Chapter One
Six Years Later
Alena Warrington shifted in the leather chair outside Noah Riggs’s office, the quiet hum of Crossfire Ops headquarters pressing in around her.
The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant, the air tinged with the energy of operatives coming and going from assignments. She pressed her hands flat against her thighs, willing herself to be still, though the adrenaline from her last op still lingered in her blood.
She had found the missing girl in a rundown duplex on the edge of San Antonio.
Seventeen, defiant, and convinced her no-good boyfriend was worth throwing her life away for.
Alena had coaxed her out with a mix of patience and firmness, walking her through the door instead of dragging her.
It should have been a win, but now she sat waiting, uncertain why Noah wanted to see her.
Footsteps padded behind her, then stopped. A shadow fell across the edge of her chair.
“Well, well,” Eli Tarrant drawled, leaning against the wall with a grin. “Got yourself called into the principal’s office, Warrington?”
Alena arched a brow at him. “Maybe. I’m not sure what this is about.”
Eli’s grin softened, his gaze flicking to Noah’s closed door. “Riggs doesn’t bite. Much.” He shifted, folding his arms. “How’s David doing?”
The name cut through her like glass. For a heartbeat, the hum of the headquarters vanished and she was somewhere else entirely. The flash of gunfire. Her twin brother’s voice shouting her name before silence swallowed it all.
She blinked hard, forcing the memory back into its box. David was alive, if you could call it that. His traumatic brain injury had stolen almost everything from him—his career, his independence, the spark in his eyes. A permanent wound no surgeon could ever mend.
“He’s hanging on,” Alena answered.
Her voice was steady, but her chest tightened around the familiar ache.
Guilt settled deep, as it always did. She carried enough of it to last a lifetime, stacked like stones she could never set down.
David’s injury was only one piece of it.
The rest were cemented into her, part of who she had become.
Eli’s expression softened with sympathy, and for that, she almost hated him. She didn’t want pity. She wanted answers. Like why Noah Riggs had called her in, and what weight he was about to add to the load she already carried.
Eli shifted his weight, glancing down the hall. “Well, I’ll let you sweat it out. Good luck with Riggs.” He started to move away, then paused and added casually, “Oh, I saw Cal earlier. Thought you’d want to know.”
The words hit much harder than she’d expected. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her fingers drifted to the plain gold band circling her ring finger, twisting it once before she caught herself.
Her husband. In name only.
Six years ago everything had changed in a single blast of fire and blood on that Strike Force mission.
Since then, she and Cal Granger had become ghosts circling opposite edges of the same world.
Now, they both worked for Crossfire Ops, but Noah never paired them together.
They avoided each other in hallways, at briefings, even at the Crossfire Creek town bar where the team sometimes gathered.
That was what happened when trauma and guilt hollowed you out from the inside. You pretended you were fine.
You avoided what you couldn’t face.
The ring was the only thing left of their marriage.
That, and the secret she had sworn to protect.
David believed she and Cal were still happy, still in love, still the unshakable couple he had once teased about being nauseatingly perfect.
With his fragile mind, learning the truth would break him in ways even the doctors couldn’t fix.
For David’s sake, Cal and Alena let him believe the lie.
She drew in a sharp breath and forced her hand flat against her thigh, tearing her gaze from the gold band before it pulled her under.
“Good luck with Noah,” Eli added, already walking away.
Alena kept her face blank until he disappeared down the hall. Only then did she let her eyes fall shut for a heartbeat, the ache inside her rising like smoke in her lungs.
The door to Noah’s office opened and the man himself appeared, tall and broad-shouldered, his expression unreadable. He gave Alena a small nod and motioned her inside.
She rose, smoothed her palms over her thighs and stepped across the threshold.
The office was sleek and modern, outfitted like the rest of Crossfire Ops headquarters. Glass walls, polished steel fixtures, a massive table gleaming beneath the glow of recessed lighting. Monitors lined one side, alive with scrolling data feeds. Everything reflected precision, power, and control.
