Crossfire Creek Manhunt (Hard Justice, Crossfire Creek #6)

Prologue

The warehouse echoed with the sharp crack of boots on concrete, each sound magnified by the pitch-dark space.

Cal Granger swept his rifle in a slow, deliberate arc, the beam of his weapon’s light cutting across stacks of pallets and rusted machinery. On either side of him, Alena Warrington and her brother, David, mirrored his movements, their focus razor-sharp.

They had to succeed. No other option there.

If they failed, a woman could die.

Strike Force had taken this case after the police came up empty.

Melissa Trent’s family was desperate, clinging to the hope that tonight would bring her home.

The trail had led here, to this hellhole of a warehouse, where her abductor waited.

Dexter, her ex-husband and a controlling, unhinged asshole, wasn’t the kind of man to simply hand her over.

“Movement, north catwalk,” David’s voice came low through Cal’s earpiece. He kept pace across the floor, steady, watchful, a shadow moving in sync.

A woman’s scream shattered the silence.

Cal jerked his head up in time to see Dexter Westbrook appear on the steel catwalk above. He had his ex, Melissa, by the arm, gun jammed hard against her temple. His eyes were wild, his grip punishing.

“Stay back!” Westbrook roared. “She’s mine. Nobody takes the bitch from me.”

Cal froze, rifle steady but finger tight against the trigger. “You don’t want to do this. Let her go.”

From the shadows, Alena moved, circling left to get an angle. Their rhythm was flawless, but Westbrook’s eyes tracked her movement, sharp with rage.

He fired.

The bullet struck David. The crack of the shot thundered through the building as David went down hard, blood spilling across the concrete.

“No!” Alena’s voice tore through the chaos.

Cal’s chest seized as he pivoted, catching sight of David’s crumpled form. Training screamed at him to move, but the moment stretched long and jagged.

Westbrook yanked Melissa closer and fired again. Not at Melissa though. The round hit a fuel drum near Alena’s cover, and the explosion ripped the warehouse open with heat and thunder. Cal slammed into a steel beam, his ears ringing, his vision swimming.

Through smoke and flame he saw Alena crumpled on the ground, her abdomen dark with spreading blood.

Cal crawled to her, dragging her into his arms. Her breaths came shallow and broken. His hands pressed against the wound, slick with her blood.

“You’re all right,” Cal managed to say. “Stay with me. Please.”

Her lips trembled as she whispered his name. “Cal…”

Behind them, David lay unmoving, blood pooling beneath him. The sight carved into Cal’s soul. He couldn’t reach him, couldn’t help them both, couldn’t save anyone.

Shouts rang out as the rest of Strike Force surged forward, chasing Westbrook while he continued dragging Melissa. Cal saw the team reach Westbrook, saw them do the takedown and yank Melissa out of her captor’s grip.

Cal bent over Alena, holding on as if sheer will could keep her alive. The mission was technically a success with Melissa’s rescue, but for him, everything had already been lost.

He had failed Alena. He had failed David. And nothing would ever be the same again.