Chapter Seven
Beck and Grace sat in his home office with half-eaten sandwiches on the desk between them, the lab report pulled up on his monitor. The words glared back at him in black and white.
Denny Martel.
His DNA on that blasted mask that had nearly convinced Grace that Elena was the shooter.
Beck chewed slowly, his mind refusing to settle. Denny was cocky, irritating, and carried a grudge, but stepping into attempted murder was a whole different level.
His gaze drifted around the office as if the room could give him answers.
It was a stripped-down version of the briefing room at Crossfire headquarters—dual monitors, a high-powered desktop, shelves stacked with binders of notes and field manuals, and a small table in the corner for gear maintenance.
Maps of the Hill Country lined the walls, red pins marking past operations.
He had built this place to be functional, ready for work the second he stepped inside.
Grace leaned back in her chair, her sandwich untouched, her eyes on the report that Noah had sent them about an hour after that bombshell text. “Denny’s DNA on the mask. That doesn’t just happen by accident.”
Beck nodded, setting his plate aside. “No, it doesn’t. The question is why. Why would Denny be gunning for us?”
“Because I rejected him?”
“That,” Beck said, “or because we didn’t trust him enough to go into the mission to find Jonah. He’s always hated being on the outside looking in. Getting benched like that would have cut him deep.”
Grace rubbed her temple, a small crease forming between her brows. “So what? He lashes out by trying to kill us?”
Beck leaned forward, his voice steady. “And don’t forget. Denny’s the one who gave us the address of the cabin. The same place where we walked into an ambush.”
The words hung heavy between them, a reminder that every thread in this mess kept winding back to Denny.
Beck tapped the controls, bringing the report up on the wall screen, the stark words glaring back at them. “It’s possible someone planted Denny’s DNA on that mask. If that’s the case, it points us right back to Elena, Silas, or Jonah.”
Grace nodded slowly, her expression tight. “Agreed. They all had motive. And planting evidence would fit the kind of games they’d play.”
Beck leaned back in his chair and pulled up another file on the monitor, the one Isla and the tech team had assembled earlier.
A deep dive into Denny’s life since Strike Force.
“Here’s what else we know. Denny’s had trouble holding steady employment since he was forced out of Strike Force.
Bounced around with small security jobs until he set himself up as a PI. ”
Grace leaned forward, eyes scanning the screen. “Unlike Jonah, you and I never filed a complaint against him.”
“That’s right,” Beck said. “We didn’t push him out. Striker did.” He paused, his jaw tightening as the memory surfaced. “Owen Striker asked him to leave. But I’d bet good money Denny thinks we were the reason behind it. That maybe we convinced command he didn’t measure up.”
Grace’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So even if he’s not behind the ambush, he might still see us as the enemy.”
Beck nodded. “Which makes him dangerous either way.”
The glow of the monitor reflected in her eyes, shadowing them with something he recognized. Unease.
And Beck felt it too.
Beck pulled out his phone and typed a quick text to the head of Strike Force, Owen Striker, asking for the details on why he had cut Denny loose.
If Denny’s anger was tied to that decision, it might explain more than anything else they had so far.
Beck checked the time. It wasn’t late, but Owen might not respond until morning.
With a long exhale, Beck slipped the phone into his pocket. “It’s been one hell of a day,” he said quietly. “Let me show you to the guestroom. Your go-bag’s already there.”
She followed him down the hall, Bandages following lazily at their heels. He stopped at the open door of the guestroom, directly across from his own. The room was simple, neat, and ready, the soft lamplight throwing a warm glow over the bed.
For a moment, Beck couldn’t look at it. His attention stayed on Grace.
She had that small, tired smile that managed to gut him more than anything else.
The pull between them was still there, stronger than ever, and he wanted to kiss her.
Not the kind of kiss they had stolen in the office or even the one earlier here, but the kind that would strip away everything they’d been holding back.
But a kiss like that would only lead to more. And with her injuries, she was in no shape for it.
