Page 15 of Unmade

Judging by his application, his career in the Army hadn’t been wasted.

I placed his application in the pile of those who were about to get a letter from Hillcroft with the time and date for their first interview.

* * *

July 25th, 2024

Was it River or Reese? No, it was River. Had to be.

I carried my lunch over to the table where he was sitting with Coach, and I set my tray down with a clank.

“As I live andbreathe…it’s an OG Tenley.”

River’s mouth twitched, and he narrowed his eyes at me. “Beckett. I see you’re still here.”

“It was touch and go last week when I sparred with Shay downstairs,” I informed him and sat down next to Coach. “I don’t know what kind of Tinder you and Reese found him on, but he’s fuckin’ lethal.”

I could hold my own for the most part, of course, but there was no denying Hillcroft had taken on one hell of a martial arts champion. I didn’t know how old he was, if he’d reached thirty yet. And there was something about him that was both sweet and kind and…and he had an edge that let me know he’d lived a hundred lives already.

River sat a little straighter and nodded with a dip of his chin. “Damn right.”

Coach nudged me. “I was thinkin’ you and Shay could come up with a challenge for water quals. Throw a little self-defense into the deep end of the pool.”

“With full gear?” I smirked. “I’ll talk to him next week.” I cut into my meatloaf and changed the topic. “By the way, are the final sixteen ready?”

“Almost. The last six are seeing Doc on Monday,” Coach replied.

“Do you happen to remember if a Leighton Watts has qualified?” I asked next.

I’d been too busy to conduct any interviews myself. Doc had cleared me for field ops, with the big caveat that I had to wait until my last case had been solved. But nevertheless, I’d dived into preparation for classes and my own training. Hence, my sparring with Shay Tenley.

“Yup, I definitely remember him,” he said. “I had him for the third interview this week. He’s one of those—he’ll either go far as hell, or he’ll crash and burn in a matter of weeks.”

I knitted my brows. “What makes you think that?”

“He’s living on autopilot,” he answered. “He scored too well for me to just dismiss him, but I’m not convinced his head is in the game.”

Hm.

That didn’t sound great. I’d had similar concerns when I’d met him six years ago.

I opened my mouth to respond, only to snap it shut when I saw River observing me.

“No,” I told him. “You keep your psychoanalyzing bullshit to yourself, man.”

He tapped a finger to his temple. “You think I can turn this sweet moneymaker off?”

Fucking hilarious.

Coach wagged his fork at him. “Save it for intel. I’ll need your help with the goddamn King operation.”

I’d heard about that case. We had six operators working in pairs, and they’d been stuck for months with no new leads. Just endless hours of stakeouts and dead ends.

I knew the feeling.

My own case occupied my mind too much for me to care about anything else, so after I finished my lunch, I wished Coach and River a good weekend before I took the elevator, swiped my ID card, and went up to Operations Central on four.

I had five minutes to spare before my weekly session with Doc.

---