Page 32 of The Story of Danny Rose

“Dormitory?”

I nodded once and walked out. “Basically, rooms with bunk beds and toilets. Sometimes, out-of-town contractors stay the night. Sometimes, we get injured during an op, and someone tends to us overnight.”

He hummed, processing.

I wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the way he’d spoken about his new future of becoming a Hillcroft operator so far sure as hell hadn’t included libraries, classrooms, and bunk beds.

He’d definitely enjoy the basement. I hadn’t lied about the shooting range or the training facilities, but I’d been vague. He’d see for himself soon enough.

Danny’s posture changed as we approached the front desk that acted as the gate to the top-floor offices. Paneled walls and gray carpet—more plants too—made things look…dull. Nondescript.

“Remember, baby,” I said for only him to hear. “You’re here to become a gray man. Lose the soldier stiffness.”

He smiled ruefully, let out a breath, and loosened up a little.

That side of him was going to be a challenge to deprogram.

I nodded at the woman and rested an arm on the desk. “Payne for Daniels at nine fifteen.”

“Yes, sir.” She adjusted her glasses, then tapped away on her computer. “He’s just finishing a meeting, but you can wait outside his office down the hall.” She gestured at the door and pushed a button that opened it.

“Thank you.” I led the way down the corridor, where we passed one office after another, the nicest break room one could ask for, restrooms, and an outdoor terrace.

“There are two Daniels,” Danny noted.

He was reading the names on the office doors.

“Two Winters too,” I said, side-eyeing him. “What do you know about the history of Hillcroft?”

He shrugged. “Not much. Founded in the ’70s, I think. Used to be more public—they only took government contracts, and then they restructured the agency in the late ’80s.”

I nodded. He already knew more than most.

“Terrance Daniels and Arthur Winters started the agency in 1977,” I replied. “TJ Daniels and Quinlan Winters are their sons. They’re next to take over—if Terrance ever retires.”

I’d never had the chance to meet Arthur. He had been murdered in 1988, which had prompted the “restructuring.”

Today, Arthur’s office was… Honestly, fuck if I knew; I didn’t have access to the room. I just knew the office was still there, and I’d seen Quinlan go in there a few times.

Hillcroft didn’t have the most lighthearted history, and that wasn’t my story to share.

We reached the end of the hall, and I gestured for Danny to take the chair closest to Terrance’s office. I sat down next to him and gave his leg a gentle squeeze. I liked what he was wearing today. It was the first time I’d seen him in a pair of regular jeans.Otherwise, he went balls to the wall with utility pants or, my favorite, cute pajama bottoms.

“Are you nervous?” I asked.

He bit at the corner of his lip and clasped his hands in his lap, and I could tell he was struggling with how to sit. My soldier didn’t know how to relax in an everyday setting, and it was kind of disheartening. In moments like this one, it was painfully clear how deeply service members were indoctrinated and molded.

“Yes and no,” he admitted. “As long as I get in, I believe I can prove myself. But I don’t know if they’ll give me a shot.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why wouldn’t they give you a shot? You’re already a tremendous asset, sweetheart.”

“Am I, though?” He glanced over at me, visibly unsure. “I watched Reese and River at your cabin—they blend in, like you said. They walk and act normal. My military background flashes like a neon sign.”

I inclined my head. “True. But you possess skills that take years and years to perfect. Your training will be much more centered around deprogramming what you learned in the Army. And we have patience for that.”

He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess we’ll see what your boss says. Is he nice?”

“He’s fair,” I said. “He’s not nice, and he’s not rude. He can be funny at times—just takes a couple pints to get him there.”

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