Page 61 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Gage adjusted his grip, pulse steadying into that razor-thin edge of readiness. “All right,” he whispered into the comm. “We finish this. Fast.”

Because the only way to save the sheriff and keep Crossfire Ops standing was to take Corrine down.

Through the comm, Cal’s voice cut in. “Garrett and I are approaching from the north side. Noah, keep your bird steady. If anyone tries coming in through that hangar door, light them up.”

“Copy that,” Noah replied. The helicopter’s rotors thrummed faintly through the structure, the sound like an approaching storm.

Gage shifted his stance, weapon steady, eyes tracking movement in the haze of gas and smoke. The air was thick with the tang of cordite and the acrid sting of tear gas residue. Corrine’s remaining men were still dug in, protecting her like a human wall.

Cal’s hand signal flashed from the shadows.

Move.

Gage went first, crouched low, keeping Rena tight on his flank. Every step scraped against gravel and scattered shell casings. His heart hammered a steady beat in his throat, every muscle strung tight. Across the open stretch of floor, Corrine’s voice rang out again, sharp and vicious.

“You really think you can stop this?” she shouted. “Even if you kill me, there are others.”

“Guess we’ll start with you,” Gage muttered and swung out from behind cover.

He fired, controlled bursts aimed at the crates shielding her men. They answered instantly, bullets shredding the air. The sound was deafening inside the steel hangar, each ricochet echoing like thunder.

Rena dropped beside him, returning fire, her movements precise, efficient. A muzzle flash exploded near Cal’s position, Garrett’s counter-shot took the shooter down hard.

“Two left,” Garrett called through the comm.

“Stay low,” Gage yelled, spotting a flicker of motion near the rear wall. He pivoted, fired, and one of Corrine’s guards went down.

But the last one didn’t retreat. He surged forward, laying down suppressing fire that forced Gage and Rena back behind a stack of crates. The rounds punched through metal, raining splinters and dust over them.

“Damn it,” Gage hissed, wiping blood where a shard had nicked his cheek. “She’s not running. She’s trying to pin us.”

“Not for long,” Cal shot back. “We push on my mark—three, two, one—move!”

They broke from cover together, a seamless, practiced rhythm. Gage felt the shift, the danger spiking, the chaos sharpening to a single point. Corrine ducked behind her last guard, gun ready.

This was it. The last stand.

Cursing, Corrine was already backing up, and she yanked her remaining man by the vest, dragging him in front of her like a human shield.

The thug froze, caught between obedience and self-preservation. His voice came rough and panicked. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You said you’d die for the cause,” she snapped. “Time to prove it.”

The man twisted, his own rifle jerking up. Gage saw it coming a split second before it happened. The thug tried to shoot her—self-defense or betrayal, it didn’t matter—but Corrine was faster. One brutal pull of the trigger, and he crumpled.

And that left her exposed.

She stumbled back, breathing hard, surrounded by the dead and dying men she’d used like armor. Her gun came up again, shaking but steady enough to be lethal.

“It’s over,” Gage shouted. “Drop it.”

Corrine’s lips curled in something between a sneer and a smile. “Not over for me.”

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Gage didn’t hesitate. One shot split the air.

Corrine jerked back, the weapon slipping from her grip as she hit the concrete. Smoke drifted between them, the final echo of the gunfire fading into the cold silence that followed.