Hahn associates we tracked from Texas aren’t alone. They met up with another crew in Fredericksburg, and we have no idea how long they’ve been here. What we do know is that the location of those coordinates is a run-down property owned by my brother, and these fuckers have had access to it. This is a house I didn’t even know existed.”
Holy fuck. “How could you not know about the house? When he died, wouldn’t someone in the family inherit it?”
“It’s not in his name,” he replied. “It’s not supposed to be. We’re always encouraged to have a safehouse or two, and Hillcroft can help us set up shell companies and whatnot to ensure they can’t be traced to our identities. So I assume no one has a fucking clue who to contact about that property. And we can’t waltz in right now, because the Hahns are watching it. They’ve been inside. Chances are they found my address there—it would make sense.”
I blew out a breath and averted my gaze. This was so fucked up.
Beckett’s anger toward his brother was kinda justified, but I bet he was relieved a damn tattoo hadn’t actually gotten Vince killed. That might’ve been too much to deal with. But yeah, it seemed the ink was the reason the Hahns suddenly knew so much about Beckett.
I looked back to him. “If they did find your address there, isn’t it safe to assume they haven’t been there too long?”
“We’re estimating a couple months, at least,” he confirmed. “On the plus side, any information they’ve gotten their hands on in that house is older than a year. It means I don’t have to freak out about them knowing where my sister lives. But it also means I’m not letting Alex and my mother come home until this shit’s been put to rest.” He flicked away some ashes and took another pull from the smoke. “We’ll know more tomorrow morning. We have Intel running searches on the footage we have so far, and we won’t lose them this time. Three operators are on-site, and we have drones in the air.”
I cocked my head. “How many are there? The Hahns.”
“Eight that we know of. Three came from Texas, and they met up with five others at a safehouse,” he replied. “We should know soon how long they’ve rented that place. It’ll give us a better time frame.”
Three operators, eight enemies, drones…? And two locations to watch, the safehouse the Hahns were renting, as well as this mystery house left behind by Vince.
“And how much have the operators actually seen? They must’ve gotten close to find those photos, right?”
“We’ve been inside their safehouse,” he answered. “We can’t say the same about Vince’s place. It’s outside of town in an open area, so we’re gonna have to approach tomorrow night.”
The way he said that… “Are you going down there?”
He nodded. “I’ll get on the road first thing in the morning.”
Fuck.
Even though Fredericksburg was just an hour or so away from here, he was technically being deployed, and I had no idea how long he’d be gone. Just like Alex. I hated not knowing that.
I rubbed the back of my neck, wondering how much more he could divulge. “Do you know how long my instructor will be neglecting his recruits?”
He chuckled and stood up, then went over to the ashtray. “I didn’t know you were Catholic.”
I frowned. “I’m not.”
He put out the cigarette. “Jewish? My nana on Ma’s side was Jewish. She knew her way around guilt trips too. If I missed out on a visit, I was breaking her heart. If I didn’t ask for seconds, I hated her food.”
I snorted in amusement. “I’m not Jewish either.”
“Then try something else, punk. You have more than one instructor, and you’ll survive without me for a while.”
A while was so damn vague, it wasn’t even funny.
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “I’ve grown accustomed to being surrounded by Becketts, and now I’ve lost two in a matter of five minutes.” Ish.
He smiled and sat down again. “If it makes you feel any better, Alex misses you. I talked to her before my briefing.”
That did brighten my mood a little. “She’s cool. I like her.”
“It’s mutual.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “If you want, I can tell you I missed you like crazy when I get back.”
I grinned and mirrored his stance, and our elbows almost touched. “I already know you’ll miss me. No other recruit follows you around like a puppy like I do. It’s gotta be a good ego boost.”
He chuckled and glanced toward the door.
Nobody was there, but it did remind me of the cameras.
“Do the cameras here record sound?” I asked. “Because you’ve been kind of generous with sharing what I assume is classified information.”
His forehead wrinkled, and he eyed the camera in the corner above the door. “That’s not a camera.”
What?
“I mean, they are, but they’re aimed skyward.” He pointed at the other two. “They pick up movement on the helipad and drone activity.”
Whoa. “There’s a helipad up there?” I looked up on the roof, and I could obviously not see anything that would indicate a landing spot, but I guessed it was big enough.
“Yup. Not that it’s used often.”
“Badass.” I’d seen soldiers come down from helicopters on ropes at Fort Benning. That’d been cool.
Beckett looked at me with amusement in his eyes. “You’re easily impressed. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to take on an assignment with you.”
I lit up, ’cause that was the best fucking opening. “Why don’t you find out and let me tag along tomorrow?”
