Page 4 of Danger Close
But that wasn’t what made Bateman’s chest ache.
It was the look in Ricky’s eyes.Or rather—the lack of one.
Blank.Fixed.Like he’d locked onto something invisible and wasn’t going to stop until it broke, or he did.
This is what pain looks like when it can’t find a place to land, Bateman thought.
He’d seen it before.In Blake.In himself.And now in Ricky, silent and empty, burning through his own body as if he could sweat the ache out through his skin.For three months, he hadn’t cracked.Not once.
No shouting.
No tears.Nothing.Just—stillness.Bateman knew it had something to do with Ezra.It couldn’t be coincidence that the morning this ice-cold Ricky turned up at the breakfast table was the same morning Ezra had ghosted.And whenever the man’s name was mentioned, Ricky would turn to stone and walk away.
And it was tearing the team apart in small, sharp ways.
Dale Ricoh had snapped at him during a loadout last week.“If you’re gonna ghost us, at least stop breathing down my fucking neck while I pack.”Marsh had quietly closed his laptop and walked away from the comms and innovation hub the day before, muttering something about “atmospheric pressure” and “radio silence.”
Even Hogan—laid-back, unbothered Hogan—had stopped inviting Ricky to sit with them at meals.Bateman watched all of it.Tracked it like he would a failing weapon system—silent, precise, and waiting for the damn thing to explode.
Ricky stepped back, shook out his hands, then surged forward again, unleashing a brutal combo that made the bag shudder on its chain.His breath hitched.He didn’t stop.
Bateman exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of it press against his ribs.
He couldn’t order Ricky to talk.Couldn’t mission-plan his way into the space where grief lived.But he also couldn’t sit by while one of his men drowned in silence and pulled the rest of them under with him.
Something has to give,he thought, stepping back from the door.
If Ricky wouldn’t speak, Bateman would go find someone who could.
And, as he had recently discovered, Dev Roberts, leader of Sniper Team Bravo, had known Ricky Bowen longer than anyone.
The drive out to Cottonwood Farm didn’t even take an hour, but it felt longer.Bateman kept the windows down, let the early autumn wind bite against his skin.He didn’t take the direct route.Took turns for no reason.Sat in silence the whole way.
He didn’t have to ask permission to leave Ridge.Didn’t post a request.Just logged a line in the duty tracker.Recon.Personal.6 hours.—LT.
No one would question it.
When he pulled through Bravo’s outer compound gate and drove up the drive to the main carpark, Finn was already there—leaned up against a sand-dusted Jeep, sleeves rolled to the elbows, aviators reflecting the afternoon sun and that trademark grin of his like he’d been waiting all day to cause trouble.
“Well, well,” Finn drawled.“Look who decided to grace us with his joyless presence.Thought I felt the local temperature drop five degrees.You come to mock our PT schedule or do the neighborly thing and borrow sugar?”
Bateman stepped out, unbothered.“Looking for Dev.”
Finn tilted his head, one eyebrow creeping up.“Of course you are.You didn’t think the big bastard wouldn’t know you were on your way, did you?”
Bateman paused.“He said something?”
Finn smirked.“Why the hell do you think the damn gate is open and my hot ass is out here waiting on you?He just got this look about twenty minutes ago—real still, like he was smelling rain on the wind or some shit.Said, ‘Bateman’s coming.Gate’ll need opening.’Then went back to typing like he hadn’t just blown a hole in the laws of physics.”
Bateman didn’t blink.“That’s not concerning at all.”
“Oh, it’s absolutely concerning.I’m just too emotionally involved and physically attracted to the man to care,” Finn said cheerfully.“Let me guess—team trouble?”
Bateman didn’t answer.
Finn just nodded knowingly.“Yeah, figured.You’d only crawl out of your bunker for one of three things—a teammate bleeding, Blake or one of your kids breaking something important, or the Earth literally reversing spin.”
A beat.