What she didn’t expect was to see Cal already seated at the table.
The sight stopped her mid-step. Heat pricked at the back of her neck, memories slamming into her before she could push them down.
Some were golden, almost blinding in their beauty.
Cal’s smile across a campfire. The safety of his arms in the dark.
The way he used to whisper her name as if it meant everything.
Other memories and flashbacks were darker, blood-soaked, wrapped in smoke and fire. The nightmares had buried the good ones, grinding them to ash.
Her abdomen clenched with phantom pain, the scar from six years ago reminding her of what had been stolen. What had changed everything.
“Take a seat,” Noah said, his deep voice cutting through her haze. He motioned to the chair across from Cal.
She forced her legs to move and lowered herself into the chair.
Her gaze locked with Cal’s for a long, nerve-filled moment.
His eyes were the same stormy blue that had once been her safe place.
Old heat stirred, curling low in her belly.
So did the memories she fought hardest to silence, the ones laced with terror, guilt, and loss.
She broke the connection first, her pulse thudding in her ears.
Noah lifted a small remote from the table and pointed it at the wall monitor. “There’s a problem.”
The screen flickered to life, filling the glass wall with the mugshot of Dexter Westbrook. His cold eyes stared out from the photo, his expression a mask of contempt.
The air suddenly seemed to thin, and for a second she was back in that warehouse. The heat licking her skin. The pain tearing through her abdomen. David’s shout cutting off in a sickening crack of gunfire.
Her scar burned as if the wound had just been carved open again.
She forced herself to breathe, to stay rooted in the office and not in the nightmare clawing at her mind.
Across the table, Cal shifted. She saw the tightness around his eyes, the way his jaw flexed as he stared at the screen. He winced, subtle but unmistakable.
Of course he did. He wasn’t immune to Dexter’s face, not after what had happened.
No way he could be.
Cal had lost just as much as David and she had that night. The blast and the blood had stolen their future just as surely as it had stolen her brother’s health. Six years ago, inside that warehouse, Dexter had destroyed them all.
Noah’s voice was steady as he clicked the remote again. The mugshot disappeared, replaced by the image of a sprawling compound hemmed in by razor wire and watchtowers.
“After Dexter’s arrest six years ago, he was transferred to Blackrock State Penitentiary,” Noah said. “Maximum security. Supposed to be airtight.”
Another click of the remote. The picture shifted to grainy photos of a stark medical clinic. The white tile floors were smeared with blood, and a body lay crumpled near an overturned cart. A man in scrubs. His throat had been cut, his face slack in death.
Alena’s stomach lurched. Her hands tightened against the arms of her chair, nails biting into the leather.
“This was about eight hours ago,” Noah continued, his tone grim. “Around three in the morning. The victim is a nurse assigned to the night shift.” He paused, drawing in a breath that seemed to weigh him down. When he spoke again, his words landed like a hammer. “Dexter escaped.”
The room tilted around Alena, the edges of her vision swimming. For a moment she was back in that warehouse, choking on smoke, bleeding out on the floor. David lying nearby, his head wound turning her world to rubble. Dexter had stolen too much already.
Across the table, Cal cursed under his breath. The sound was harsh, filled with a fury that matched the storm inside her.
Alena swallowed hard, locking her gaze on the crime scene photo even though every instinct screamed to look away. The monster who had broken them was free again.
“How the hell did this happen?” Cal demanded.
Noah clicked the remote, shifting the screen to a photo of a shattered security gate and the parking lot beyond.
“Dexter assaulted the nurse, stole his identification badge, and walked out of the medical unit. He triggered an emergency call for an inmate transfer, claiming the patient needed to be taken to the hospital. The staff on duty were short-handed. The guard at the exit barely looked twice.”
Alena clenched her hands in her lap. She could see it unfolding, step by step, Dexter’s arrogance carrying him past every layer of security.