The mirth definitely reached a new spark level in those sexy peepers, but he didn’t laugh like I thought he would. “You just took a risk and asked for something.”
Oh, come on! I rolled my eyes. “Maybe because I’m half joking? And assume you’d say no?”
He shrugged and kept smiling. “Still. Good job.”
I waited. After all, he hadn’t said no yet.
“So…” I lifted my brows.
“Fuck no!” he laughed. “Not only are you so not ready for fieldwork, not a single higher-up at Hillcroft would approve it—and if you got injured, it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Hell, maybe I’d face federal charges. I don’t know. You’re staying put tomorrow.”
I scowled and leaned back in my seat. What an idiotic response, all logic and reason and shit.
Perhaps I wasn’t ready to be sent to Iran to sabotage an operation carried out against US forces, but I was an excellent shooter, and Operator Tenley was impressed with my fighting skills already. I could totally be a decent sidekick for a takedown of Hahn goons.
I was sure.
“What’re you gonna do, anyway?” I asked stubbornly. “Bring them in for questioning? Kill them? Chop off their fingers?”
He chuckled through his nose. “I reckon I’ve shared enough with you.”
Fuck that fucking answer.
Now I was sort of pissy for real. I couldn’t help it. It was nuts, considering spending so much time with Beckett today alone had changed things, but I was way more comfortable around him now, and maybe that contributed to feeling a little bolder. He would undoubtedly call me na?ve and too cocky. So be it. I did believe I could be useful.
“You can forget about me asking for hugs now,” I told him. “I could be your driver or just…I don’t know, an extra pair of eyes. I’m not saying I should be there with an M4.”
His forehead wrinkled like it did when he was in that split second between amusement and confusion.
“Are you serious?” Of course that was what he asked me. The question was written across his face.
I shrugged. “Yeah. So?”
He furrowed his brow. “Why are you so gung ho about this? That’s not a good sign, Leighton. We don’t do anything until we’re properly trained at this place, and you’ve been here less than two months.”
I dropped my gaze to the table, unable to explain it. I wasn’t impatient by nature, and I took my training seriously. It was something about him, though. It was Beckett. The thought of him going down there and risking…
Fuck.
It was him.
I rubbed my fingers over my eyes, realizing it was my wingman syndrome taking the wheel. Probably with a generous dose of abandonment issues. I wanted to be by his side. I needed it.
That wasn’t good.
Take a risk.
Who dares wins.
“Don’t get hurt. I’ve gotten attached.”
“Please come back safe.”
“I’ll be a mess until you’re home again.”
I cleared my throat and felt how my stomach knotted up uncomfortably.
Beckett waited patiently, but he wasn’t gonna let this go. I had to say something.
I shrugged and kept my stare downcast. “Just come back in one piece. I’m not getting used to a new instructor.” I scratched my eyebrow. “It’s taken me long enough to get you and Coach housebroken.”
I caught his shoulders tremble with a silent chuckle, and he shifted closer and nudged his shoulder with mine.
“You’re cute sometimes, recruit. I’ll give you that.”
I looked up at him. “You might even say I’m a recute…? Your favorite recute?”
“Oh Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned a laugh.
I grinned. And it wasn’t so much my impeccable sense of humor as much as it was him. He was getting closer to me. He’d seemingly given up on the boundaries he’d found important before. Also, calling me cute? Even in jest, it felt…different.
Honestly, it made me wonder if he was 100% straight. Some of the things he did and said definitely had me scratching my head. Or, you know, hoping desperately. Because what if? What if he’d go for someone like me? I may be a chicken when it came to taking initiative and putting myself out there, but I wasn’t blind to my own appeal among tops. The problem was, not enough tops. Twinks and bottoms all over the fucking apps, way fewer tops. And then you had to weed out the creeps, the closet cases, the “alphas” who thought seduction was to ordering me to kneel and calling me a bitch boy…
Beckett leaned back in his seat, sighed contentedly, and looked up at the stars.
He was too hot to look at.
The sexiest dominance was quiet as hell and shook you to your core, not necessarily with a tone of voice or by using force, but with a look, with mental strength that rolled off his shoulders, with an inner calm that made him sturdier than an oak.
Yeah, those men weren’t easy to find.
On the slight chance that Beckett was interested in guys too, I might actually find the balls to make a move, because everything about him told me he was that type of rough, quietly dominant top. Someone who didn’t feel the need to assert himself or display his position for the sake of it. He’d show you instead, on his terms.
Oh boy, I would get rejected faster than I could say fuck me harder , but perhaps it wouldn’t kill me…? He was kind. He would let me down gently and remind me I was his recruit.
