Crossfire Creek Protector (Hard Justice, Crossfire Creek #3)
Chapter One
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The turn in the road was coming. Deputy Laney Sutton felt it in her chest before she saw it, the way a person sensed a bruise before the touch. Every weekday morning she braced for it.
For the place she wished she could erase from the map.
The two-lane farm road stretched empty ahead, save for a jackrabbit zigzagging across the gravel shoulder. A common sight here on the outskirts of a small town like Redwater, Texas. She tried to focus on the rabbit. On anything other than what lay ahead.
Laney lifted her coffee, letting the heat settle in her hands, steadying herself for the seconds it would take to pass the culvert. All she had to do was get past it, and she could let out the breath she was holding. She could focus on the day ahead and not the past.
But then she saw the truck.
A dark blue pickup sat at an odd angle on the shoulder on the opposite side of the road. The sight hit her harder than she was ready for. No one pulled over out here unless it was some kind of emergency.
Dread hit her hard, an instant punch that stole her breath. This was where her husband, David, had gotten the injuries that’d led to his death.
Where her world had turned on a dime.
Four years hadn’t dulled the image of flashing lights, twisted metal, and the sound of his ragged breathing as she knelt beside him.
She drove this stretch every day because avoiding it meant adding miles and hours she didn’t have.
But she never lingered. She usually pressed the gas, kept her eyes straight, forced the memory back into the dark corner where she kept it.
She couldn’t do that now. Not with that truck parked just up the road by the culvert. Because someone might be in trouble. The badge meant she had to stop, had to render assistance if needed.
Even if this was the last place she wanted to be.
Laney’s gaze swept the scene. No hazard lights flashing on the truck. The driver’s door was closed.
She pulled onto the shoulder, which put her close to the culvert that held all those horrific memories.
She radioed her location to the dispatcher at the Redwater Sheriff’s Office where she worked, and she stepped out into the stillness.
The crunch of her boots on the gravel sounded too loud in the quiet morning.
“Hello?” she called out, moving toward the truck.
A man stepped from the ditch near the culvert. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing worn jeans and a faded ball cap. The brim shadowed his face, but the moment he looked at her, her stomach tightened.
Harlan Creed.
It had been months since she’d seen him, but the sight of him was its own kind of flashback. Not flashbacks to the wreck, not to the blood on her hands, but to a different life entirely.
He stepped onto the shoulder of the road, his stance easy but watchful. Former Special Ops, now an operative with the elite security outfit, Crossfire Ops. Her husband’s best friend and the very man who’d sworn to protect her when David died.
What the heck was he doing here?
This spot carried its own ghosts for him, too. And Crossfire Creek was miles away, and this stretch of road was far from any beaten path.
Harlan walked toward her, the brim of his cap shadowing his eyes. “I got a text,” he said.
He held out his phone. The message on the screen was short, from an unknown number. If you want to know who killed David, come to the spot where he stepped on the bomb.
Her stomach clenched so hard that it hurt. And for a couple of endless seconds, Laney couldn’t breathe.
Oh, and the stream of memories came. Mercy, did they. They were relentless. Consuming. And they were drowning her where she stood.
David.
God, David. Not just her husband but also her fellow deputy.
The man she’d worked alongside on patrols, swapping quiet jokes on long shifts, the man she’d loved and built a life with.
Four years ago, he’d been chasing a DUI suspect who’d run from a traffic stop.
On this very road, in the dark and chaos, David had stepped on an IED buried in the ground next to the culvert.
He’d lived long enough for Laney to reach him, long enough for his blood to soak into her uniform as she tried to stop the bleeding. Long enough for Harlan to arrive on scene. Then, David had died at the hospital a few hours later.
No one had ever been charged. The DUI suspect had died in the explosion too, which had left investigators with no clear answers as to who’d planted that bomb.
And now this.
Her eyes lifted from the phone to Harlan’s face, and she swallowed hard. “You think the message is real?”
“I don’t know. I just got here.” His gaze swept the roadside, sharp and assessing, his hand resting on the butt of his weapon.
Laney’s pulse ticked higher. She mirrored his movement, scanning the tree line and the drainage ditch, every shadow a possible threat.
“Is this the time you come through here every morning?” he asked.
“Yes. My shift starts at eight. I’ve got half an hour.”
His eyes flicked to her car. “Evie’s not with you, is she?”
A jolt of panic shot through her, so fast it stole her breath. “No,” she said quickly. “She’s at home with my mom.”
Her heart was still hammering, the image already lodged in her mind—her four-year-old in the back seat, giggling at something on her tablet, while danger waited in the ditch.
Evie. The child David never got to meet, born two months after he’d been killed.
Even after all this time, thinking about his death still felt like being slammed in the chest. The thought of her little girl standing anywhere on this stretch of road sent a cold shiver all the way to her bones.
Harlan stepped away from her, scanning the ditch, the shoulder of the road, and then the tree line beyond. His movements were controlled, deliberate. Very Crossfire Ops.
Laney followed him but stopped when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, the screen lighting her face, and she saw the same message from an unknown number.
