Chapter Twelve
Cal stared at the phone, the words slamming into him. Beside him, Alena’s eyes went wide, the same shock rippling through her that he felt.
“You’re saying it was Melissa?” Cal asked, his tone sharp. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah,” Hodge said without hesitation. “It was her. Keller told me himself. She paid him.”
Alena let out a breath that sounded like disbelief.
Cal wasn’t buying it either, not yet. Hodge could be lying, or Keller could’ve lied to him.
For all they knew, this was another layer of smoke meant to hide the real truth.
Kara or even Arneson might’ve been behind the whole thing, paying Keller but making sure he pointed the finger at Melissa.
“Do you know who was hired to work with Keller?” Cal asked.
There was a pause on the line, followed by a muttered curse. “No.”
The single word hit with a flat thud, and Cal’s gut told him it was an outright lie. Hodge knew something. Hell, he might even know the man himself. And if that was the case, Cal understood why he’d keep quiet. Protecting a buddy was one thing. Protecting a kidnapper was another.
Cal steadied his voice. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, Hodge. Call Sheriff Raines and give him a statement. I’ll text you his number.”
Hodge balked. “Why the hell should I?”
“Because Keller’s dead, and this is your chance to help make it right. Sheriff Raines will need your statement.”
Another pause, then a muttered, “Fine. If it’ll get justice for Keller, I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Cal ended the call, thumbed out a quick text to Raines with the recording attached, and added, Hodge just named Melissa as the person who hired Keller. Not sure I believe him.
The reply came fast: I’ll contact Melissa and question her about it.
Cal exhaled and set the phone down. His pulse still ticked fast from the exchange.
“I’ll text Isla,” Alena said, already reaching for her phone. “If Melissa paid Keller or the second man, there might be a withdrawal on her account. A big one.”
Cal nodded. It was a good angle, and Isla was solid at finding things like that.
Alena was still finishing up her text to Isla when Cal’s phone rang. He checked the screen, saw Raines’s name, and answered right away.
“Dexter’s been spotted,” Raines said without preamble. “A fisherman saw him and recognized him from the news.”
Cal’s chest tightened. “Where?”
“A hunting cabin on Crossfire Creek. I’m about to head out there.”
Cal shot a look at Alena, already grabbing her bag. “We’ll meet you there,” he told Raines.
“Good. I’ll see you soon.” The call ended.
Cal stuffed the phone into his pocket, his muscles tense with the surge of adrenaline. “Let’s go.”
Alena gave a quick nod. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just determination. Together, they grabbed their gear and headed out.
Cal and Alena hurried out to the SUV. The morning sun was already burning down, heat settling over them like a heavy blanket, even though it was barely eight. Sweat gathered at the back of Cal’s neck by the time he slid behind the wheel.
They pulled out fast, gravel spitting under the tires as they headed toward Crossfire Creek.
Both of them knew the area well—five miles of winding roads lined with oak and cedar, with the creek cutting through low ground.
Cabins sat tucked into the trees, some lived in year-round, others were just weekend getaways.
It was quiet country, the kind of place that should’ve felt safe.
Beside him, Alena pulled up photos on her phone. “Most of the cabins are old, a couple abandoned. Plenty of cover.”
“Yeah,” Cal muttered, his grip tight on the wheel. He used his free hand to fire off a text to Noah: Send a drone over the creek. Cabin sighting. Need eyes in the sky.
The reply came back almost instantly. On it.
Cal dragged in a long breath, focusing on the road, the turns, the shadows moving past them. This could be it. They might finally have Dexter pinned down, finally put an end to the threat that had haunted all of them for too long.
When they rounded the last curve, Cal spotted Raines’s cruiser pulled off to the side beneath a stand of mesquite. Raines and Miller were already out, geared up and scanning the tree line. Cal braked hard and pulled in behind them.
The air was thick with heat and cicadas. Cal climbed out, eyes narrowing on the drone circling overhead like a mechanical hawk. Good. Noah had them covered.
Alena slipped her comms in, and Cal did the same. He handed another set to Raines and Miller. “Stay on channel.”
They crept up toward the edge of the clearing. The cabin sat ahead, weathered boards and a sagging porch half hidden in the shadows of the trees. No movement. No sound except the creek running close by.
“Nothing,” Raines murmured, eyes narrowing as he scanned the front. He shifted his gun. “You two circle around back. Miller and I will take the front.”
Cal gave a sharp nod. “Got it.”
He met Alena’s gaze for half a second, a silent exchange of readiness, then they started angling off into the brush.
Cal pushed into the woods with Alena close beside him, the ground soft underfoot from the creek nearby. Branches clawed at their clothes as they moved, and the thick underbrush forced them to slow down. The air was heavy, damp, carrying the smell of cedar and river mud.
Every step seemed louder than it should have been.
