Page 23 of Dozer

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I'm going to tell Hunter." I dare.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"He'll never let it go."

I laugh. "Oh, you're right." Hunter would absolutely weaponize this information. I'd give him maybe twelve minutes before he found a way to work Dozer made a joke into a conversation with the entire team. "I'll protect your secret."

"Thank you."

"For the record, Dexter is an excellent cat," I say.

"How excellent?" he asks.

"Eleven pounds of orange judgment and unconditional love,” I tell him.

"Sounds like a good cat."

"He is. The best. Don’t know what I would do without him." My smile softens. "He was there when things were bad."

Dozer's gaze flicks from the road and toward me. He doesn't ask what bad means. I appreciate that. Most people hear a sentence like that and immediately start digging. He doesn't. He lets the silence sit. For once, I don't hate it.

"Dexter doesn't care if I'm having a good day," I say quietly. "He doesn't care if I solve the case or screw it up. He doesn't care if I'm funny or annoying or haven't showered in two days."

Dozer's eyebrow lifts. "Two?"

I look at him. "Don't ruin the moment." He almost smiles. Again. I look back out the window. "He's just there."

And I suddenly realize I've said more than I intended. So I do what I always do when I get too close to something real. I make a joke. "He judges everyone, though. He would judge you, too."

"How?"

"He'd sit on your boot and refuse to move." I glance down at Dozer's massive combat boot near the pedals.

He doesn't say anything. I wait.

Nothing.

But I catch it again. The ghost of that almost-smile, there and gone. Quick as a heartbeat. Quick as the little flip in my chest I still refuse to examine. I settle deeper into the seat.

Maybe this trip won't be so bad. Maybe I can handle the silence. I don't have to fill every empty space, because I feel safe with him.

That realization catches me off guard. I don't like how much I like it.

CHAPTER 4

Dozer

The facility is a converted municipal building on the edge of a county that doesn't get much attention, which is the point. Bodies that matter this much don't get held somewhere with cameras on every corner. They get held somewhere quiet, where quiet can be controlled. Where everything can be controlled.

I like buildings like this with predictable sightlines, one real entrance and limited staff. A facility with maybe six people on a good day is easy to account for, easy to secure, and easier to move through if something goes wrong.

And something always goes wrong.

I have a team I hand-picked from Spartan Elite meet us there, and they have the perimeter locked down in four minutes. Reyes takes the east door. Malloy runs comms from the van. A two-man sweep clears the interior room by room in the kind of silence you only get from people who've done these enough times that talking would just slow them down.