Page 50 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

Noah’s expression hardened. “If Shade was feeding her information or taking directions from her, it means we have a bigger problem than we thought.”

Deacon nodded slowly, the pieces shifting in his mind like a puzzle starting to take shape. Shade. Lila Hargrove. Roman and Jessa targeted. Lauren’s secrets surfacing. Someone was pulling strings. And Shade sure as hell looked like the someone who was doing it.

“Any idea if Shade and Lila knew each other before she was convicted?” Deacon asked.

Deputy Ortiz nodded. “Yes. It took some digging, but I’m confident Shade and Lila were involved before Clayton Hargrove was murdered.”

Deacon blew out a slow breath. “An affair?”

“That’s what it looks like,” she replied. “Phone records, encrypted messages, burner usage. They took care to erase most of it, but not all.”

Well, hell.

They’d investigated every aspect of the dead rancher’s life, but they obviously hadn’t dug deep enough into his wife’s. After she’d been convicted, there’d been no reason to do that.

More of those pieces settled into place. Shade had motive. A big one. Lila blamed Lauren, blamed Roman, blamed Jessa, blamed him for being convicted. They were the people who had helped unravel her carefully constructed life. If Shade loved her, or even if he just believed her version of events, then revenge made sense. It could explain the blackmail. It could explain the attempts to turn them on each other. It could explain the attempt on their lives.

And if Shade had murdered Lauren, it would fit too.

Lauren might have figured out the affair. She might have threatened to expose it. Or Shade could have decided Lauren was the final obstacle to clearing Lila’s name.

Deacon lifted his gaze. “If Shade thinks we put Lila behind bars, then he’d want us all gone.”

Jessa’s eyes went hard. “And he’d have reason to kill my mother,” she added.

Deacon nodded. For the first time since the attacks began, he felt as if they were staring straight at the heart of it.

And that “heart” led right to Shade.

Chapter Twelve

Jessa looked at Deacon’s desk that was now buried under reports. Printouts from deputies. Screenshots Noah’s team had sent over. Messages that Roman forwarded as fast as he could dig them up. It was all spread out in a chaotic collage that felt like a mirror in Jessa’s head.

It was already past seven. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, harsher now that she was running on fumes. Her eyes burned. Her shoulders ached from too many hours spent braced for the next hit.

Deacon stood beside her, one hand braced on the edge of the desk. She could tell he was hurting. His posture was too stiff, movements too careful. The adrenaline had long worn off, leaving pain in its wake. Like her, he was frustrated, jaw tight, eyes dark with the lack of progress.

They’d been chasing leads all day and getting nowhere. No sign of Wynn. No sign of Corbin. Both of them had simply vanished into the hills, leaving chaos behind them.

Cold diner leftovers sat at the corner of the desk. A couple of empty coffee cups were stacked beside them, the sharp smell of stale coffee hanging in the air. It felt as if they’d been surviving on caffeine and stubbornness alone.

Jessa rubbed her temples and stared at the report in front of her without really seeing it. “We’re running in circles,” she muttered.

Deacon exhaled slowly. “Feels like it.”

She glanced at him, taking in the lines of fatigue around his eyes. He looked just as wrung out as she felt.

Whoever was behind this knew how to disappear. And worse, they knew exactly how to keep them spinning, searching, failing.

The day had been long. The answers were still out of reach.

Deacon got another text. She’d lost count of how many of those had come through in the past hours. He read this one, cursed, scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a rough groan. The sound alone told her how close he was to boiling over.

“Shade’s lawyer is stalling,” he said. “Claims his client has a stomach virus and can’t come back in to finish the interview.”

Jessa shot him a look. “Seriously.”

“That’s what he says. He’s supposedly getting a statement from a doctor to back it up.” Deacon’s mouth twisted. “And we both know a doctor can be paid off.”