Page 5 of Danger Close
“It's the first one, isn’t it?”
Bateman didn’t confirm.
Finn gave a theatrical sigh.“You Pathfinders are so damn dramatic.Lucky for you, Dev’s got a PhD in brooding soldier psychology.Knows men—if you know what I mean.”He winked, far too pleased with himself.
Bateman arched a brow.“That supposed to be subtle?”
“Subtleties for snipers and sex scandals.I’m the leader’s hot husband.I come in loud.”
Bateman shook his head, but the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.
Finn jerked his thumb toward the barracks.“He’s in his office.Got that thousand-yard stare thing he does.Either solving global crises or planning to kill someone with a clipboard.You’ll know when you see it.”
Bateman gave a sharp nod.“Appreciate it.”
“Any time.Just remember bring a container next time if you’re gonna borrow sugar.And maybe your sense of humor.”
Bateman didn’t look back.“Didn’t pack it.”
“Classic Bateman,” Finn called after him.“Two hundred pounds of muscle and not one ounce of charm!”
Blake would disagree, he thought to himself as he walked toward Dev’s office.
Dev looked up as Bateman stepped inside, then leaned back slowly in his chair.His expression didn’t change, but his eyes—like always—saw too much.
“Bateman,” he said simply.
“Three months,” Bateman replied, without preamble.“And he hasn’t come back to us.”
Dev didn’t ask who.He just nodded.
Bateman dropped into the chair across from him.“I’ve seen him shut down before.Couple days.A bad week.Not like this.It’s like something hollowed him out and he’s just ...keeping the lights on.”
Dev leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.“Tell me.”
So, Bateman did.The last mission.Ezra.The disappearance.Ricky’s silence.Dale’s frustration.Marsh’s retreat.His own guilt.It came out like mission data—factual, tight, efficient.But under it all, there was no missing the real cry for help that had bought Bateman there—I am losing my team.
“You remember Van,” Bateman said quietly.
Dev’s expression shifted—just slightly.A flicker in the eyes.A line tightening at the jaw.“He died here on our lands, protecting us and ours, so hard to forget him.Yeah,” he said, voice low, “I remember.”
Bateman leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was holding something fragile there.“This—feels the same.That same pressure.Like the floor’s about to give out under us.Like if I don’t do something now, I’m going to watch my team implode from the inside—and there won’t be anything left to rebuild.”
Dev nodded, slow and deliberate.His chair creaked as he stood and walked to the window.Outside, clients were hauling gear through the mud in tight formation, rain soaking their shirts, their boots carving deep tracks into the earth.
He watched them for a moment, the silence stretching.
“You know how Ricky and I started working together?”Dev said finally, without turning.
Bateman waited.
“Veracruz,” Dev said.“We were still enlisted, just another two names on the roster.He was young, but sharp.Had that edge—hyper-aware, like he was constantly three seconds from bolting or shooting.Fast.Smart.Deadly in the field.And twice as deadly with silence.”
Bateman didn’t interrupt.He just let the weight settle.
“We were on a black-ops interdiction team, pushing through a corridor that wasn’t supposed to exist.Mission was to shut down cartel logistics.Weapons.Laundered cash.But then it got muddy.Intel started going sideways.Comms were jammed more often than not.And one of ours, a senior tech named Wallace, started acting weird.”
Dev turned from the window, leaned against the frame.
