Chapter Twelve
Grace sat at the edge of the long conference table in the Crossfire Ops briefing room, her arms resting lightly on the cool surface.
The giant wall screen glowed with maps and feeds, but none of them carried the update she wanted.
Elena was still missing. No sightings, no leads.
The frustration in the room was palpable, stretching between her and Beck like a taut wire.
Beck leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight. “How are your injuries?” he asked, his voice gentler than the tension in his body suggested.
She met his gaze and let out a slow breath. “Better than I thought they’d be. Not nearly as much pain today.”
His eyes searched hers, blue and unyielding, and for a moment the frustration faded.
What lingered instead was something hotter, something she had tried to keep buried.
The worry in his expression was real, but so was the spark that had always been there between them.
She felt it now, simmering in the silence that settled around them.
The silence stretched, charged, until Beck finally stood. He crossed the short distance between them, his presence filling the room. His hand slid to her elbow, easing her up from the chair. He drew her against him, slow and careful, as if giving her every chance to pull away.
“This is supposed to be a hug of comfort,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “If I hurt you, tell me and I’ll back off.”
The heat of him wrapped around her, steady and grounding. She didn’t want him to back off. Not now. Not after everything.
She tipped her face up, met his gaze, and kissed him.
The kiss lingered, gentle and unhurried, a brush of tenderness that eased some of the weight pressing on her chest. Beck’s hand stayed light against her back, steady but not demanding, and for a few precious seconds she let herself sink into the warmth of him.
They drew apart slowly, their foreheads almost touching, breath mingling in the quiet room. No words came, but none were needed.
Then the soft chime of the wall screen broke through, followed by the whir of data loading. Grace turned her head toward it, her heart still thudding as text began to scroll across the monitor.
The report on the wall screen carried Noah’s name, and Grace’s eyes moved quickly over the updates.
“Silas does have hacking skills,” she murmured. “Isla confirmed it. He even spent time in jail for it.” She shook her head, frustration stirring again. “Then why lie about it? That only makes him look more suspicious.”
Beck leaned closer, scanning the lines with her. “Agreed. If he wanted to clear his name, lying was the worst move he could make.”
She scrolled down to the next section. “The sheriff dropped Jonah at his place in San Antonio,” she read. “She’s back at the station for the interviews. While she was gone, her deputy handled Denny’s interview and released him.”
Beck muttered something under his breath that Grace couldn’t quite catch, but she didn’t need to. The idea of Denny being out and about again put them both on edge.
“Next up is Silas’s interview,” Grace added. “But he hasn’t shown. He called and said his attorney was running late.”
Beck’s mouth tightened. “Convenient.”
Grace couldn’t disagree.
The briefing room door swung open and Isla came in, carrying her tablet like a prized trophy. Her limp was pronounced today, but it didn’t slow her determined stride.
“I’ve got something you’ll want to see,” she said, dropping into one of the chairs.
“Crossfire Creek doesn’t have traffic cams, so I had to get creative.
Pulled footage from nearby businesses, the hospital, and even a couple of doorbell cameras.
Already sent it all to the sheriff, but I figured you’d both want to take a look. ”
“We do,” Beck was quick to assure her.
They leaned forward as Isla tapped the screen, and the video played. It showed Elena bolting from the ambulance, her movements jerky but fast. She vanished around the corner of the hospital, and the next clip picked her up about a block away.
A truck pulled up beside her. The footage was grainy, the kind of blurred pixels Grace hated, and it was impossible to make out who was behind the wheel. Even worse, the license plates were streaked with mud, completely unreadable.
On the screen, Elena slowed as the vehicle rolled to a stop beside her.
She leaned in, clearly speaking with the driver.
Even through the poor resolution, Grace could see Elena trembling, her shoulders hunched against the cold.
She looked disoriented, unsteady on her feet.
Or maybe it was just another performance.
Elena had managed to sprint out of that ambulance without faltering.
The conversation was brief, just a few seconds, before Elena yanked open the passenger door and climbed inside. The truck eased away, taillights disappearing into the gray morning.
“I didn’t get the plates,” Isla said, fingers flying over her tablet, “but I did catch enough to nail down the vehicle’s make and model. It’s as nondescript as they come, but better than nothing.” She rattled off the description and added, “I’ve already asked the sheriff to put out a BOLO.”
Grace exhaled slowly, her pulse still unsettled from watching Elena vanish. Whoever had been driving that car was now sheltering—or hiding—her.
