Page 20 of The Tracker

“No one.”

Dawson slammed a hand against the metal table with a sharp, metallic crack that echoed like a gunshot. His stare was unyielding, glacial. Gates flinched and shrank back, the bravado draining from his face as Dawson leaned in, his voice low and lethal. "You think this is a game? Keep lying, and I’ll show you how it ends."

Gavin’s voice cut through the room from the hallway. “Out. Now.”

Dawson straightened, breathing hard.

Gavin waited until they were in the hallway. “You need to pull your shit together.”

“He’s lying.”

“Yeah. But you’re losing control. That’s not like you.”

Dawson didn’t answer.

Gavin folded his arms. “This about her?”

“She’s the client.”

“She’s got you rattled.”

“She’s a job.”

Gavin didn’t flinch. “Then why the hell do you look like someone sucker punched you every time her name comes up?”

Dawson said nothing.

Gavin sighed. “You need clarity, Dawson. Either stay the course, or admit you’re compromised. But you can’t keep straddling the line and expect to come out clean.”

Dawson stalked out of the interrogation suite without another word, tension burning through his shoulders. He didn’t wait for the elevator—he took the stairs two at a time, boots echoing against the concrete like the steady beat of a war drum. The air in the stairwell was cooler, but it didn’t ease the heat simmering in his veins.

When he reached the gym, the weight of the building felt different—grittier, raw. The sound of fists hitting pads and grunts of exertion greeted him like an old song. Inside, Jesse was mid-spar with one of the new recruits, sweat gleaming on his forearms, his movements sharp and controlled.

Perfect. Just what Dawson needed.

“Need to hit something?” Jesse asked after he finished.

“Badly.”

They geared up. The sparring started slow, measured. Then Jesse threw a punch Dawson didn’t expect.

Dawson took the hit, rolled, came up swinging. “Cheap shot.”

“Truth hurts.”

They circled each other in the ring, muscles taut, breath coming harder now. Jesse feinted left, then drove a jab intoDawson’s ribs that earned a grunt. Dawson retaliated with a sweeping low kick that nearly took Jesse’s legs out from under him. They grappled, arms locked, forearms slick with sweat, each pushing the other to the edge of their endurance.

A right hook from Dawson landed with a satisfying crack, but Jesse rolled with it, caught Dawson’s shoulder, and twisted, slamming him down in a controlled takedown that ended with Dawson flat on his back, Jesse straddling his chest with a grin.

“Still slow on the left,” Jesse panted.

Dawson let out a ragged breath. “Maybe you’re just getting lucky.”

“You’re still carrying the pieces of what that woman did to you in the Army.”

Dawson shoved him off, breathing hard. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you want Evangeline.” Jesse stood, grabbed a towel. “You can have both—hell, I do. Control and connection aren't mutually exclusive, but it takes work. Look at Keely and me—we fight, sure, but there’s trust at the center. And that trust? It’s what makes the control worth having. Unless you want to end up sleeping alone for the rest of your life.”

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