Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
After Rose and Beckett had wrapped up, I followed the latter toward the elevators, and I glanced around to see if I spotted any of the other recruits.
“So what’s tomorrow gonna look like?” I asked.
“You’ll get to study on your own while Coach and I set up a new structure for the rest of the week,” he answered, swiping his card. Not tapping it.
I nodded in acknowledgment. “Why is the lobby floor called both the ground floor and the first floor?”
“Technically, the lobby is the ground floor, and the area behind closed doors—the schoolhouse, the cafeteria—is the first floor. I don’t know why. We use them interchangeably.”
Huh. “It says first floor on the directory by the elevators in the lobby.”
“Maybe they got charged by the letter when they made those.”
I let out a laugh. That was funny.
Beckett cocked his head at me, clearly in observation mode.
“What?” I asked.
The doors opened again, and he gestured for me to go first. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before.”
Oh.
I shrugged, unsure of what to say.
Actually, when my stomach snarled, I knew exactly what. “Why do you have a frozen food section?”
“Because sometimes, operators are jet-lagged, return from assignments in the middle of the night, or work the graveyard shift.”
That made sense.
We entered the dark cafeteria, and Beckett led the way behind the counters and into the kitchen. He flicked on the lights, and everything was pristine. Like a restaurant kitchen, with long metal countertops, a washing station, and walk-in fridge and freezer. Scratch that, there was a second fridge and freezer down a narrow hallway.
“Pick your poison. I’ll turn on the oven,” he said, opening the door to the freezer. “Don’t worry, you can open the door from the inside.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me.
I walked in, impressed by the selection. They had a small fucking grocery store here. All the good brands too. Pizza, lean meals, taquitos, fucking Hot Pockets, nuggets, waffles, and tons of other stuff.
I grabbed a cheese pizza with Italian sausage and peppers and nodded to myself. Yeah, this was what I wanted. With the cheese crust too? Sign me the fuck up.
When I walked out again, Beckett was across the kitchen and talking to someone on the phone.
“Fuck it, I’m not gonna dwell on it,” he was saying. “If they can’t handle what happened tonight, they don’t belong here.”
I tilted my head.
“Sounds good. Talk then.” He ended the call and ran a hand through his hair. “Looks like we have our first two dropouts for this year.”
“Who?” Why would anyone drop out this early? Nothing had fucking happened.
“Douglas Fuller and Jasper Davies,” he replied. “They said they might reapply next year, but you know who won’t get selected?”
I smirked. “Douglas Fuller and Jasper Davies?”
He inclined his head and tapped the counter he stood by. “Let’s see what you picked.”
I handed him the pizza and watched him unbox it, and it just occurred to me now that the last thing he probably wanted was to babysit me. He must have a million things on his mind, because shit had sure happened to him. He’d discovered he had a target on his back for some reason.
“Do you know who came after you?” I asked quietly. “Is it about your brother?”
He furrowed his brow and flicked me a brief glance.
I figured it was best to elaborate. “Tanner may have mentioned it’s still an active case and that the guys who killed your brother were never caught.”
He sighed and placed the pizza in the oven. “And Tanner probably heard it from Finnian, who heard it from someone else.”
I shrugged. I wouldn’t know.
What I had learned, however, was that Hillcroft was at the top of the secrecy game only when it mattered. Assignments and such—impossible to get info on if you didn’t have clearance. Same with names and sensitive information. But in the super-short time I’d been here, every visit to the cafeteria, I’d overheard operators, both senior and junior, discuss rumors, coworkers, and well-known events.
I guessed it was the result of a field in which operators were trained to seek intel as much as they were trained to keep secrets. The line between gossiping and keeping themselves informed was extremely thin, and they were dancing all over it.
“The motherfucker who broke in to my place tonight works for a Karl Hahn—his organization. One of his goons had my brother killed,” Beckett confirmed. “It was just another henchman. My brother’s death wasn’t some elaborate hit. He got in the way.”
Man, that sucked. “I’m sorry. Whatever I can do to help, count me in. But I guess there isn’t much I can say that the passport won’t reveal. I did hear he spoke German with an accent…”
He nodded absently. “Right. He was born in Stuttgart—mother’s German, dad’s Iraqi.”
Yeah, okay. So I really had nothing useful to add to that investigation.