Because once I'm sated and in his arms, I can sleep peacefully, and that's what I do. Falling asleep in someone's arms never seemed so appealing, but I don’t ever want to sleep alone again.
19
JACE
Before I left Brooks bleeding out in his apartment bathroom with a suicide note clutched in his hand, I dragged the information about Captain Bryan's storage unit from him. It took time and pressure, threats that his mother and sister would be the next to self-terminate after losing him, but eventually, he gave me the name of the facility and the unit number. Bragg Storage on Bragg Boulevard, unit 217 on the north side of the property. Brooks claimed Bryan kept personal effects there during deployments, things he didn't want to store in his official quarters or ship home to family.
The information cost Brooks his remaining dignity before it cost him his life, but I extracted every detail I needed before staging the scene. Now we have a target, a destination that might hold evidence linking Bryan to the crimes he has committed and the coverups he has orchestrated.
Sabine stirs against me and her eyes open slowly, focusing on my face with a confusion that clears quickly into recognition. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven." I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "We should get moving soon. Fort Bragg is about ninety minutes from here, and we need to find a storage facility before the day gets too busy."
She sits up carefully and stretches, wincing at the stiffness in her neck and shoulders. "Brooks gave you something?" She never asked last night, and I didn't offer because the way things went was too perfect to ruin it.
"It's a place called Bragg Storage." I swing my legs off the bed and stand, crossing to where my bag sits near the door. "We'll need to rent a unit ourselves just to get past the gate. Most storage facilities have security measures that prevent random people from wandering the grounds, and showing up without a rental agreement will draw attention we can't afford."
Sabine nods and moves to gather her things, shoving clothes and toiletries into her bag as she speaks. "So, what? We pay cash and give fake names?"
"Exactly," I tell her, but she doesn't know I have multiple fake personas to choose from, all stuffed in my glove box with my car registration. "Once we are on the property, we find Bryan's unit and cut through whatever lock he has on it. Get in, search for evidence, and get out before anyone notices."
The plan sounds simple when I say it aloud, but I know from experience that simple plans become complicated quickly when variables enter the equation. Security cameras, nosy facility owners, other customers arriving to access their units. Any number of things could go wrong, and we need to be prepared to adapt if circumstances change.
We check out of the motel at seven thirty and stop at a fast-food restaurant for breakfast that we eat in the truck while driving south toward Fort Bragg. There's minimal traffic this time of morning, and Sabine navigates using my phone while I focus on maintaining a speed that won't attract attention from highway patrol.
I glance over to see her staring at my phone screen with a frown. "How did you convince him to give up that information?" she asks me, and her question is fair. She didn't sign up for torturing her ex brothers in arms. My world is so gruesome for her, and I wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to look me in the eye again if she found out. So I won't tell her all the details.
"I asked him nicely at first." The lie comes easily because the truth is too brutal to share. "When that didn't work, I became less nice. Eventually, he understood that cooperation would make his death quicker and less painful, and he told me what I needed to know."
Sabine doesn't press for details, and I appreciate her restraint. She knows what I do and how I do it, but hearing the specifics serves no purpose except to make her more complicit in actions she already struggles to reconcile with her sense of morality.
We reach Fort Bragg at 9:23 and drive past the main gate without slowing, heading farther down Bragg Boulevard until I spot the sign for the storage place on the right side of the road. The facility sprawls across a few acres with rows of identical orange units separated by paved driveways, and a tall iron fence surrounds the entire property. The entrance features an automatic gate controlled by keypads mounted on poles, and a small office building sits just inside the fence line.
I pull into the parking lot outside the gate and kill the engine, taking a moment to survey the layout. Security cameras are mounted at intervals along the fence and at the entrance to the office, their lenses pointed toward the gate and the main driveways. Nobody appears to be moving around the property at the moment, but I spot at least three vehicles parked near various units throughout the complex.
"Ready?" I look at Sabine and she nods, though I can see the tension in her shoulders and the way her hands clench in her lap. "Remember, we're locals renting a unit because we need extra storage space."
We approach the office together and I hold the door open for her, letting her enter first. The interior is small and cluttered with filing cabinets and a desk covered in paperwork, and a man in his sixties sits behind the desk reading a newspaper. He looks up when we enter and sets the paper aside, offering a smile that reveals tobacco-stained teeth.
"Morning, folks. What can I do for you?" His accent marks him as a local, someone who's probably lived in this area his entire life and knows the military community well.
"We need to rent a unit." I keep my voice friendly and casual. "Something small, maybe five by five if you have it available. Just need to store some overflow from our garage while we do renovations."
The owner nods and pulls a clipboard from a drawer, flipping through several pages before finding the form he wants. "Got a couple of five by fives available on the south side. Month-to-month rental is eighty-five dollars, first month and deposit due today. Are you folks local or military?"
"Local." Sabine speaks before I can answer, and when she speaks, my chest grows warm. "My husband and I just bought a house off Raeford Road and we're doing some updates. We just need a place to keep tools and equipment out of the way until the contractor finishes."
The owner accepts her explanation without question and starts filling out the rental agreement, asking for names and contact information that we provide without hesitation. I give him a fake name and a disconnected phone number, and Sabine does the same. When he asks for identification, I pull out a driver's license that matches the name I gave, one of several I keep for situations exactly like this.
The transaction takes less than fifteen minutes, and by 9:50 we have a key to unit 103 and a gate code that will allow us access to the property. The owner gives us directions to our unit and reminds us that quiet hours begin at eight in the evening, then returns to his newspaper while we leave the office.
Back in the truck, I program the gate code into the keypad and the iron barrier slides open on its track. Then I roll through slowly and follow the main driveway toward the north side of the property where unit 217 should be located according to the directions Brooks gave me before he died.
The facility's larger than it appeared from the road, with dozens of units arranged in neat rows separated by wider driveways meant to accommodate moving trucks and trailers. The orange doors all look identical except for the numbers painted in white, and I navigate carefully while Sabine watches the unit numbers and directs me toward our destination.
"There." She points to a unit in the middle of a row, and I pull the truck into the space directly in front of it. Unit 217 sits closedwith a heavy padlock securing the door, and the surrounding area appears empty of other customers or facility staff, which is good for us. I know security cameras will pick up what we're doing, but I can block the view of those with the body of the truck. What I can't do is assault someone in broad daylight because they get nosy.
I grab the bolt cutters from behind the seat and step out of the truck, moving quickly to the unit while Sabine follows close behind. She looks nervous now, more tense than she was in the office, and her eyes dart around the property as though expecting security guards to appear at any moment.
