Chapter Eleven
Alena stood in Cal’s guest bathroom, towel wrapped tight around her as she tugged on fresh clothes. Another restless night had carved shadows under her eyes, and she could feel it in every muscle. The nightmares had stalked her for hours.
They’d slammed together like jagged puzzle pieces. Flashes of the warehouse attack six years ago, the searing pain of her injury, and yesterday’s fire in the travel trailer where they’d found Melissa. The old scars tangled with the new, leaving her raw and shaken.
And when she’d finally managed to claw her way free of that nightmare, her dreams had twisted again—morphed into heat, into the kind of sex she’d once had with Cal.
She let out a sharp breath, pressing her palms against the cool sink. Her body wasn’t letting her forget that she was under the same roof with him.
Alena forced herself to shove the memories aside, both the violent ones and the hot rush of sex her mind had dragged her into. None of it would help her now. She pulled on her jeans, tugged her shirt into place, and braced herself to face him.
The kitchen smelled of butter and syrup, and when she stepped through the doorway, her chest tightened.
Cal stood at the stove, flipping pancakes.
Her favorite. The man would always, always stir her blood, and this morning was no different.
He was doing it for her, trying to bring a little light into the dark.
Good grief, could he possibly be any hotter? She took in the sweep of his black hair, those drown-in-me blue eyes, and that face, carved sharp and strong, that paired perfectly with the body that went with it.
Today he looked more cowboy, jeans and a button-down tugged over broad shoulders, going back to his ranching roots. It was a hot look on him, no question. But then, so was his special ops one. And after the dream she’d had about him, she could add that his best look of all was naked and in her bed.
Cursing herself for the image of him that kept repeating in her head, she crossed to the counter, poured herself a cup of coffee, and took a long sip. “Any updates?” she asked once she managed to speak.
While Cal flipped a pancake, he said over his shoulder, “Kara’s coming into the sheriff’s office this morning. She’ll have her lawyer with her. Raines is planning to ask about that photo Arneson’s PI got.”
Alena wrapped her hands tighter around her coffee cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
Cal slid another pancake onto the growing stack. “Isla’s been digging deeper with the PI. He shared more photos with her, and she’s trying to ID the other people in them. If she can link one of them to Keller, we might be able to get some info from them to confirm if Kara really hired him.”
She nodded. “So maybe we’ll finally get some answers.”
But even as she said it, her chest felt tight. In her experience, answers usually came wrapped in more questions, and none of them ever made the danger go away.
Cal slid the pancakes onto a plate and held it out to her. As she reached for it, their gazes locked. He didn’t look away, and neither did she.
“You look…” His voice dropped low, his eyes searching hers. “Interested.”
She was. God help her, she was. For a split second, she almost talked herself out of it, ready to retreat behind the same walls she always used. But the fight crumbled fast.
Alena set her coffee aside, reached out, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. She pulled him to her and pressed her mouth to his.
The plate clattered softly onto the counter as Cal set it aside, then he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her against him.
The kiss started slow, tentative, like they were testing dangerous ground.
His lips were warm, his touch steady, and her heart slammed so hard she thought it might shake her apart.
But when he deepened the kiss, the heat surged.
Her hands slid up his chest, into his hair, and every bit of restraint burned away.
Years of longing, regret, and everything they’d lost rushed up between them, turning the kiss into something fierce and desperate. She felt it in the way he held her, in the way his mouth moved over hers.
It wasn’t just heat. It was memory. It was them.
The kiss grew hotter, a blaze she couldn’t contain.
His body pressed into hers, hard and solid, and she felt the strength in every inch of him.
Memories from her dream surged back, tangled flashes of passion that made her ache.
She wanted him, just as she always had. It would be so easy to give in, to let herself drown in the heat and forget the wreckage of their past. So easy to shove aside the pain and just feel.
But that wasn’t fair. Not to him.
Because this wasn’t only heat, not for Cal. She knew that. For him, it would mean more, stir up all the pieces of what they used to have. And she couldn’t give him that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Alena tore her mouth from his, breath ragged. Her fingers still curled in his shirt, but she forced herself to ease back.
“Cal…” Her voice broke a little. “We can’t. Not like this. It’d just be leading you on.” She pushed against his chest and forced herself to step back, her breath still uneven. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Cal’s smile was slow, easy, like he wasn’t about to let her drown in guilt. “Guess I’ll have to settle for feeding you instead of kissing you.” He picked up the plate of pancakes he’d set aside and handed it to her. “Sit. Eat before they get cold.”
Reluctantly, she sat at the table, the warmth of the pancakes filling the air, reminding her of simpler times. He grabbed a plate for himself, stacked it with pancakes, and joined her. For a moment, it almost felt normal.