Grace must have read the conflict in his face. She stepped closer, brushing a soft, chaste kiss across his mouth. The touch was brief, but it carried more warmth than any words could.
“It’s best if I go in here,” she said, her voice low.
She slipped into the guestroom, leaving Beck standing in the hallway with the taste of her still on his lips and the ache of restraint heavy in his chest.
Grace had just started to close the guestroom door when Beck’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, expecting Owen, but the name that lit up was Isla.
“Hold on,” he said.
Grace stepped back out into the hall as he answered. He hit speaker, the sound of Isla’s voice filling the space.
“I might have found the trigger,” Isla said without preamble. “The thing that possibly pushed Jonah over the edge. He has terminal cancer. Stage four. It’s bad. He might be tying up loose ends his own way.”
Grace leaned against the doorframe, her expression pale. “Jonah never mentioned it when I saw him.”
“There’s no evidence he reconciled with his brother, either,” Isla went on. “From everything I dug up, it’s just the opposite. Court records, property disputes, ugly emails. Those two haven’t had a kind word for each other in years.”
Beck rubbed the back of his neck. “What about his connections to Denny or Elena?”
“Nothing,” Isla said. “No calls, no messages, no money moving between them. But Elena…” Isla’s tone dipped. “She posts a lot about the lover she lost. And she blames Jonah, Denny, Grace, and you, Beck. She blames all of you for Carson’s death.”
Grace flinched at the sound of Carson’s name, her jaw tightening.
Beck felt his own gut twist. Isla’s words weren’t just data. They were a reminder of how old wounds could fester until all that was left was rage.
The line went quiet, and Isla ended the call. Beck slid the phone back into his pocket, the weight of her words still pressing on him.
Grace stepped closer, her voice low. “When I saw Jonah, he did look thinner. He didn’t seem completely healthy, but he didn’t look like a man on his last breath either.”
Beck nodded slowly. “Terminal cancer changes everything. It gives him motive, but it doesn’t explain why he’d come after you now.”
“You’re right.” Grace’s brow furrowed. “What about Silas? Why would he lie about Jonah reconciling with him?”
“Good question,” Beck said. “If they were still at each other’s throats, Silas had no reason to make up a story like that. Unless he wanted to make himself look good in front of us.”
Grace hesitated, then shook her head. “Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe the reconciliation was recent. If Jonah thought his time was running out, maybe he reached for family, even if it was Silas.”
Beck didn’t like it, but he couldn’t rule it out. “If that’s true, then we need to find out what else Jonah has been setting in motion. Because a man with nothing left to lose is dangerous.”
Grace’s gaze held his, troubled and tired, but steady. “And Jonah knows exactly how to hurt us.”
Beck’s phone buzzed again. He pulled it out, half expecting another update from Isla, but the name on the screen read Owen Striker.
He opened the message, eyes narrowing as he scanned it. “Owen just gave his statement to the sheriff after Noah told him about Denny’s DNA being on the mask.”
Grace leaned in, watching his expression. “And?”
Beck blew out a long breath. “He said the reason he terminated Denny had nothing to do with field performance. It was about trust. Denny crossed a line. Tried to sabotage your relationship with me while we were at Strike Force.”
Grace’s brows knit. “Sabotage… how?”
Beck’s voice dropped, edged with anger. “Owen didn’t spell it out in detail, but enough. Denny stirred things up between us. Spread rumors. Fed me half-truths. He wanted to wedge himself in the middle.”
Her face went pale, then hardened with realization. “That’s why he showed so much interest in me back then. He wanted me to walk away from you, so he could be the one standing there instead.”
Beck’s hands curled into fists at his sides as the memory cut sharper. “And when you left, I bet he took that as his victory, even if you never wanted him. Owen must have seen through it though, and that’s why he forced Denny out.”
Grace let out a shaky breath. “Which means Denny has carried this grudge for years. Maybe that’s why he’s not just circling back to me, but to both of us.”
Beck met her gaze, the knot in his chest tightening. If Denny’s DNA really tied him to that mask, then this wasn’t just about resentment anymore. It was about payback.