Page 46 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

Shade’s shoulders bunched the moment Deacon pressed him. “There was no blackmail,” Shade spat out. “None. I did some work for her, that’s all.”

“Then you won’t mind if I get a warrant for your bank records,” Deacon replied. “We’ll see if there were any unexplained deposits in the months before Lauren Creed died.”

The lawyer shot upright in his chair. “Sheriff, that’s unnecessary.”

Shade leaned toward him, whispering sharply. Jessa couldn’t make out the words, but Shade’s expression flickered between annoyance and fear. The lawyer murmured something back, calm and clipped, and Shade exhaled through his nose.

When Shade faced Deacon again, he was already backpedaling. “All right. Fine,” Shade muttered. “Lauren did give me money, but it wasn’t blackmail. She hired me. Sometimes she wanted her cybersecurity tested for vulnerabilities. She paid for that. Voluntarily.”

Jessa’s jaw tightened. It was a neat explanation. Too neat. It fit conveniently enough that Shade could dodge being charged if they couldn’t prove otherwise. Lauren was gone, the only other person who could confirm or deny the story.

Deacon tilted his head slightly, the look that meant he smelled a lie. “Testing cybersecurity,” he repeated. “And you expect me to believe that’s the whole story.”

Shade lifted his chin. “Believe whatever you want. It’s the truth.”

Jessa’s stomach twisted. Because it wasn’t the truth. Not all of it. She could feel that same cold instinct that had kept her alive on ops.

Deacon didn’t ease into the next question. He hit Shade with it like a hammer. “Did you murder Lauren Creed?”

Shade’s lawyer jerked upright. “Absolutely not. Sheriff, that question is out of line and my client is not answering that.”

But Shade did answer. His eyes sparked with something ugly. “I didn’t kill her,” Shade growled. “Lauren was already dying. And she deserved worse after what she did.”

Jessa froze. A cold pulse slid through her arms.

“What exactly do you think she did?” Deacon kept his tone flat.

Shade leaned back, the edge of a smirk twisting his mouth. “She was sleeping with that rancher. Clayton Hargrove. You know it. Everybody with half a brain knows it. And she killed him.”

“No,” Jessa whispered before she could stop herself. Her breath fogged the glass.

Shade kept on talking. “She murdered him, and you all helped her cover it up. Jessa. Roman. Even you, Sheriff. You’re all tangled up in it whether you admit it or not.”

“I arrested Lauren. I put her in cuffs. I treated her like any suspect.” Deacon’s voice dropped into something dark and lethal. “The case fell apart because the evidence against Roman and her was staged.”

Shade rolled his eyes as if Deacon were clueless. “Of course it was staged. But badly. Sloppy. It was the kind of setup Roman and Jessa would do to protect their precious mother. Their precious, lying mother.”

Jessa’s nails bit into her palms. She felt something twist in her chest, a hot coil of grief and rage.

“So you think Lauren killed Hargrove, and you think she dragged her children into covering it up,” Deacon came out and asked.

“I know she did,” Shade replied with a firm nod. “She played all of you. Right up until the end.”

Shade’s lawyer touched his arm, low and urgent. “Brett. Stop talking.”

But Shade didn’t stop. He yanked his arm away and kept right on, his voice rising with each word. “Roman always thought he was better than everybody. Lauren treated him like he hung the fucking moon. And you,” he added with a sneer toward the mirror, as if he could see her standing there, “you were just the princess who got whatever she wanted.”

Jessa felt her pulse stutter.

The lawyer tried again. “Brett, you need to stop.”

Shade ignored him completely. “I don’t owe Roman anything. Not after what he’s done. We’ve had run-ins for years. He’s always acted like I’m dirt under his boots.”

Jessa had known there was history between Shade and Roman but not like this. Not this deep, festering resentment. And suddenly it hit her with cold clarity. Maybe Deacon wasn’t the target at all. Maybe the bullet that tore through her SUV was meant for her. Maybe the entire ambush was about her.

To punish Roman. To hurt him in the one place he couldn’t guard.

Shade kept talking, venom dripping from every word. “I wouldn’t lift a finger to help either of you. Not Roman. Not her.”