Page 17 of Danger Close
Hogan was up front playing pilot, half-bent over the nav readouts like he didn’t trust GPS to do its job without supervision.Dale and Marsh were passed out across reclined seats and spare blankets, dead to the world.
But Ricky couldn’t sleep.He sat at the rear, sprawled in one of the oversized chairs that he didn’t quite fit in.The printout of Ezra’s message was crumpled in his hand—creased down the middle, corners curled from being reread a hundred times.
Didn’t know how to say it before...Love, E.
His fingers hovered over the words.They’d burned when he first saw them.Now they just ached.
A plastic water bottlethunkedgently onto the table in front of him.
He blinked, glanced up.
Bateman stood there—hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes sharp despite the hour.He didn’t sit right away, just gave Ricky a look that said drink the damn thing and then dropped into the chair opposite him with a long, tired exhale.
“Figured you weren’t sleeping either,” Bateman said.
“Didn’t think I needed permission to stay awake,” Ricky muttered, but he took the water, cracked the seal, and drank.
The plane rolled slightly.The light above the wet bar flickered, and somewhere in front of them, Marsh snored into a pillow.
Bateman leaned back, resting one ankle over his knee.“Twelve hours in.You’ve been reading that message the whole damn time.You gonna tell me what’s going through your head?”
Ricky didn’t look up.“Everything,” he said.Then, after a beat, “And nothing.”
Bateman’s brow arched.“Profound.”
Ricky shrugged.“It’s a gift.”
The silence between them stretched, companionable but heavy.
Then Bateman said, voice casual, “You know, when I passed on Van’s message to Ezra, I didn’t think it would lead here.”
“Here being ...us, halfway across the world in a luxury jet chasing a ghost trail left by a dead man and a spook who forgot how to say goodbye?”Ricky summarized
Bateman cracked a smile.“Exactly.”
They were quiet for a while then, Bateman said, tone casual but eyes sharp.“Three months off the grid.What’d you do?Grow a beard?Learn yoga?”
Ricky snorted.“Worked private security.Low risk, high bullshit.Stared at rich assholes through binoculars.Lived in a trailer.Avoided people.”
Bateman nodded slowly, like that tracked.“Sounds ...peaceful.”
“Yeah.For the first week,” Ricky muttered.“Then it just got loud.In here.”He tapped his temple.“Turns out, I’m not great at the whole ‘civilian with hobbies’ thing.”
“No surprises there,” Bateman said.“You built your whole life around silence, then found a team that made it bearable.And then you met someone who made it worse by making it mean something.”
Ricky’s throat tightened and he looked away
Bateman asked quietly, “Did you find what you were looking for in those three months?”
Ricky looked back at his LT and friend.“Not yet.But I think I’m getting closer.”Ricky leaned forward, elbows on the table, message clenched between his fingers.“I don’t even know what we’re walking into.”
“We never do,” Bateman was quiet for a moment.Then, almost too smoothly, asked “Was Ezra the first man you ever slept with?”
Ricky stiffened.He blinked and sat up straighter.“Excuse me?”
Bateman met his gaze evenly.“You’re not exactly subtle, Ricky.Neither was Ezra.And I’ve been in this game long enough to know the difference between regret and heartbreak.”
Ricky flushed hot.“Is this protocol now?”
