Chapter Twenty
Jessa and Deacon leaned against his cruiser while chaos moved around them. Responders flooded the cemetery, the bomb squad giving the all-clear a few minutes earlier. Now the ME and the CSIs were working the scene. There hadn’t been a need for EMTs.
Corbin and Wynn were both dead.
The cold air felt heavier than it should, thick with gunpowder and broken stone and too many damn memories. Deacon watched the techs move around Wynn’s body. He didn’t feel satisfaction. Not even relief. Just a dull, unsettled ache in his chest.
Wynn had been a broken man long before tonight.
He’d been manipulated, weaponized, shoved into a darkness he never had the strength to crawl out of.
Deacon hated what the man had done, hated the terror he’d brought into Jessa’s life, but seeing him sprawled in front of Lauren’s shattered grave was a punch straight to the ribs.
Corbin, though… Deacon had no regrets about that bastard.
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.
“I want to talk to Roman and Noah before we go,” Jessa insisted.
“Yeah,” Deacon agreed. “Let’s do that.”
He walked with her across the cemetery. The responders were still moving in and out of the shadows, their voices low, their lights sweeping over churned earth and broken stone. Roman and Noah stood near a row of cedars, both of them looking as worn down as Deacon felt.
Noah stepped forward the moment they reached them. “You two all okay?”
Deacon answered at the same time Jessa did. “Yeah.”
Noah gave a relieved nod, then took Jessa’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture seemed to hit her harder than any words could have.
“Roman filled me in on what happened,” Noah explained. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry Corbin murdered Lauren.”
Jessa’s breath left her in a slow, shaky exhale.
Roman’s jaw tightened, grief carved into every line of his face.
Deacon knew this had ripped everything open again, all the wounds that hadn’t even begun to scar.
But he also knew this was the first moment any of them had been able to look the truth square in the eye.
He hoped this was where healing started.
Even if it was going to be a long road getting there.
“Thank you for the drone cover,” Jessa told him.
“Anytime,” Noah said.
Deacon watched him for a moment. Noah was usually the picture of control, smooth and steady, but right now he looked almost nervous. It wasn’t subtle, either. His gaze kept flicking to Jessa, then away again, as if he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to stand.
Finally, Noah cleared his throat. “Jessa,” he said quietly, “would it be all right if I called you sometime? Maybe for coffee. Or dinner.”
Jessa didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Relief broke across Noah’s face, softening the lines that grief and shock had carved there tonight.
Before he stepped away, Jessa wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug.
Noah froze for a second, then hugged her back, holding on just long enough for Deacon to see the hope settling in the man’s eyes.
Yeah. Healing had begun.
When Noah stepped back and started toward his vehicle, Deacon slipped his arm around Jessa’s waist, drawing her in close. She leaned against him, her body fitting against his as if it had always belonged there.
Roman watched Noah walk off, then turned to Deacon. “Any chance Shade’s going to face charges for this mess?”
Deacon shook his head. “I don’t think he was working with Corbin. If he had been, Corbin would’ve thrown him under the bus the second he started dying.”
“Yeah. Corbin never missed a chance to take someone down with him,” Roman snarled.
“Shade might’ve broken a few laws though,” Deacon added. “I’m having my deputies dig a little. Just to be sure.”
“All’s well that ends well,” Roman muttered, but the sarcasm was thick as he looked around the wrecked cemetery. Torn-up earth. Police lights strobing over broken headstones. The residue of explosives still hanging faintly in the cold air.
Deacon didn’t blame him. Nothing about this felt like an ending.
Not yet.
Roman’s scowl shifted from the wrecked cemetery to Deacon’s arm around Jessa. The look on his face said it all. He wasn’t subtle, and he wasn’t trying to be.
Jessa noticed right away. “You need to get used to seeing this,” she told him, her tone light but firm.
Roman gave her a flat, unimpressed stare and let out a soft huff. “I don’t have to get used to anything,” he said. “I never forgot you’re in love with him.” His gaze cut to Deacon, sharp enough to slice. “But you better not even think about arresting me again.”
Then, Roman stepped in and hugged his sister, tight and protective. As he pulled back, he added, “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Try not to let anything explode until then.”
With that, he turned and strolled away, looking every bit like the badass that Deacon knew he was. A badass with an obvious soft spot for his sister. A reminder that made Deacon smile just a little.
Jessa and Deacon walked toward the cruiser, the cold air settling heavier now that the adrenaline was fading. Before he opened the door, Deacon turned to her, needing just one damn thing answered before the night swallowed them whole.
“What Roman said,” he had to ask. “Is it true? Are you still in love with me?”
Jessa froze, her hand still on the door handle. For a moment, he thought she might dodge it, might bury it the way she had so much else today. But she stepped closer, her breath visible in the chilly air.
“Yes,” she confirmed. No hesitation. No apology. “I never stopped loving you. Even when I told myself I had to.”
Something deep in Deacon cracked open. He cupped her face, brushing his thumb along her cheek, needing to feel her skin under his hand to believe she was really here, really saying this.
“I love you, Jessa,” he said. “I’ve loved you every damn day since the first time you walked into my life. Losing you was the biggest mistake I ever made.”
Her eyes softened, filling with something that finally pushed back the darkness that had swallowed the last twenty-four hours.
“Then don’t lose me again,” she whispered.
He pulled her in and kissed her, slow and certain, the kind of kiss that promised a future neither of them had dared reach for before tonight.
When they finally eased back, she rested her forehead against his. “We still have a lot to figure out.”
“I know,” he answered. “But we’ll do it together.”
Jessa smiled, a small, tired thing, but real. “Together,” she repeated.
They got into the cruiser, the weight of the night still around them, but something new settling in, too.
Something steady.
Something right.
And Deacon didn’t intend to let go of that something right. He didn’t intend to let go of Jessa.
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