Page 92 of Unmade

Coach and I took the stairs to reach the cafeteria. We’d met up before target practice as well as staying afterward, so we’d cut our lunch short earlier. I grabbed an apple and a handful of carrot sticks from the salad bar, and Coach filled a to-go container with chicken and rice.

I waited for him by the doors, ’cause I wanted to ask him about Beckett.

I’d sent him a text the other morning, only to hear the buzz of his phone going off in the nightstand drawer. Understandably, he didn’t take that stuff on assignment.

Coach headed toward me and asked when my next class started.

“Five minutes,” I responded, following him.

He was a card swiper too. He opened the doors that shut off the big lobby and elevators from the rest of the floor, and he looked back at me in confusion. Probably because I didn’t need to use the elevators to get to the schoolhouse on this floor.

“A quick question, sir,” I said, clearing my throat. “Any news about Operator Beckett?”

He cocked his head. “Are you worried about him? It’s the second time you’ve asked.”

Well, shit.

“Um, no…but we have Operator Hyatt filling in for him this afternoon, and he hates us.” Nice save. Not to mention true. Hyatt did not like being around recruits.

Coach laughed and pressed the button for the elevators. “Consider it an endurance exercise. He needs to suck it up too. I can have a talk with him…” He trailed off and peered out into the lobby.

I glanced out there too, seeing a man talking to Gina behind the desk.

I didn’t know what was fascinating about it?—

Wait. I furrowed my brow. The man said something I couldn’t hear, and he was backing away from the desk. Gina was shaking her head, still speaking. Was it a confrontation of some sort? It kinda looked like it.

The even more confusing part was that the man was leaving behind a duffel bag on the floor, not because he was forgetting about it. I’d just watched him glance at it. Gina couldn’t see it due to the front desk blocking the view.

“The bag?—”

Coach cut me off with a hand signal, just a subtlehalt, and it catapulted me into another mind-set. Something was wrong.

“His accent,” Coach said under his breath. “If he doesn’t pick up his bag within two seconds—” That wasn’t going to happen, and Coach realized it. The man spun around and stalked toward the exit, duffel abandoned, and it set Coach off. He tossed his food container aside and started running.

I followed on autopilot. I threw my fruit and vegetables on the floor, and I automatically unfastened the top strap of my holster.

Coach swooped in and grabbed the duffel, at which point the man by the revolving door spotted him and widened his eyes.

I picked up the pace and sprinted across the lobby.

Considering the man was suddenly in a rush, I couldn’t help but wonder if the contents of that bag were about to blow the fuck up.

I pushed my way through the revolving door and saw Coach dart after the man.

“Everybody away from the plaza!” he yelled. Thankfully, there were only three suits walking across, and they acted fast.

A beat later, Coach flung the bag like a discus halfway across the plaza, and it thumped down mere feet away from the man running.

Holy shit, what was happ?—

A deafening roar blasted me backward several feet; I landed on my ass, and a large ball of fire erupted skyward. All the air was knocked out of my lungs, but instead of registering pain and being consumed by worry or panic, a familiar surge of adrenaline kept my mind sharp and focused. Coach was okay; he was out of the explosion zone. Same couldn’t be said for the owner of the bag. A couple of cars had crashed in Hobbs Circle, and people were taking out their phones. Fucking idiots.

I swallowed dryly, ears ringing, and scanned our surroundings.

It took me two seconds to see another man running toward the DoubleTree, and I didn’t hesitate.

“Coach!” I shouted, jumping to my feet.

---