Chapter Three
Beck sat in one of the black leather chairs of the briefing room, his arms folded across his chest, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. But he was thinking. Man, was he. He was trying to put the pieces together, pieces of what the hell was going on, but the picture refused to take shape.
He certainly had the quiet for thinking time since Grace sure wasn’t saying much. She sat across from him at the table with only the soft hum of electronics as a low undercurrent beneath the silence.
Like the rest of Crossfire Ops headquarters, the briefing room was high tech. A long glass table dominated the center, lit from beneath with a faint blue glow, and lining the walls were digital screens, ready to stream satellite feeds, tactical maps, or classified intel at a moment’s notice.
Right now, the screens detailed what’d happened in the past two hours.
A digital copy of Grace’s statement to the local cops, photos of the gray truck they’d found.
And, of course, photos of that creepy-assed mask.
It was thin, almost transparent as if it’d been actual skin ripped right off Elena’s face.
Somewhere down the hall, Noah Riggs was in his office with Crossfire Creek’s sheriff, Arden Chase. Grace had already given her statement about the shooting, every detail laid out for the record, and now Sheriff Chase’s deputies were on their way to process the truck and the mask.
Whoever was behind this wanted Grace isolated and discredited. That was clear. The harder part was figuring out who had the reach, the skill, and the motive to pull it off.
And right now, his gut told him they were staring at only the surface of something much deeper.
“I was wrong,” Grace muttered, her voice shattering that silence. “Someone tried to kill me, and I swore up and down it was Elena. But with that mask lying on the truck seat, it could have been anyone posing as her.”
Beck leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. “Maybe it was someone posing as her. Maybe,” he emphasized. “But it also could have been Elena herself. That mask might not prove her innocence. It could be a really clever way of deflecting her guilt.”
Grace let out a low groan and pressed her hands to her face. “You could be right. Elena does hate us, and I can only imagine the lengths she might be willing to go to when acting on that hate.”
The words settled between them, heavy and raw. Beck closed his eyes for a beat, memories flooding back.
No way to stop them.
They rushed over him. The flashbacks. And the hellish reminder that Elena’s lover, Carson Franklin, had been the one who died in that last op. The ambush that had gutted Strike Force, the firefight that had left Grace in a hospital bed for weeks, fighting for her life.
Beck had lived. Grace had lived. But Elena’s lover hadn’t made it out of the kill zone.
Elena had been wild with grief, her rage blistering every word she spoke in the aftermath. She had never forgiven them. Beck could still hear her voice, breaking with fury as she hurled blame.
Grace shifted in her chair, pale but steady. Obviously, she was dealing with her own flashbacks from that nightmare. “Elena said we abandoned Carson. That we chose to save our own skin over him.”
Beck’s jaw tightened. Yeah, he remembered that, too, along with the smoke, the bullets ripping past.
And the impossible choices they had made in those frantic minutes.
He also remembered, in perfect, agonizing detail, dragging Grace out while blood poured from her side, the weight of her limp body heavy in his arms. They had fought like hell to survive. And still, one of their own had not.
If Elena had carried that grudge all this time, it gave her motive enough.
Beck opened his eyes and met Grace’s. “Hate can burn a long time. And it can make a person do things they never would have done before.”
She didn’t respond, not verbally anyway, and the silence stretched until Grace’s phone buzzed against the table. She snatched it up, scanning the screen.
“It’s from a PI friend of mine,” she said. “I asked her to track down Silas, to confirm if he really hired Elena. But so far she hasn’t been able to find him. He isn’t picking up calls either.”
Beck’s chest tightened. Silas Kemp being in the wind was not good. That could mean a dozen things, none of them simple.
Before he could reply, the door opened. Noah Riggs stepped inside with Sheriff Chase beside him. Beck and Grace rose to their feet.
Sheriff Chase moved into the briefing room with the same quiet authority Beck remembered from the few times they had worked alongside her.
She wore tactical pants, boots, and a gray polo with the department’s star embroidered on the chest. Her close-cropped blond hair made her striking, and the lines around her eyes said she had seen more than her share of hard things.
She carried herself like the Marine she had once been, seasoned further by six years with Maverick Ops before she had been elected sheriff nearly a decade ago.
Sheriff Chase didn’t waste time. “Jonah Kemp is still missing, and someone clearly wants you dead, Grace. The truck is already on its way to the lab, but the CSIs gave it a once-over at the scene. It’s been wiped clean of prints.”
Grace’s shoulders stiffened, and Beck felt the tension rolling off her. And the frustration. They’d needed to find some kind of answers in the forensics gathered from that truck, but that wasn’t going to happen if the attacker had made sure there was nothing to find.
Well, nothing other than that damn mask.
Noah shifted his weight, aiming his attention at Grace. “Who other than Elena could have fired those shots at you?” he asked.
