Page 35 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

Jessa lifted her gaze to his, and for just a heartbeat, it felt like years ago. Before murder. Before secrets. Before heartbreak. Before Wynn’s warning that someone else wanted them dead.

The moment passed.

She took another sip of coffee, grounding herself. Time to get to work. “Any updates from Sheriff Chase? Or Noah?” she asked.

Deacon shook his head. “Nothing yet. I told them both what Wynn said on the call.”

“And?” she pressed.

“And Noah denied every word of it,” Deacon said. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

Jessa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She wasn’t surprised, though relief still trickled through her. He might be her father in DNA only, but she hadn’t wanted him to be a killer.

“Of course he denied it,” she murmured. “He’s… Noah. Whatever else he is or isn’t to me, the man’s practically squeaky clean. His entire life is built around protecting people. Serving them.”

“He’s not the type to kill the mother of his child,” Deacon added. When Ranger scratched at the door, Deacon stood to let him in. The dog went straight to his water bowl. “Or anybody, unless they needed killing.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “And it’s not like he had a reason. He’s never been married. Never had some jealous spouse to hide anything from. Even if he’d known about me, it wouldn’t have been some scandal that destroyed his life.”

Her throat tightened saying it. If he’d known about me…

Deacon’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to convince me, Jess. I believe him.”

“I do too,” she admitted. “I don’t know Noah the way you do, but from what I’ve seen, from everything I’ve heard… there’s no motive. None.”

The only motive in this mess belonged to someone else.

Someone who wanted to rewrite Lauren’s death. Someone who wanted Jessa and Deacon dead. Someone who wanted Crossfire Ops, Creed Response, or maybe her entire world torn apart.

The unanswered questions pressed in again, heavy and unwelcome.

She’d just taken another sip of coffee when her phone vibrated in her pocket. “Unknown number,” she relayed after taking it out and glancing at the screen.

Deacon’s fork hit his plate with a soft clink. “Speaker,” he said.

She set her coffee aside, nodded, and answered. “Wynn?”

Static, then a breath, sharp, unsteady. “You want answers?” Wynn rasped. “Meet me at the end of Deacon’s road.”

Jessa shot to her feet. Deacon did the same, stitches be damned. They moved together toward the side kitchen window overlooking the long gravel driveway. Sunlight spilled over the pasture, stretching all the way to the tree line that concealed the property’s entrance.

Nothing. No car. No movement. Just a wall of oak and mesquite hiding whatever waited beyond.

Deacon leaned closer to the phone. “Wynn, how do we know this isn’t an ambush?”

A rough laugh crackled through the speaker. Not amused. “You don’t,” Wynn said. “But if you want the truth, if you really want to know who killed Lauren, you’ll come.”

“Give me a minute,” Deacon told Wynn, and he cursed under his breath. “Mute the phone and come with me,” he added to Jessa, already striding down the hall. “Office.”

She did as he said and followed, coffee forgotten on the table, Ranger trailing after them with a confused whine. Deacon pushed open the door to his home office, a compact room filled with clean lines and efficiency. Desk. Safe. Nothing cozy about it. Just purpose.

He dropped into the chair, woke his laptop, and pulled up the security feed. The screen flickered, then split into four angles of his property. He clicked to enlarge the camera positioned at the end of the long gravel road.

A truck sat just off the shoulder. Dark blue. Older model. Dust-coated. And inside, visible through the windshield…

“Wynn,” she said on a breath.

He looked as if he’d aged a decade in the past weeks since she’d seen him. His graying hair was cropped short, his face rough and unshaven, eyes sharp even through the pixelation of the feed.