Page 76 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

The man had murdered Lauren. He’d murdered Clayton Hargrove. He’d tried to kill Jessa, Roman, and Deacon more than once. He’d used Wynn like a puppet and seemed proud of it until his last breath. Corbin dying was justice finally clawing its way to the surface.

Deacon exhaled and looked at Jessa beside him. Her hair was windblown, her coat dusty, her eyes tired, but she stood steady. Strong. Alive. Thank God.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, but he sensed the raw nerves beneath it. He slipped his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. She squeezed back.

Farther in the cemetery, Roman was speaking with Sheriff Martelli, giving a quick debrief while Noah examined what was left of the detonator Corbin had used. Headstones were chipped, the grass burned in patches, and the air still carried hints of smoke.

It could’ve been so much worse. They all knew that.

Jessa shifted closer, her arm brushing his. “It’s over,” she whispered, as if she needed to say it out loud to believe it.

“Yeah,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure that was true yet.

Fallout always came after the firefight. There’d be statements, investigations, grief to unravel, secrets to finish unearthing. But for now, they were alive.

Together.

And the monsters who’d hunted them were gone.

Jessa leaned her head lightly against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her hair and closed his eyes for one long breath.

When he opened his eyes, the familiar chaos of a crime scene was still in full swing. Blue and red lights strobed across the cemetery, throwing shadows across the broken headstones and churned earth. He heard the distant murmur of deputies, the clipped instructions from the ME, the cracking of radios. But under it all was the quiet thrum of exhaustion settling deep in his bones.

She looked up at him. “Are you hurting? And don’t say no. You’ve been moving like you’re made of glass.”

He almost smiled. “Some glass is flexible, you know.”

“Smartass,” she muttered, but her eyes softened. “Seriously. Did you pop a stitch?”

“I don’t think so.” He shifted, testing the ache in his side. It was a deep burn, not the sharp rip of fresh damage. “Hurts, yeah. But I’m fine.”

“You always say that,” she grumbled.

“And it’s usually true.”

She gave him a look that told him she didn’t buy it for a second. Then, her gaze drifted across the cemetery, taking in the body bags being loaded, the cratered patch of earth where Corbin’s device had been, the remnants of Wynn’s last desperate moment. Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“It’s over,” he said.

She nodded, but it wasn’t agreement. It was acknowledgment. Acceptance. And a little disbelief. But either way, he wasn’t letting her go.

Not again.

Sheriff Martelli walked over, his boots crunching on the rocky path. “You two can head out,” he let them know. “I’ll get your statements in the morning.”

Deacon nodded, though his instinct was to argue. “You sure you don’t need a hand?”

Martelli let out a tired snort. “I’ve got this. Besides, you both look beat to hell and back.” His gaze swept over them. “Get some rest. God knows you need it.”

Deacon couldn’t argue with that. His face stung from the shallow cuts the flying debris had carved into his skin. His hands were scratched up, too, and his ribs were a steady ache. Jessa didn’t look much better. Her cheek was marked, her knuckles scraped, and he was willing to bet she’d find plenty of bruises once the adrenaline wore off.

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Deacon said. “We’ll be back in the morning.”

Martelli gave a nod and a wave before he headed toward the cluster of responders gathering near the mausoleum.

Deacon looked at Jessa. She gave him a weary half smile, one that said she was hurting, exhausted, and trying to keep it together. He didn’t reach for her yet. Not here. But the urge was strong.