Page 57 of Beckett
“They’re beautiful,” Audra said, genuine warmth in her voice. “How old?”
“Twelve months,” Piper said, her whole face softening. “Complete troublemakers.”
“Speaking of pictures,” Hunter said, pulling out his phone. “Marcus asked me to get some photos of people actually enjoying themselves here for the tavern’s Facebook page.”
“How about if I take it for you?” Audra offered. “You can get a better angle that way.”
Piper and Jada immediately protested, insisting Audra stay in the picture. She looked over at me as if to ask permission. In response, I just put my arm around her and pulled her closer. “Everybody, look like you’re having a blast and that Lach’s jokes are funny.”
That got a laugh, and Hunter snapped the picture.
It wasn’t long before we’d finished our meal.
“We should probably get back,” I said eventually, standing. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Every morning is early there,” Jada agreed. “Good to see you, Beck. Audra, it was nice meeting you.”
“Maybe we can get coffee sometime?” Piper offered. “When you’re not busy with the animals.”
Audra nodded. “I’d like that.”
Audra was quiet but not withdrawn as we walked back to my truck. My phone buzzed and I glanced down. Hunter had sent me the picture of the six of us—smiling, candid, being silly.
And damned if Audra didn’t look like she was born to be there.
Chapter 18
Audra
I stretched my hand across the mattress, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. The sheets were cold. I jerked upright, heart already racing before my brain caught up with why.
“Beckett?”
Nothing. Not even the sound of the shower running or coffee brewing in the kitchen. I threw off the blanket and padded barefoot through the house, checking the bathroom, the living room. Empty. All empty.
I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to slow my breathing. There was no need to panic. Beckett was fine. He had to be fine. Just because last night had been rough?—
The memory crashed back. Him thrashing beside me at two in the morning, shoulders rigid with tension, mumbling broken words about covering fire and three seconds and Rodriguez. I’d rubbed his back until the tremors stopped, whispered that he was safe, that he was in Montana, that it wasn’t his fault. He’d finally told me more in those dark hours—how his K-9 partnerhad alerted, hackles raised and growling low, but he’d been watching the wrong sector. Three seconds of attention in the right direction, and Rodriguez would still be alive, home with his wife and two kids in Texas.
The weight of his guilt had been crushing to witness. No wonder he carried it like shrapnel embedded too deep to remove. Eventually, he’d fallen back into a fitful sleep, but now, he was gone.
I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and padded to the window. I saw him outside, near the dog training ring, his body moving through push-ups with mechanical precision. Atlas, Duke, and Rosie lounged nearby, watching him with the patient devotion only dogs could offer. Even from here, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the controlled violence in each movement.
This was how he dealt with it—physical exertion to burn off the excess energy, the adrenaline his body produced even when there was no real threat. The animals helped ground him too, their simple presence a reminder of the here and now rather than the there and then.
I pressed my fingers against the glass, wanting to go to him. To smooth the rigid lines of his back, to kiss away the shadows that haunted him. But that wasn’t what he needed. Not right now. He’d been so patient with me—never pushing for answers about my past, accepting my fears without judgment. The least I could do was give him the same space to process his demons in his own way.
Besides, we were out of coffee. Again. Beckett went through the stuff like it was water, and I’d developed my own dependency over the past couple of weeks. I’d run over to Lark’s house to grab some. Beckett had mentioned she kept a pot going constantly, industrial-strength stuff that could wake the dead. I could replace whatever I borrowed.
The morning air bit at my exposed skin as I jogged across the dew-soaked grass. Lark’s house sat like a cheerful yellow beacon against the mountain backdrop. I retrieved the key and let myself in, heading straight for her pantry to get the coffee.
The landline rang, sharp and sudden, and I froze. Would the sound of an incoming call haunt me forever? I glanced at the caller ID and saw Lark’s name. She must be calling from wherever her conference was being held. I wasn’t sure if I should pick up the cordless phone, but in the end decided to see what she needed in case it was some sort of emergency.
“Pawsitive Connections.”
There was a pause, and I braced for Lark to ask why I was answering her phone at seven in the morning. But her voice, when it came, was pure panic.
“Audra, is that you?”