I chewed on the corner of my lip and knew tonight was actually the perfect moment. He was leaving in the morning, and I’d likely not see him for at least three or four days. Possibly much longer. I had no idea. So, I’d have time to get over the rejection, and then we’d go back to being friends when he returned.
“When I was a kid, my nana gave me a telescope for Christmas,” I heard Beckett say. Elbow on the table, I glanced back at him and rested my cheek in my palm. “Pops had already died at that point, and it was Nana’s way of keeping him around. He’d worked at NASA.”
That must’ve been an exciting time to work there. In the sixties and seventies, thereabouts.
“I was hooked,” he continued, his gaze fixed on the night sky. “Now, I loved my father, and he was more patient and understanding than most of his generation—but he definitely lived his life with every ounce of his focus on the ground. He used to tell me that people who kept their eyes on the sky had too little to do down here.”
I smiled a little. Kinda reminded me of my grandpa. I had a few memories left of him, and he’d been much like that. Set in his ways, kind but very firm, zero patience for things that didn’t interest him.
“Vince defended my hobby,” Beckett murmured. “He said, ‘Old man, the world is built by visionaries and engineers, and they’re always looking up and ahead. Then grunts like you and me maintain it.’”
I liked that. I’d never been a visionary, but a secret dreamer. However, the grunt in me had bigger balls, and so I’d chosen a path well traveled.
“Would you have preferred another outcome?” I wondered. “You enlisted eventually.”
He scratched his bicep absently and shook his head. “Nah. I wanted to be a soldier more than I wanted to study space.” He faced me. “What about you? When you walked in here the first time, I couldn’t imagine you joining the Army.”
As he’d told me when I’d enlisted…
I smirked, half embarrassed. I didn’t even know why. My childhood dream hadn’t precisely been crazy.
“I wanted to have my own food truck,” I admitted. His eyes flashed with surprise, and he smiled. “I was only gonna sell one thing too,” I added. “Candy apple wedges.”
“Candy apple wedges,” he echoed, a little confused. “So, like…regular candy apples but wedges instead?”
I nodded. “Mom took me to a fair when I was little, and I became obsessed with candy apples. Until I broke my tooth on one.”
He winced and chuckled.
“I filled an entire notepad with ideas to improve the treat,” I went on. “Grandma helped me make some too. We tried little cubes, apples cut in half, slices, and wedges.”
He grinned. “And wedges won.”
“Yeah, they were perfect. Less waste, easy to make. Thick enough to keep the apples juicy—the slices tasted dry and expired quicker—and the cubes were too sugary.”
“You really thought that through, huh?”
“Well… I don’t know that they would pay the bills,” I laughed. “When Grandma died, I kinda forgot about it. At least the candy apples—but the food truck was always there in the back of my mind.”
He hummed and tilted his head. “What about now? Is it still a dream?”
“No.” Because I knew exactly what my life would look like as a food truck owner. I’d be alone in that thing all day, and I’d go home to a tiny apartment every night. Eventually, I’d get sick of candy apples, and I would hate my life. “I need people around me.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, you do. But I sincerely hope you’ll treat me to candy apple wedges someday.”
I smiled. I could totally do that. I had the best recipe. “Survive your Fredericksburg vacation, and I’ll make it happen when you get back.”
“Vacation,” he snorted. “Deal.” Then he yawned and sat forward. “I should probably get some sleep. I’m not used to waking up before seven these days.”
It was my turn to snort. Seven was luxury! I was up at four thirty.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said and stood up. “I don’t need a reminder that you’ve had a two-hour workout by the time I roll out of bed.”
I snickered and followed him inside. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”
“Uh-huh. Just remember, age before beauty. I can still kick your little ass.”
“Aww, you think I’m beautiful.” I grinned to myself and walked down the boring hallway toward the elevators.
Rooftop access didn’t mean access to the top floor. This corridor was cut off from any excitement; although, Beckett had said it was just offices up here.
We headed down to our floor, and we split up to get ready for bed. He went into his private bathroom, and I headed for the public one to brush my teeth and give myself a pep talk.
Because now was the time, right? I could, uh… I could maybe, at the very least, ask for one of those hugs after all. Bring us close and so on. Then take it from there? I had some melatonin I could take after he turned me down so I could fall asleep quickly, and then he’d be gone in the morning.
So…yeah, no workout tomorrow. I’d set my alarm for seven, like some slouch. I could train when-the-fuck-ever since I didn’t have Alex here either.
I returned my toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash to my toiletry case, and then I went to the bathroom and washed up real quick before I returned to my room.
Huh. He’d left the door between our rooms open. It wasn’t a bad sign, was it?
Take a risk.
Oh my God, I was gonna. The incessant inner voice needed to quiet the fuck down. And also, to stop sounding like Beckett.