Page 3 of Warrior Security
“Stroud. Yo, Logan.”
Beckett’s voice. Not the first time he’d said my name.
“Logan. Hey, you good?”
The alley in Kabul disappeared and the hotel snapped back all at once. The ugly carpet, the buzzing fluorescent, the stale recycled air. My stomach dropped and my vision swam before it steadied. I blinked, and the corridor in front of me was just a corridor. No sunlight, no dust, no shattered concrete.
“Good,” I said. “Moving.”
We kept going. Beckett didn’t push it. But I caught his look at me. A fast sideways glance, there then gone. He was filing it away. He didn’t know what he’d just seen, but he knew it was something, and he wouldn’t forget.
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.”