If you want to know who killed David, come here.
“What the heck is going on?” she murmured.
The fourth anniversary of David’s death was only days away. Was this some kind of sick joke? A cruel stunt by someone who knew exactly how to hit where it hurt most?
As a cop, she’d made her share of enemies. That came with the badge. But this felt different. This felt personal in a way she didn’t want to think about.
They kept moving, scanning as they went, their boots crunching on gravel and dirt. Each step toward the culvert tightened the knot in her chest. Her heartbeat kicked faster. Her breaths came shorter.
By the time they reached the spot, her hands had gone cold. For a moment she swore she could smell blood, coppery and sharp, but she knew that was only a memory trying to claw its way back.
Harlan crouched near the edge of the culvert. “Here,” he said, pushing aside a tangle of brush.
A length of metal pipe lay half-buried in the dirt, frayed wires spilling from one end. Laney froze. The shape, the wiring, even the dull color of the casing.
It was all the same.
Her pulse roared in her ears as Harlan straightened and set a steady hand on her arm, guiding her a few steps back. He pulled out his phone, his voice clipped as he called in the bomb squad.
When Harlan finished the call, he maneuvered her farther from the culvert and toward his truck. He opened the passenger door and motioned for her to sit.
Laney knew she didn’t look steady, and she wasn’t. Right now, she was the opposite of steady. But he didn’t say a word about it. He simply did his Harlan thing, taking charge and making sure she was safe.
It was what he had promised David he would do.
She had been there to hear it. David’s dying breath had been a plea for Harlan to protect her and Evie. Harlan had sworn he would.
He reached into the center compartment between the seats, pulled out a cold bottle of water and handed it to her. She twisted the cap and drank, focusing on the cool rush as it slid down her throat, trying to steady herself.
The inside of the truck was exactly what she expected from Harlan.
It was tidy, organized, and prepared for anything.
A tactical bag rested behind the driver’s seat, a rifle case was strapped to the floor, and a rugged tablet was mounted on the dash.
The console was neatly arranged with flashlights, extra magazines, and a coiled headset cord.
This was not just a truck. It was a mobile base for Crossfire Ops.
“Call for backup,” Harlan instructed.
Her stomach dropped. She should have done that the moment she saw the pipe bomb.
Cursing herself, she reached for her radio. She was a veteran cop with more than a decade on the job. She had worked shootings, manhunts, and accident scenes that would stay with her forever. She knew better than to miss a step.
She called dispatch, gave her location, and reported the possible explosive device. The familiar crackle of the radio felt oddly grounding.
“Backup is on the way,” she relayed to Harlan.
Harlan kept his eyes on the road ahead as if scanning for movement. “Have you ever gotten anything like that before? A text like that?” he clarified.
“No,” she was quick to say. She didn’t even have to give that any thought. “No one has ever contacted me out of the blue about David’s murder. I’ve kept digging into it over the years, but nothing like this has ever happened.”
He gave a slight nod. “I have kept investigating too. I have never gotten a text like that either.”
Her fingers tightened around the water bottle. “So why now?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” His gaze came back to her. “Could anything have happened recently that would make someone plant an explosive like that?”
Laney hesitated, then said, “I’ve been pressing the Texas Rangers to reopen the case. Evie’s been asking more about her father, and I think she deserves answers.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Are they strongly considering reopening it?”
She nodded. “They’re sending someone out next week to start the process.”
His expression changed, and the intensity went up a notch, something she hadn’t thought possible since he was the very definition of intense already. “Who knows about that?” he asked.
“Probably everyone.” Laney shrugged. “I haven’t kept it a secret.”
Harlan made a sound to indicate he was giving that some thought. He certainly wasn’t dismissing it.
“How about something involving your case load?” he pressed. “Something that maybe isn’t directly linked to David. The person who sent that text could be using David as a cover when you’re the real target.”
Laney thought through her recent cases. “It might be Kyle Benton,” she admitted. “I arrested him last month for drug possession. He is out on bail and swore he would get back at me.”
She considered it for a moment but then shook her head. “No. Kyle is not organized enough for something like this, and he doesn’t have the skillset or the funds to hire someone to do this. That IED looked like the real thing, the same kind that killed David.”
She had never seen the actual device that ended David’s life, but she had studied the photographs the bomb experts had put together after reconstructing it. The shape, the wiring, and the way it was packed were all details she had glimpsed in the brush today, and they were too close to ignore.
Laney was still considering that and the texts when movement in the trees caught her eye. Harlan must have seen it at the same time because they both turned toward the sound.
A figure stood just beyond the fence line, dressed in all black with a hoodie that not only covered his head but also a good portion of his face as well. But Laney had no trouble seeing what the person was holding.
A camera lifted, the lens pointed straight at them.
“What the hell?” Harlan spat out.
Laney was asking herself the same thing. Who would take pictures of this, of them?
One answer came to mind, and it was a bad one.
This could be the person who had planted the bomb. Maybe even the person who had killed David.
She tossed the water bottle to the ground and drew her gun. Harlan mirrored her, and together they broke into a run, closing the distance on their target.
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