Page 1 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

Chapter One

Something felt way off.

A prickle slid down County Sheriff Deacon Raines’ spine. Not fear. Awareness that came from wearing a badge for over a decade.

He was pretty damn sure that someone, somewhere, had eyes on him.

But he definitely wasn’t seeing this mystery watcher. Still, the bad feeling remained, sliding through him and keeping him on high alert.

It didn’t help that the sun was long gone, replaced by the kind of deep winter darkness that swallowed headlights whole in this part of rural Texas. Deacon guided his cruiser along the old farm road, one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing the knot at the base of his neck.

The day had been long, and judging from the gut feeling he was getting, the night promised more of the same. The headquarters of the sprawling private security company, Crossfire Ops, sat just behind him, its pole-mounted security lights still flickering through the trees like muted stars. He’d gone there for answers.

Which he sure as hell hadn’t gotten.

A rarity since the Crossfire Ops’ leader and Deacon’s friend, Noah Riggs, made a darn good living from getting answers and helping people with his team of elite security operatives. But Noah hadn’t been able to explain the puzzling things that’d been found.

Over the past week, Deacon and his deputies had uncovered surveillance devices—wireless cameras, audio nodes, signal boosters—hidden along access roads and tree lines just beyond their perimeters. All aimed inward at both Crossfire Ops headquarters and the sheriff’s office.

All recording.

And with no trail to who was doing those recordings. Or why.

Huffing, Deacon pushed aside his frustration of that no-answer visit to Noah, pushed aside, too, that prickle down his spine, and he focused on the drive. On getting home. Or rather he tried to do that. But he found himself still looking, still bracing for, well, something.

He slowed a fraction, eyes scanning the tree line. Only the darkness. Then his headlights caught movement. A flash of silver.

Metal.

A scope.

“Shit—”

The world exploded.

The first bullet tore through the hood, a thundercrack that punched the air from his lungs. The cruiser jerked, tires screaming as the engine sputtered. Deacon yanked the wheel, but the second shot slammed into the windshield, a spiderweb of glass bursting right in front of his face.

The cruiser skidded off the road, fishtailing across gravel. Then nothing but weightlessness.

The vehicle dropped into the shallow ravine like a stone. Metal groaned, glass shattered, and Deacon’s body was thrown sideways, restrained only by his seatbelt. The airbags deployed, and the impact slammed through him, snapping his head back. The world blurred into streaks of black and red.

Silence followed. Heavy, suffocating.

Pain came next. A sharp, burning line along his ribs. Warm blood dampening his shirt. Something, his radio maybe, had cut him. He tried to suck in a breath but got a mouthful of airbag powder and the copper tang of his own blood.

“Gotta… move…”

His fingers fumbled with the seatbelt. It released with a click that echoed too loud in the crushed cabin. He shoved the door with his shoulder until it groaned open, and he elbowed the airbag aside.

Cold night air rushed in, sharp enough to sting.

Deacon dragged himself out onto the gravel, grit scraping his palms. Every bone protested. His vision pulsed with black spots.

He had been shot at before. But this had been an outright ambush from a sniper. That damn prickle down his spine had been right, but this was a time when he wished his gut instincts had been wrong.

Drawing his gun, he crawled to the nearest tree and forced himself upright behind an oak. Every breath felt like a blade in his side.

The road above was empty, the world still again. No footsteps. No engine. No shout. But he didn’t get the sense that the shooter was long gone.