The knock at the door startled her. Operatives didn’t knock, they usually just walked in and out of the briefing room as needed. Grace rose and opened it.
Denny stood on the other side, his hands already raised as if he expected her to slam the door in his face.
Grace groaned. “Oh, for crying out loud.”
“I’m not here for a fight,” Denny said quickly. “I came to apologize.”
Denny stepped inside, giving Isla a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to Grace and Beck.
“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry for the tension that’s been between us. Obviously someone wants us dead, and I think it goes back to that last op, when Carson was killed. Elena never forgave any of us for that.”
Grace studied him, uncertain if his voice carried honesty or practiced ease.
“I already gave my interview at the sheriff’s office,” Denny went on.
“One of her deputies took it. I told them what I’m telling you now.
I think Elena’s the one behind all of this.
She’s the one who wants us all gone.” He paused, his gaze flicking from Beck to Grace. “Do you have any idea where she is?”
Grace kept her expression neutral, but unease tightened her chest. Was Denny here to share information, or was he fishing to see what they had learned?
Beck spoke before she could. “No idea where Elena is,” he said flatly. He left it at that, offering nothing about Isla’s footage.
Denny studied them for a long moment, his sharp eyes flicking between Beck and Grace as if he were trying to read whether they were holding something back. Grace didn’t blink, keeping her face impassive.
Finally, Denny said, “Maybe you should check some rental cabins that Jonah’s and Silas’ uncle owns. There are about six of them scattered through the Hill Country.”
Grace frowned. “Why would Elena go to one of those?”
“Because I think either Silas or Jonah is helping her,” Denny replied. “I don’t know which, but it has to be one of them.”
Grace leaned back slightly, her mind racing. Was this a genuine lead, or Denny’s way of tossing the spotlight off himself?
Isla leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. “So how do you even know about these cabins, Denny? And if you really think you’re in danger, why haven’t you already gone out and checked them yourself?” Her tone was blunt, edged with that quirky frankness that made her impossible to ignore.
A flash of anger cut across Denny’s eyes before he masked it. He reined himself in quickly, though Grace had caught it. “I know about them because Jonah mentioned them years ago,” he said. “And I haven’t had the chance to check them out since I’ve been answering questions from the local cops.”
Denny’s mouth tightened, a bitter edge slipping into his words, but he gave a quick wave of his hand as if dismissing it. “Anyway, take it or leave it. I’m just trying to help.”
Grace wasn’t so sure.
Denny’s gaze shifted between her and Beck, his eyes narrowing. “So,” he said, voice edged with resentment, “are you two back together?”
Neither of them answered. Beck’s silence was solid, deliberate. Grace kept her expression unreadable.
Denny scowled, muttered something under his breath, and stalked out. Beck shut the door firmly behind him.
“Just how big of a suspect is he?” Isla asked, her voice matter-of-fact, though her eyes sparkled with sharp curiosity.
“Big,” Grace said without hesitation. “Denny had a thing for me, and I didn’t return those feelings.”
Isla let out a long whistle and shook her head. “Well, you know what they say. Hell hath no fury like a man scorned.”
Grace almost smiled, almost, but the truth of it hit way too close for comfort.
Isla gathered up her tablet and started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to them.
“This is none of my business,” she said, her voice blunt as usual.
“But just because you didn’t respond to Denny’s question about being back together doesn’t mean he didn’t get the answer.
And from where I’m standing, it looks like the answer is yes.
Maybe not fully, put-a-ring-on-it back together, but Denny isn’t an idiot. He saw what he saw.”
Grace’s stomach tightened. Isla wasn’t wrong.
“That might fuel him to do some shit,” Isla went on, her gaze flicking between them. “If he hasn’t already done some shit. I’m going to dig deeper. I want a closer look at any possible connection between Denny and those explosives we found around Jonah.”
Without waiting for them to respond, she left, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall.
Grace glanced at Beck. The tension from Isla’s words lingered in the air. She drew in a breath, the words perched on the edge of her tongue. She was ready to admit it, ready to tell Beck that being with him again, in this fight, in this mess, felt like more than just working side by side.
It felt as if they were back together.
But Beck’s phone buzzed before she could speak. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen. “It’s from Cal,” he said.
His brow furrowed as he read, a shadow crossing his face. Then he looked at her, his voice low and clipped. “Cal just heard that a Crossfire Creek deputy found a dead body.”