Page 30 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

She opened her mouth, maybe to thank him, maybe to argue, maybe to suggest an entirely inappropriate alternative for the night, she honestly didn’t know—

Her phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number. Normally, it was something she’d just delete or ignore, but the first line caught her attention. Mercy, did it.

This is Wynn.

Deacon no doubt saw her reaction because he moved closer to her to read the message right along with her.

I’m not the one who tried to kill Deacon and you, Jessa. But I know who did.

Chapter Seven

The cab of Jessa’s SUV was dark except for the dashboard glow and the faint spill of moonlight through the windshield. Tires hummed over the empty country road as she steered toward his ranch, thirty acres of quiet land a few miles outside town. Normally, the drive settled him. Tonight, it only grated.

Because every bump, every curve, sent a jolt of fire through the stitches in his side.

And because that damn text wouldn’t stop replaying in his head.

I’m not the one who tried to kill you and Deacon. But I know who did.

Wynn hadn’t added more. No threats. No demands. Just that cryptic, maddening message.

Deacon shifted in the passenger seat, biting back a wince. Jessa’s eyes flicked toward him, catching the movement. “You good?” she asked.

“Peachy,” he muttered.

She didn’t believe him. Smart woman.

He dragged a hand over his face, jaw locking as the message throbbed like a bruise. Wynn had used a burner. Blocked number, no traceable trail. Deacon had tried calling it back anyway, because stubbornness ran deeper than common sense. No surprise, it went nowhere. But he still had the APB out on Wynn. If the bastard so much as stopped for gas in three counties, someone would spot him. Someone would call it in.

And God help Wynn if Deacon found him first.

Jessa kept her eyes on the road, but Deacon didn’t miss the tension in her shoulders. Or the way her grip tightened on the wheel every so often. Or how her breath hitched slightly when the headlights swept across a dark tree line or a mailbox or anything that reminded her of how fast life could tip into violence.

He could feel her frustration bleeding through the silence. But more than that, he could feel the grief. Fresh. Raw. Bleeding just under the surface.

It hit him square in the chest.

Losing a loving parent was hell under the best circumstances. Losing them to cancer was a long, punishing ache. But learning that death wasn’t fate or biology or bad luck… learning it had been done to her? That someone had stolen Lauren’s life with poison?

That was a different beast entirely.

A vicious one. And it was eating Jessa alive.

Deacon studied her profile in the dim light. The tight jaw, the wet sheen in her eyes she wouldn’t let fall, the way she blinked too fast, as if fighting the memories clawing their way up. Jessa didn’t break easily. But this? This was tearing her open from the inside out.

“Jess,” he said quietly, careful not to press too hard. “You don’t have to hold it together for me.”

Her jaw flexed, but she didn’t respond.

He turned his gaze back out the windshield, swallowing down the anger that surged hot in his throat. Anger at whoever had done this.

Jessa and he didn’t always play on the same side of the line. Crossfire Ops and Creed Response did things he couldn’t put on a warrant. And he’d cuffed people she would’ve protected, and she’d protected people he would’ve cuffed.

But when it came down to it?

Their lives were both built around one thing. Justice. Whatever it took. Whoever it took down. And Jessa had just been told that justice had been denied to the person she loved most in the world.