Page 22 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Whoever had done this hadn’t just attacked a facility. They’d come after a family, and families fought back.

Noah’s phone buzzed against the tabletop, a low hum that cut through the quiet. Conversation stalled. Even the techs paused, glancing up from their screens as he answered.

“Riggs.” He listened for a moment, jotting quick notes on a legal pad with a pen that scratched loudly in the stillness. The call lasted maybe a minute, but by the time he hung up, the room felt sharper, more alert.

He set the pen down, blew out a long breath, and grabbed the remote from beside his coffee. “That was the medical examiner’s office.”

Everyone straightened. Noah turned toward the wall of monitors, where the remaining forty-eight faces stared back at them. He clicked the remote, and one by one, eleven of the faces were marked with a red X.

“They’ve identified all eleven of the dead from the hangar,” he said. “Former contractors, mercenaries, and a couple of small-time gunrunners. Every one of them has a file in our threat database. Everyone was on our board.”

Rena’s stomach turned, the fatigue sharpening into unease. “So they weren’t random hires,” she said.

Noah shook his head. “No. Someone pulled them together. Different outfits, different histories. Some of them used to hate each other. But tonight they were working as one unit.”

Gage let out a low whistle. “That takes serious money. And someone who knew how to play them.”

Ruby crossed her arms. “Or someone who convinced them Crossfire Ops was worth dying to take down.”

“A grudge big enough to unite a bunch of old enemies,” Owen commented.

Noah nodded. “That’s what it looks like.” He rubbed a hand down his face, the motion equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “All right,” he went on. “We’ll regroup in the morning at zero-seven-hundred. That’s—” he checked his watch “—five hours from now. I’ve got night techs coming in to keep digging.”

No one argued. Chairs scraped back. Owen stood and rolled his shoulders with a grimace, the sound of his joints popping loud in the quiet. Rena pushed to her feet, her body protesting every movement. Her stitches tugged, her head still throbbed, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper night’s sleep, but stopping felt almost unnatural.

Noah gestured toward the adjoining hallway. “Ruby, Owen, guest quarters are open. You’re both welcome to stay.”

Ruby gave a tired smile. “Appreciate it. I think my team can manage without me for a few hours.”

Owen just grunted in agreement, his hand finding Ruby’s shoulder as they started toward the corridor.

Rena glanced at the wall one last time. Thirty-seven faces. She doubted she’d sleep knowing those people were still out there.

Beside her, Gage stretched, wincing when his shoulder protested. “Come on, Calloway,” he said. “We’ve earned at least a cot and five hours.”

That drew a ghost of a smile from her. “If you start snoring, I’m throwing something at you.”

“Noted.”

They stepped out into the hallway together, the air cooler and quieter beyond the briefing room, and they headed toward the barracks that were in a building attached to the headquarters. The corridor was empty, their footsteps the only sound echoing off the polished concrete floors.

Rena’s pulse thrummed in her ears, a leftover rush of adrenaline that refused to fade, matching the low buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

The barracks wing was quiet when they reached it, the air faintly scented with detergent and other cleaners. Not the typical open-bay layout she’d known from her military days. Crossfire Ops did things differently. Each trainee had a small private cubicle with a sliding door, a bunk, a desk, and, best of all, a private bathroom. A luxury by military training standards.

She stopped at her door and turned to Gage. He was standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable but his posture loose in that deceptively relaxed way he had. Even exhausted, he still looked like a man built for motion. Short dark hair mussed, jaw shadowed, a hint of blood and smoke still on his shirt. The kind of rugged that should have come with a warning label.

Rena cursed herself silently. Not now. Not tonight.

But her body hadn’t gotten the memo. The tension was still there. Coiled, alive, humming in the narrow space between them. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the memory of the way they’d fought side by side hours ago.

Or maybe it was just him.

Gage tipped his chin toward the hall, his voice low, rough from exhaustion. “We should probably grab showers before the night’s officially over.”

“Yeah,” she said, forcing her tone casual. “You smell like a flashbang.”

That earned her a crooked grin, the kind that punched straight through her defenses. “I’ll take that as motivation.”