“To lighten the mood,” he said, pulling out his phone, “let me show you what Mason sent me.”
Curious, she leaned closer as he scrolled and pulled up an image. Mason had drawn him, larger than life, muscles exaggerated, gun in hand, cape billowing like some epic superhero.
Cal laughed. “See? I’m apparently the next action figure hero.”
Alena smiled, warmth tugging at her chest. “He’s not wrong, you know. You are a hero.”
His grin softened into something that reached his eyes. “Right back at you.”
Alena cut into the pancake, the buttery sweetness hitting her tongue. For the first time in days, food actually tasted good. She glanced at Cal, who was watching her with that small, knowing smile. Her chest squeezed, but before she could say anything, his phone lit up on the table.
He glanced at the screen. “It’s Isla.” He tapped speaker. “Morning. You’ve got something for us?”
“Do I ever,” Isla said, her voice quick and animated as if she was running on pure caffeine.
“So, I spent half the night going through those photos from Arneson’s PI.
Not glamorous, but hey, no one said crime-fighting would be all explosions and car chases.
Anyway, I IDed a guy hanging around Keller in several of them.
Meet Travis Hodge. They’ve been buddies since their rodeo days, and from what I found, they’ve stayed tight.
Guess who still has a working cell number listed? ”
“You have his contact info?” Alena asked.
“Already sent it to Cal,” Isla said, sing-songing the words. “You’re welcome. Thought you two might want to give Mr. Hodge a ring before he gets spooked.”
“Thanks, Isla,” Cal said. “We’ll handle it.”
“Handle it,” Isla repeated with a chuckle. “That’s Special Ops code for ‘call the guy and scare the hell out of him,’ isn’t it?”
Alena smiled despite herself. “We’ll see what we can shake loose.”
Cal ended the call with Isla, slid his phone back onto the table, and he looked at her.
“You think Hodge could be the second man who held Melissa?” Alena asked.
“It’s possible,” Cal said. He thumbed out a quick text to Raines, letting him know their lead and that he was about to make the call.
Seconds later, the sheriff texted back: Keep me posted.
Cal replied with a thumbs up, then hit Hodge’s number, putting it on speaker and tapping the record function. The phone rang and rang before a gravelly voice came on the line.
“It’s too fucking early for a phone call. Who the hell is this?”
Cal’s tone was steady, calm. “Name’s Cal Granger. I’m investigating the murder of your friend.”
There was a pause. Then Hodge snapped, “What friend?”
“Bryce Keller,” Cal said.
A sharp curse burst from Hodge, raw and rough. His voice cracked with something that sounded like genuine shock. “You’re telling me Bryce is dead?”
The line went quiet except for the sound of Hodge’s heavy breathing, like he was trying to take it in.
“How?” Hodge demanded, his voice rough.
“He was shot,” Cal readily supplied. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No,” Hodge shot back, quick and defensive. “I haven’t talked to Keller in a couple of days.” He went quiet for a beat, then added, “He got himself into some bad shit.”
Cal leaned in toward the phone. “Explain that.”
More hesitation, then a sigh. “Keller owed money to the wrong people. He needed cash bad. I woulda helped him, but…” Hodge’s tone turned bitter. “I’m laid up with a broken leg. Can’t work my usual construction jobs.”
Alena slipped her phone off the table, her thumbs flying as she texted Isla to dig into Hodge’s recent medical history. If the man was lying about the broken leg, Isla would find out.
“How’d Keller get the money?” Cal pressed.
Silence stretched before Hodge finally muttered, “Some woman paid him to do some shit.”
“What kind of shit?” Cal demanded.
“Hold on a second.” Hodge’s tone sharpened. “I wanna make sure Keller’s really dead and this isn’t some cop BS.”
The line went quiet except for faint shuffling. Alena’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. Isla’s reply lit up: Confirmed. Hodge broke his leg about two weeks ago. ER visit, X-rays, the whole deal.
Alena showed Cal the reply and murmured, “He’s not the guy who helped Keller.”
Cal gave a quick nod, his gaze still locked on the phone. “Yeah. He’s clear on that front.”
Hodge came back on the line, his voice sharper now. “I just read about Keller’s death, but it doesn’t say how he died.”
Cal’s jaw flexed, but he kept his tone even. “Keller kidnapped a woman. Know anything about that?”
There wasn’t the quick denial Alena expected. Instead, Hodge let out another curse. “I told Keller not to do that. Told him to back way off and get the money some other way.”
“Who hired him?” Cal pressed.
Hodge cursed before he finally answered. “A woman.”
“What woman?” Cal’s voice had a hard edge, and Alena braced herself to hear Kara’s name.
But Hodge didn’t say Kara.
“The woman who hired him,” Hodge said, his voice flat, “was Melissa Westbrook.”