I came home to a closed bedroom door with my wife and my best friend behind it. I stood in that hallway for thirty-seven seconds. Then I walked out and never went back.
Hope's hand brushes mine as we walk and she doesn't pull away. I look down and she's already looking up at me, this quick grin pulling at her mouth, eyes bright. That wasn't an accident.
My pulse picks up and I'm pissed at myself for it. A week ago she had her lips on Chadwick's and now she's bumping my hand in a hallway and grinning about it. I don't know what to do with either of those things.
For about two seconds I let myself think she wants me, that there's an opening here.
Then the rest catches up. I'm divorced, thirty-eight, a security guard with a bad knee and nothing to show for twenty years in the military except a pension and a one-bedroom apartment. She's got her degree and her career and her whole life outside these walls. I'm not what she's looking for. She's being friendly because that's who she is.
"Gage?"
I blink. "Yeah?"
"You went somewhere just now." She's looking up at me, head tilted. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"Liar," she says, and then she's through the door to the medical wing and I'm standing in the corridor watching her go. I don't leave.
Rick makes his move twelve minutes later.
They're moving Chadwick through the transfer corridor, standard protocol, four guards, full restraints. I'm at the checkpoint because my gut told me to stay close, and it hasn't been wrong since Fallujah.
Hope is at the observation window, notebook open, pen moving. Documenting the restraint procedures, probably noting every deviation from protocol.
Rick steps out of position.
He moves toward Hope with that swagger he thinks makes him look confident, and I see the moment register on Chadwick's face. He goes still, not the heavy drugged stillness but the other kind, alert and locked on.
"Hey there, sweetheart."
Rick's voice carries. Hope looks up from her notebook.
"Officer Dutton. Is there something you need?"
"Just wanted to let you know I've seen your car in the lot. Nice little Honda. Bet it handles real sweet on those back roads you take home."
I'm moving before I think about it. Two steps, then two more.
"You shouldn't drive alone so late," Rick continues, stepping closer to her. "Bad things can happen to pretty girls on empty roads."
I should intervene. I'm trained for exactly this: de-escalation, threat neutralization, getting between the target and the problem. Every protocol I know says move.
But I hesitate.
Half a second. Maybe less. Long enough to see her hand wrapped around the coffee cup I brought her this morning.
If she can't see it coming, someone has to.
But Chadwick moves.
I've seen violence. I've participated in violence. I've been trained in seventeen different ways to incapacitate a human being, and I've used most of them in situations where the alternative was dying.
I've never seen anything like this.
Chadwick shouldn't be able to move that fast. The sedatives, the restraints, four guards positioned to prevent exactly this. None of it slows him down.
Rick doesn't even have time to turn around.
