Page 37 of Crossfire Creek Siege

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Rena said. “But the anger is right there under the surface.”

“Yeah. The kind that festers.” Gage’s mouth tightened. “Sheriff Chase says Brady’s interview’s been pushed to three.”

Rena checked the time. Barely after one. “Two hours.” She sighed, pushing a hand through her damp hair. “I doubt he’ll confess to anything either. The man didn’t look nervous at that facility.”

“Cool as ice,” Gage agreed. “Either he’s innocent, or he’s damn good at pretending.”

Rena met his gaze again, the unspoken weight between them settling in. Whoever was behind this wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Gage grabbed one of the stools at the counter and sat, wincing slightly as his shoulder protested. “Oh, and Brady’s fine,” he said, his tone flat. “Couple of cuts from flying debris, nothing serious.”

“Of course he’s fine,” she muttered. “Convenient, isn’t it? Close enough to the blast to look like a victim, but not close enough to get hurt.”

“Yeah,” Gage said, watching her closely. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That he staged the whole damn thing?” She met his eyes. “Absolutely.”

She’d seen Brady right after the responders arrived, standing there like some battle-worn hero, a smear of dirt on his cheek and those shallow cuts giving him just enough credibility to look lucky instead of guilty. The image stuck with her now, and the more she thought about it, the more it felt rehearsed.

“Maybe he set it up thinking the explosion would make him look innocent,” she went on. “Like he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Gage nodded grimly. “Or maybe he planned to walk away and didn’t count on us showing up when we did.”

Either way, Rena thought, he was at the top of her list, right alongside Corrine and Rhett.

Three suspects. Three different kinds of monsters.

And one of them wanted them all dead.

Gage leaned back against the counter, watching her with that steady, assessing look that made her pulse skitter. “CSIs are still combing through what’s left of the training site,” he said. “Isla’s coordinating with them. They might find something.”

Rena exhaled sharply and rubbed her temples. “They’d better. Because right now, we’ve got three suspects and a whole lot of smoke.”

“Frustrating as hell,” Gage grumbled.

She met his eyes, and something in her chest twisted. The weariness in him mirrored her own. The exhaustion, the lingering edge of adrenaline that wouldn’t fade. It was too much tension, too much noise inside her head. She turned away, but Gage reached for her arm, his touch firm and grounding.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She looked up. And that was all it took.

Gage pulled her into his arms, the motion unhurried, natural, like he’d been fighting the impulse all day and finally gave up. For a heartbeat, it was just comfort. His warmth. His scent. The solid feel of him anchoring her in a world that had gone sideways.

Then, she felt the shift. The tension changed, deepened. His breath brushed her temple, and she tilted her head, their eyes meeting.

That was all the invitation he needed.

The kiss started slow, a test, and then all that restraint shattered like glass. His mouth was hot, demanding, and she met him stroke for stroke, her fingers sliding up the hard muscles of his chest to curl around his neck. The heat hit fast and sharp, curling liquid fire through her veins, pooling low in her belly as she pressed closer, needing to feel every bit of him against her.

Gage’s hand slipped into her hair, fingers tangling, tightening, tilting her head back to take the kiss deeper. His other hand found her hip, positioning her so the delicious pressure shot through her, and she gasped against his mouth. He swallowed the sound, his tongue sweeping in to taste her, and the room blurred into nothing but sensation.

The low, rough sound he made—half-growl, half-groan—sent a tremor straight through her core. She fisted his shirt, dragging him closer until there was no space left between them, until she could feel the thunder of his heartbeat matching her own.

His lips moved to her jaw, her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that made her knees weak. “Rena,” he breathed against her skin, and the sound of her name in that wrecked voice nearly undid her.

For a few wild, desperate seconds, there was nothing but heat and heartbeat and the slide of hands and mouths. No suspects, no siege, no blood or smoke. No reason, no logic, no consequences.

Just him.