Grace drew in a breath. “Maybe Jonah’s brother, Silas, if he doesn’t want Jonah found. Silas spent some time in the Army so he knows how to shoot.”
Beck glanced at her, watching the flush rise in her cheeks. She wasn’t speculating blindly. Like him, all of this had been going through her mind.
“Jonah came into some money recently,” Grace went on. “An insurance settlement. About a hundred grand. If Silas thought Jonah was vulnerable, or if he wanted the money himself, that might be motive enough.”
Beck shifted his stance, his eyes on Noah and the sheriff.
“Since we’re looking at suspects other than Elena, we have to consider Jonah himself.
” His voice was steady, clipped. “To put it mildly, he hasn’t cared much for either of us since the last shitstorm op.
Grace and I both told command he wasn’t fit for duty after he botched it.
They backed us, and Jonah was fired from Strike Force. ”
Grace’s jaw tightened, her gaze dropping for a moment. Beck caught the flicker of guilt in her expression, but she didn’t speak. They had made the right call. Jonah had been reckless, and lives had been on the line. Still, the man had never forgiven them.
Sheriff Chase’s gaze sharpened. “If Jonah dislikes you both, why reach out to Grace at all?”
Grace shifted, her hand brushing across the edge of the table.
“I was surprised when he showed up a couple of weeks ago. He said he was looking for help to buy into a neighborhood that’d been set aside for wounded warriors.
The settlement money wasn’t enough to cover it, and he told me he couldn’t get financing for the rest.”
Noah tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Did you get any sense he was playing you? That maybe he was there to scope you out for a future attack?”
Grace hesitated, her gaze lowering for a moment. “There was an uneasiness between us. I felt it. But he wasn’t openly hostile.”
Beck kept his expression neutral, though his mind worked fast. Uneasy but not hostile was still a wide enough space for Jonah to maneuver in.
“Jonah hated Elena too,” Beck spelled out to the sheriff. “She spoke out against him with command, backed what Grace and I said, and that was part of the reason he got fired. If Jonah wanted payback, maybe he set this up to look like Elena was behind it.”
The sheriff’s forehead bunched up while she obviously considered that. Then she gave a short nod. “All right. We put Jonah, Silas, and Elena on the list of suspects. Once I find the three of them, I’ll be bringing them in for questioning.”
Grace’s voice softened. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
Chase gave her a nod, then turned and walked out of the briefing room, the sound of her boots fading down the hall.
The room settled into silence again until Noah shifted his attention back to Grace. “You’re welcome to stay here at the compound and work the investigation with Beck. We’ll keep you secure while we figure this out.”
Grace drew in a breath and nodded, relief and determination mixing across her face.
Beck felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders. Grace at headquarters, working alongside him again. It would make the hunt easier.
It would also dig up every piece of the past he had never managed to bury.
Noah moved toward the door, but before he could step out, it opened. A man filled the doorway, tall and lanky, his dark hair slicked back, a smirk already tugging at his mouth. Denny Martel.
Beck’s stomach knotted the second he saw him.
Former Strike Force, now a private investigator who had made a name for himself digging where he wasn’t wanted.
Denny had always been cocky, pushy, too sure of himself.
He had been interested in Grace once, and she had turned him down in favor of Beck.
The sting of that rejection had never quite left him.
“Grace?” Denny’s brows shot up in apparent surprise. His gaze lingered a little too long before he looked around at the others. “Didn’t expect to find you here. I was on my way to see you next. But first, I needed a word with Noah.”
Beck’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the man, didn’t trust him, and certainly didn’t care for the way his eyes had lit up when he spotted Grace. Beck hated to think his own jealousy was playing into this, but it sure as hell was.
And that made him stupid.
Because Grace wasn’t his and hadn’t been for a very long time.
Denny stepped farther into the room, his gaze flicking between them. “I got a call from Jonah. Out of the blue. I hadn’t heard from him in years.”
Beck felt Grace stiffen beside him, her hand curling against the table.
Denny went on, his tone casual but carrying a thread of curiosity. “He said he needed me to bring him some supplies. Food. Cash. The basics. He sounded spooked, jumpy as hell. Like somebody was breathing down his neck. He gave me an address and said I was to leave it by the door.”
Beck narrowed his eyes, searching Denny’s face for any hint of a lie.
“I told him I’d do it,” Denny added with a shrug. “And I will. But I wanted to run it past Noah first, make sure I wasn’t stepping into something I shouldn’t.”
Noah’s expression hardened, but he didn’t interrupt.
Denny glanced back at Grace, then Beck. “Jonah also asked for weapons. Not just a sidearm. He wants an assault rifle. High-powered. He said he needs it to protect himself. From you,” he added, shifting his attention to Grace.
The room went still, the weight of the words pressing down on all of them. Beck’s gut tightened. If Jonah was that scared, he might really be a target.
Or he was planning something far worse.
Something that involved Grace’s murder.