Chapter 1 #2
Ten seconds. Maybe less, maybe more. I hadn’t heard him say my name. The corridor ahead had gone unchecked while my eyes were somewhere else entirely.
If the third hostile had been standing in any one of those doorways, Beckett would be dead. And that would be on me.
We reached the suite. I knocked twice short, once long. Coop opened the door with his weapon lowered but ready. The client was behind him, a middle-aged man in an expensive shirt that was damp under the arms. His face was gray.
“Moving with client,” Beckett said. “Secondary route. Service corridor to the freight elevator.”
Coop nodded and turned to the client. “Stay between us. Don’t talk. Do exactly what we tell you.”
The client nodded. He’d gone past scared into the numb compliance that civilians hit when the adrenaline runs long enough. It was easier to work with than panic.
We moved out. I took point again because Beckett didn’t say otherwise, and I didn’t offer to let someone else do it. Coop had the client between us. Beckett covered the rear.
The service corridor was narrow and utilitarian.
Concrete floor, exposed pipes, the kind of space guests never saw.
I cleared each intersection before we crossed it.
Every sense tuned to the building around us.
I was back, fully present, reading the environment the way I should have been reading it thirty seconds ago.
It didn’t matter. I knew that. Functioning now didn’t erase those ten seconds when my body had been here but my mind had been on a different continent.
Travis came through comms as we reached the freight elevator. “Hunter’s got the third. Grabbed him on six trying to find a different way up. Building’s clear.”
The elevator doors opened. We loaded the client in.
Coop hit the button for the garage level.
Nobody talked on the ride down. The client stared at the floor.
Beckett leaned against the elevator wall and flexed his scraped hand open and closed.
Coop stood with his arms folded, relaxed and patient, like he was waiting for a bus.
I stood in the corner and kept my eyes on the doors.
The garage was underground. Two black SUVs, parked nose-out. We got the client into the back of the first one. Coop climbed in behind the wheel, and the SUV pulled out of the garage before the door had fully closed. The client was safe. Coop would get him where he needed to go.
Beckett leaned against the hood of the second SUV and rolled his neck until it cracked.
“I’m getting too old for hotel hallway bullshit,” he said.
“Aren’t you like thirtysomething?” I asked.
“Yeah, well, in hallway years, that’s ancient. Also, I’m filing a complaint about the carpet. And the wallpaper. If I’m getting shot at, I want better decor.”
I knew what the other man was doing. Making jokes. Giving me a second if I wanted to bring up what had happened for a few seconds in that hallway.
I didn’t.
Hunter came down five minutes later. Calm, unhurried, barely a hair out of place. He looked at the remaining SUV, looked at us, and nodded once.
“Coop just checked in. Client’s clear. Local PD are here for the three upstairs. Travis is coordinating with the client’s attorney. We’re done.”
“Clean op,” Beckett said.
Hunter’s eyes moved over each of us. His gaze stayed on me for a half second longer than the others. Or maybe I imagined that.
“Good work tonight. Both of you.”
“Buy us breakfast, and I’ll believe you mean it,” Beckett said.
Hunter almost looked amused. Almost. “Get in the vehicle, Beckett.”
Beckett pushed off the hood and headed for the driver’s door. He passed me on the way and clapped a hand on my shoulder. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. It was the kind of gesture that said you’re part of this, and a week ago it would have meant everything.
I stood there a few seconds longer than I should have. The quiet that had been in my head an hour ago was gone. The noise was back, all of it, pouring in to fill the space the mission had kept clear.
The episodes had been getting worse for months. More frequent. Harder to come back from. The one in the corridor was the worst yet. The longest, the most complete.
I’d lost the hallway. I’d lost Beckett’s voice. I’d lost ten seconds of real time in a live environment with a teammate beside me.
I’d gotten lucky. Beckett had gotten lucky. Everyone in this garage had gotten lucky because the third hostile had been on a different floor.
I wanted to call Reid. The reflex hit before the thought caught up.
Just the automatic reach for the one person who would have understood without my having to explain any of it.
He’d been right there for all of it. Every deployment, every firefight, every sleepless night after.
The only person I’d never had to translate for.
My hand didn’t move toward my phone. Reid’s number was still in my contacts. It would ring until voice mail picked up and I’d hear his voice telling me to leave a message, and the fact that he sounded annoyed in the recording used to be funny.
I shut that down. Put it away.
“Stroud. You riding back with us or thinking about taking a stroll?” Beckett was looking at me from the driver’s seat, window down.
“Yeah.” I pulled open the rear door. “I’m coming.”
I got in. Buckled the seat belt. Pressed my skull back against the headrest and closed my eyes while Beckett pulled out of the garage. In the front seat, he was on the phone with Coop, arguing about whether the wallpaper had been deliberately ugly or just old. Beckett was committed to the bit.
Normal. Easy. The sound of guys who’d just done a hard thing and come out the other side of it together.
For one week, I’d thought I would be part of that. With a team that worked. A structure that made sense. People who were good at what they did and would let me be good at it beside them. Until tonight, I was pretty sure that’s what my new life in Montana would be.
Then ten seconds of blind time in a corridor.
I couldn’t do this.