“He used the nurse’s ID to access the staff parking area,” Noah went on. “Took the man’s car. By the time anyone realized something was wrong, he was already gone. The state police set up roadblocks, but there has been no trace of him since.”
A cold weight pressed down on Alena’s chest. Blackrock was hours away, yet she felt the shadow of Dexter creeping into this very room.
“He should never have made it out of there,” Cal said, the edge in his voice sharp enough to cut.
Noah shut off the monitor, the screen going dark. “And yet he did.”
Alena stared at the black glass, her reflection pale and tight with dread. Dexter was out, and that meant the past she had fought to bury was about to claw its way back into her life.
Noah set the remote down on the table. “I didn’t find out about the escape until about half an hour ago.”
Cal’s gaze hardened. “So Dexter’s been on the run for eight hours.” His tone made the words sound like a curse. “Do the cops have any idea where he is?”
Noah shook his head. “Nothing solid. They’re running down leads, but so far he’s vanished.”
“He’ll come after us,” she said, the words rough in her throat. The next thought slammed her harder. “He’ll go after David.”
Her hand shot to her phone, already pulling it free, ready to dial.
Noah lifted a hand. “I’ve already called David’s medical facility. They’re on high alert, and I’ve arranged for security to be stationed there until further notice. Guards are on the way right now.”
Alena’s breath left her in a rush. Relief, sharp and fleeting, swept through her, but the concern clamped down again almost immediately. She needed to see David with her own eyes. She needed to be certain he was safe.
Noah leaned forward, his gaze moving from Cal to Alena. “I know the two of you don’t work together anymore. But I thought you’d both want in on this.”
Alena’s pulse jumped. Before she could gather a response, Noah picked up the remote again. The screen flared to life with another image.
Melissa Trent.
Her smiling face filled the wall monitor, a promotional photo clipped from her workplace.
But Alena remembered another time. When there’d been no smiles.
When Dexter Westbrook had had her in that warehouse.
The backup Crossfire Ops team had finally gotten to her, had finally rescued her, along with apprehending Dexter and making sure he was locked away.
For all the good that’d done.
“Melissa failed to show up for work this morning,” Noah said. His voice was flat, carrying a weight that made Alena’s skin crawl. “About an hour ago, her neighbors found this.”
The photo on the screen shifted. Melissa’s living room appeared, the scene stark and violent. A lamp was overturned. Cushions ripped from the sofa lay scattered across the floor. Blood smeared the carpet in a dark arc that made Alena’s stomach twist.
But it was the wall that froze her.
Written in jagged red strokes, the words were clear, a scrawl that stabbed straight into the past. She’s mine. Nobody takes the bitch from me.
Alena’s lungs locked. She could still hear Dexter’s voice echoing off the steel rafters of that warehouse, screaming nearly the same words before the blast tore her open and left David broken on the floor.
She dug her nails into her palms, forcing air into her chest. The bastard was back to finish what he started.
Across the table, Cal’s jaw was clenched tight, his eyes hard on the screen.
Alena swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Dexter was free, Melissa was in danger, and everything she thought she had buried six years ago had come roaring back to life.
Noah reached across the table and tapped the console. The speakers crackled, then a voice filled the room, low and rough with the same venom that had haunted Alena’s nightmares for years.
“Granger. Warrington. You listening?” the man spat out. Dexter’s voice. “Payback’s gonna be a bitch.”
The message cut off with a click.
Alena’s fingers curled tight around the arms of her chair, fighting the chill that had crept up her spine. She glanced at Cal. His jaw was granite, his eyes locked on the dark screen as if Dexter might crawl out of it.
Noah’s voice broke the quiet. “If the two of you can work together, your mission is to assist the police in finding Melissa Trent.” His mouth tightened. His eyes went sharp. “And stopping Dexter Westbrook before he destroys anyone else.”