Chapter Eight #2
Noah shook his head. “No. What she did wasn’t technically a criminal offense.
” His voice was flat, the words forced out like they tasted bad.
“She didn’t sell state secrets. She leaked strategic details, enough to compromise the mission but not enough for a federal charge.
The fallout was administrative, not criminal. ”
“So she got to walk away,” Gage snarled.
“Yeah.” Noah’s eyes still locked on the monitor. “But she didn’t walk away clean. She lost everything. And she blames me for it.”
A low silence settled over the table. The kind that felt heavy with unspoken things.
Across from Gage, Sheriff Arden Chase checked her watch, then looked up. “I’ve got her interview scheduled for an hour from now.” Her tone was brisk, businesslike, but there was a steel edge to it.
Gage was glad to hear that. Maybe that would rattle Corrine enough to slip up, to show her hand before she had a chance to hide it again.
Noah clicked the remote, and Corrine Astor’s image faded, replaced by the next photo, a hard-eyed man with a scar bisecting his jawline. The name beneath it read Brady Halden.
“Halden,” Noah said, turning slightly toward the room. “Thirty-eight. Former special tactics operator. Once part of a Crossfire-affiliated mission.”
Across the table, Cal Granger leaned forward, shaking his head. “Yeah, I remember him. We ran ops in Syria together, years back. Smart guy. Good trigger discipline, better instincts, but he was always a little too convinced he knew better than command.”
Garrett McCall grunted. “You’re putting that mildly. Brady thought every order was optional. Got people hurt more than once.”
Noah’s jaw ticked. “His team was disavowed mid-mission. Intel compromise. Extraction window closed before they could be pulled. Crossfire had to cut ties to protect the larger network.”
Gage frowned. “Left to die?”
“That’s what he believes,” Noah said evenly. “But he and two others survived. He spent four months off-grid before resurfacing under a new identity.”
The photo changed to a more recent image. Brady in a suit, at some kind of charity gala, clean-cut but with that same dead stare.
“Since then,” Noah continued, “he’s been trying to ‘expose the hypocrisy’ of Crossfire Ops, Strike Force, and Maverick Ops. His words, not mine.”
Garrett snorted. “That’s rich coming from a guy who tried to sell his own mission footage to a defense contractor.”
Noah didn’t disagree. “He’s held a grudge for months. Blames us for abandoning him.”
Gage rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Holding a grudge’s one thing, but coordinating an assault on a fortified compound? That takes serious cash.”
Noah nodded, grim. “He’s got it. His wife was killed three months ago in what was reported as an industrial accident. She was the sole heir to a family trust worth eight figures.”
“Damn,” Gage muttered. “So now he’s rich, angry, and out for revenge.”
“Exactly,” Noah said. “And he’s got the resources and the training to pull something like this off.”
Rena exhaled softly beside Gage. “Then maybe we just found our bastard.”
Gage wasn’t sure yet. But looking at Brady Halden’s cold eyes on that screen, he knew one thing. This guy didn’t just want justice. He wanted to make Crossfire Ops bleed.
Noah hit the remote again, and the third photo filled the screen. A man in his late thirties, dark hair slicked back, eyes that looked like they hadn’t seen sleep in a decade. Rhett Danner.
“This one,” Noah said quietly, “was one of ours.”
The air in the room shifted. Even before Noah started talking, Gage could feel the heaviness settle.
“Rhett was a Crossfire tech specialist. Systems infiltration, cyber support, tactical communications. Brilliant, but volatile. The kind of guy who could take apart a security network blindfolded and then build one better just to prove he could.”
Noah paused, his gaze flicking to Isla, who sat at the end of the table. “You trained under him, didn’t you?”
Isla nodded. “When we were both at Strike Force. He was a genius, but he didn’t take failure well. Or authority. He had this… obsession with proving that tech could fix what leadership broke.”
Gage could see that. He’d known a dozen like him in the service. Too smart, too driven, and convinced the world owed them retribution when things went wrong.
“Nearly a year ago, shortly after Crossfire Ops was up and running,” Noah continued, “Rhett lost his wife and unborn child in a mission Crossfire greenlit. His wife was a civilian contractor, a communications analyst working deep cover in a rogue cell. Rhett wasn’t supposed to know the specifics, but he figured it out.
When the strike hit, she was still inside the compound. ”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Noah’s voice stayed even, but there was grit underneath. “He blamed me. Said I signed the order that killed his family. He stripped every Crossfire signature he could find from his accounts and disappeared.”
Gage frowned. “So he’s got the brains. Does he have the cash?”
“He does now,” Noah said. “Before he vanished, he funneled nearly five million in crypto from a network of shell accounts he’d built while he was still on payroll. We traced some of it after the fact, but most of it’s gone, moved through privacy wallets, lost in the chain.”
Cal swore softly. “So, he’s smart, rich, and pissed at Crossfire Ops. Great combo.”
Noah clicked off the monitor, folding his arms. “All three—Corrine Astor, Brady Halden, Rhett Danner—have motive, resources, and the expertise to coordinate a siege like the one we faced last night.”
Sheriff Chase made a sound of agreement, flipped her notepad closed and tucked it under her arm.
“All right,” she said. “Dr. Corrine Astor’s up first in interview.
Rhett Danner and Brady Halden right after.
All three have lawyered up, but I made it clear that if they don’t show voluntarily, I’ll have arrest warrants signed before lunch. ”
“Good,” Noah replied. He looked around the room, then his gaze settled on Rena and Gage. “You two up for this?”
Gage met his eyes. “Always.”
Rena nodded. “Absolutely.”
Noah studied them for a long moment, and then a rare flicker of a smile broke through the exhaustion on his face. “Glad to hear that. Because as of right now, you’re no longer trainees.”
Gage looked at Rena and smiled. They’d semi-joked about this, but apparently Noah was serious.
“You earned it last night,” Noah went on. “You kept your heads when it mattered most.”
“Or got lucky,” Gage muttered.
“Luck’s just preparation meeting timing,” Noah countered, the faintest smirk touching his mouth before it vanished again. “Grab your gear. You’re coming with me to the sheriff’s office to observe the interviews.”
“Observation only?” Rena asked.
Noah nodded. “I want eyes I trust in that observation room. Sheriff Chase will do the questioning solo, but I want to see how each one reacts when they realize we’re all still breathing.”
He turned to the rest of the room, to Ruby, Owen, Isla, Cal, and Garrett. “While we’re gone, dig into the logistics. I want to know how any of these three could have arranged the assault. Funding, personnel, transport, tech. Follow the trail and find me the thread that ties them together.”
“On it,” Ruby said immediately. Owen murmured the same.
Noah faced Gage and Rena again. “We leave in ten.”
Gage drained the last of his coffee, the caffeine barely keeping pace with the adrenaline still simmering under his skin.
He set his cup aside, met Rena’s gaze again and saw that some of her fatigue was no longer showing.
It was probably still there, but it was a mental boost to know they’d soon be coming face to face with the asshole who’d tried to murder a whole hangar of people.
The heat hit him the second they stepped outside. Texas summer, barely dawn, and it already felt like someone had cranked the oven on high. The sky was streaked orange and gold, the compound still half-shadowed, the air thick with humidity and the faint burnt-metal smell from last night’s fires.
Sheriff Chase strode ahead, her hand resting on her sidearm as she headed for her cruiser. Noah fell in beside her. They climbed in, the cruiser’s lights flickering once before the engine turned over.