He scanned the shadows, his gun ready. It was too quiet. No birdsong, no rustle of squirrels or deer. Just the buzz of insects and the creek rolling steadily through the trees.
His gut twisted. “Stay sharp,” he murmured into the comms, though it was as much for himself as it was for Alena.
Because this had all the makings of a setup. Dexter was smart, patient. He could’ve let that fisherman see him, knowing it would bring them straight out here. A lure.
Alena moved up beside him, her weapon sweeping the gaps between the trees. Her eyes flicked toward him once, and he could see the same thought etched in her face.
They kept on, careful, picking their way through tangled vines and brambles until the back of the cabin started to come into view between the trees.
Cal slowed, dropped lower, and raised a hand for Alena to do the same. His pulse thundered in his ears.
If Dexter was out here waiting, this was where he’d strike.
The cabin loomed out of the trees, weathered boards sagging under years of neglect. Shingles curled on the roof, and weeds pushed up through the cracked porch steps. It looked like the kind of place someone would use if they wanted to vanish.
Cal and Alena moved low, hugging cover as they slid along the tree line. He led them wide around the cabin, every sense keyed up, waiting for movement in the windows or a figure stepping out the door.
The creek cut right against the back of the property, the water sliding past with a steady, low roar. Here it was broad, thirty yards across, with thick brush choking the banks. Easy escape route if someone had a boat—or a death trap if they were pushed in.
A Jeep sat in the shadows behind the cabin. Cal froze, hand shooting out to stop Alena. The vehicle was dusty, but the hood still gleamed faintly with heat. Recently driven.
Keeping low, Cal pulled out his phone, tapped in the plates. The return came fast, punching him in the gut. “It’s registered to Arneson.”
Alena’s head snapped toward him.
Cal’s jaw tightened. “When we asked about his vehicles, he told us the truck was missing. Never said a damn thing about a Jeep.”
The implication of that hung heavy between them. Either Arneson had lied, or someone else was using his vehicle. Neither option sat right.
Cal eased forward, every nerve stretched tight. Alena moved with him, both of them skirting the brush until a flicker of movement caught his eye.
“Right side,” he whispered, tilting his chin toward the cluster of trees hugging the cabin. A shadow shifted again, deliberate, not the wind.
He touched his comm. “Raines, confirm position.”
“We’re on the front door,” Raines’s low voice crackled back. “Behind a stone fence about fifteen yards out.”
So not Raines. Not Miller.
Cal’s pulse kicked harder. He lowered his voice to a near breath. “Copy. We’ve got movement in the trees. Could be him. Could be Dexter.”
Alena’s grip tightened on her weapon. Her eyes stayed locked on the shadows, waiting for the figure to show again. Cal steadied his Glock, finger resting just outside the trigger guard.
If it was Dexter, they finally had him in their sights.
Cal motioned for Alena to follow as they crept closer through the brush. The figure ahead shifted again, a man in a dark hoodie, gun in hand. His back was to them, shoulders tight, head angled toward the cabin as if he were waiting for something.
“Sheriff’s office!” Cal called out. “Stop right there. Drop the gun.”
Alena mirrored him, stance locked, weapon aimed. Her gaze never wavered from the man’s spine.
For a heartbeat the figure froze. Then he spun fast, bringing his weapon around. Cal’s finger tightened, ready to fire.
The hood slipped back just enough for his face to show.
“Arneson,” Cal hissed, pulse hammering.
Alena’s breath caught beside him, her gun still trained on the man who should’ve been nowhere near this place.
Raines and Miller rounded the corner fast, guns raised, eyes hard. “What the hell are you doing here?” Raines barked at Arneson.
For a beat, Arneson just stood there, hoodie half-shadowing his battered face, his grip too tight on the gun. Cal’s finger twitched on the trigger, waiting for the wrong move.
Finally, Arneson lifted his free hand a few inches. “I’ve been checking places my brother might hole up. Dexter and I rented this cabin a couple of times back when we went fishing.”
Cal narrowed his eyes, every instinct on alert. That might have been true, but it came out too fast, too neat. He didn’t lower his weapon.
Fishing trips or not, Arneson had shown up armed and hadn’t mentioned this Jeep or this cabin to anyone, so Cal wasn’t buying this.
Cal caught movement across the creek. He spun, Alena and the others moving with him, guns raised in unison.
On the far bank, half-hidden by the trees, Dexter stood. Sunlight caught his grin, wide and taunting.
A small boat rocked against the reeds at his feet, the water still rippling from where he’d stepped out. He’d used it to slip across the creek while they were closing in on the cabin.
“Morning, Crossfire,” Dexter called, his voice carrying easily across the water. “You’re too damn slow.”
Before Cal could fire, before Raines could shout a command, Dexter turned and vanished into the woods. One second he was there, grinning like the devil himself, and the next he was gone.