Page 25 of Crossfire Creek Siege

When Gage stepped out of his cubicle, the smell hit him first. Coffee. Hot, dark, and exactly what he needed to keep his eyes open. Rena was leaning against the wall, a go-cup in each hand. Her hair was pulled back, a few damp strands framing her face. She looked as if she’d slept even less than he had, but somehow still managed to make fatigue look good. Too good.

“Tell me that’s for me,” he said, nodding toward the cup she held out.

She arched a brow. “Depends. Are you planning to bite anyone before breakfast?”

He gave a half-grin and took it from her. “Not unless they come between me and caffeine.”

The first swallow burned down his throat, strong enough to wake the dead. “You might’ve just saved my life for a second time,” he muttered, taking another gulp.

Rena smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There were shadows there, same as his. The tension still clung to her like static. Part of that tension was from the kiss. He knew that. But he also knew she wouldn’t let that kiss get in the way of what they had to do.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice breaking through the thoughts.

He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go find out who tried to kill us.”

The coffee was already cooling in Gage’s hand by the time they crossed the corridor into the main headquarters building. The compound felt different this morning, still quiet, but with an undercurrent of energy, as if everyone was braced for impact.

Rena walked beside him, both of them moving on muscle memory, caffeine doing the heavy lifting to keep them upright.

When they stepped into the briefing room, it was already buzzing. The wall of monitors glowed in shifting blues and greens, data feeds and satellite images flickering across the screens. It wasn’t even zero-seven-hundred yet, but most of the key players were already there.

Noah stood at the front of the room, sleeves rolled up, already working. Owen and Ruby flanked him, both looking as if they’d been awake all night. Sheriff Arden Chase leaned against the end of the table, coffee in hand, her short blonde hair pulled back, every inch the no-nonsense former soldier she was.

Isla sat at her usual station, typing fast, two other techs working beside her, screens casting cold light across their faces. On the far side of the room, there were two men Gage hadn’t expected to see. Cal Granger and Garrett McCall were in quiet conversation. Both operatives, both former special forces.

“Guess we’re not the only ones who couldn’t sleep,” Rena murmured beside him.

Gage gave a dry grunt. “Yeah. Looks like it’s gonna be a full house.”

They made their way toward the table, nodding to a few familiar faces. Gage caught Noah’s eye for a brief moment, enough to see the resolve there. They were all running on fumes, caffeine, and fury.

“How are the kids?” Gage asked. The images of those terrified faces in the hangar weren’t leaving his head anytime soon.

“They’re all safe. With their parents.” Noah paused, glancing toward the far corner where the sisters had sat last night. “Riley and Lily are with their dad now. I’ve got guards on all of them, twenty-four-seven. I’m not taking chances. Whoever planned this might try to tie up loose ends, or send a message.”

Good.

After what happened last night, Gage wouldn’t put anything past the son of a bitch behind the attack.

The smell of eggs and bacon suddenly filled the room as someone wheeled in a tray of breakfast sandwiches. It didn’t do much to soften the tension, but the food disappeared fast. Fuel, not comfort. Gage grabbed one mostly out of habit, unwrapping the foil as his gaze drifted to some wall monitors that suddenly sprang to life. Three photos with their names beneath them.

Brady Halden. Rhett Danner. Dr. Corrine Astor.

The first two didn’t ring any bells. Halden had that cold, corporate look, maybe a financier. Danner’s face screamed mercenary. But the third, yeah, he knew that one.

Dr. Corrine Astor.

Gage’s stomach tightened, the sandwich forgotten in his hand. Around Crossfire Ops, her name was damn near a curse word. Former military psychologist, assigned to treat operatives from both Maverick Ops and Strike Force who were coming off high-risk missions. Smart, persuasive, too polished for her own good. And dangerous in a way that didn’t show until it was too late.

She’d leaked details of a covert op, one involving multiple teams, and the fallout had been catastrophic. An operative had been killed because of her, and others were wounded. Corrine had been publicly discredited, stripped of her license, her contracts, everything that had made her somebody.

He glanced at Noah, who was stone-faced, unreadable as he studied the monitor. But there was a flicker there, just for an instant. A tightening around the eyes, a shadow of something personal.

Shit. This had just gotten a whole lot messier.

Gage watched Noah closely, and it didn’t take a genius to see what was going on behind the man’s eyes. Noah was already taking the blame for last night. The guilt was written in the taut line of his shoulders, the way his hand gripped the back of his chair before he finally sat down.

Everyone took their seats around the long table, the murmur in the room fading as Noah stood again and faced the wall of screens. The three photos glowed even in the harsh overhead light. Brady Halden, Rhett Danner, Dr. Corrine Astor.