Chapter Eight #3
Gage and Rena crossed to one of the Crossfire Ops SUVs parked nearby.
The black vehicle gleamed in the early light, dust still crusted around the tires from the chaos of the night before.
Gage slid into the driver’s seat, the leather hot even through his pants.
Rena climbed in on the passenger side, wincing slightly as she adjusted her injured arm.
He started the engine and glanced over at her. “You hurting?”
“Yeah.” She shifted her arm a little, flexing her fingers. “But it’s manageable. It won’t affect what we’re doing.” Then, after a beat, she added, “You?”
Gage gave a rough laugh and adjusted his grip on the wheel, his shoulder protesting even that small movement. “Yeah. Hurts like hell. But it’s not stopping me either. Right now, we’ve got a bastard to catch.”
He pressed his foot to the accelerator, the SUV roaring to life as they followed Chase and Noah down the long, sun-scorched road that led out of the compound gates and toward Crossfire Creek.
The drive into town was short but scenic, the kind of view that might’ve been peaceful if Gage’s nerves weren’t still wired tight.
The road wound through the Texas Hill Country, rolling green hills baked gold by early sun, patches of cedar and mesquite breaking up the horizon, and the shimmer of heat already starting to rise off the asphalt.
Crossfire Creek came into view like a postcard that’d seen some rough handling.
A small, tight-knit town. Brick storefronts with sun-faded awnings, a diner that looked as if it hadn’t changed since the sixties, and an old courthouse square that locals probably used for everything from parades to gossip.
The sheriff’s office sat on the corner opposite a feed store, the limestone exterior gleaming pale in the morning light.
Noah and Sheriff Chase climbed out first, exchanging a few low words before heading inside.
Gage and Rena followed a few steps behind, both scanning automatically, instincts too honed to switch off.
Inside, the air-conditioning hit hard, along with the smell of coffee and disinfectant. Desks cluttered with paperwork, maps tacked to walls, a few tired-looking deputies hunched over keyboards.
And then Gage saw her.
Dr. Corrine Astor.
She stood near the far end of the bullpen, flanked by a man in a tailored gray suit who screamed high-priced legal counsel.
Corrine didn’t look like a fugitive or a woman cornered.
She looked composed, collected, with her dark hair swept into a sleek style.
Her expression was calm, almost smug, as if this was just another interview on one of her old talk shows.
She wore confidence like armor. And beneath it, Gage thought he saw the faintest trace of satisfaction, like she already knew she’d gotten under Noah’s skin just by showing up.
Yeah. This was going to be one hell of a morning.
Corrine noticed them within seconds after they stepped inside. Her gaze swept over Gage and Rena like a scanner, sharp, calculating, and then landed on the Crossfire Ops patches stitched to their T-shirts. A slow smile curved her perfectly painted mouth.
“Well,” she said, gliding toward them like she was walking onto a stage. “I see Crossfire Ops’ finest have arrived.”
Her voice was smooth, professional, with just enough warmth to sound disarming. She extended her hand first to Rena. “Dr. Corrine Astor.”
“Rena Calloway,” Rena replied, shaking her hand but not offering a smile.
Then Corrine turned to Gage, her perfume light and expensive as she clasped his hand briefly. “And you must be Gage Kellan. Pararescue, if I remember correctly?”
The fact that she did remember set off alarms in Gage’s head. He gave a curt nod. “That’s right.”
She turned her attention to Sheriff Chase next, offering the same dazzling smile she probably used on network anchors back in her glory days. “Sheriff, thank you for reaching out. I’m here to cooperate fully.”
Then her eyes finally found Noah. The change in her expression was subtle, but Gage caught it, the faint softening, the way her voice dropped half an octave. “Noah,” she said, with that too-intimate lilt. “It’s been a long time.”
Noah’s face was unreadable, but his jaw ticked once. “Dr. Astor.”
Corrine tilted her head, still smiling. “Please. We’re past formalities, aren’t we?” She paused, eyes glinting with something that looked like nostalgia. Or maybe mockery. “You look good. I’ve missed you.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Noah didn’t answer, just stared her down, a muscle working in his cheek.
Gage didn’t say a word, but inside his head the alarms were deafening. The act was too polished. Too damn deliberate. Whatever Corrine Astor was selling, he wasn’t buying.
Corrine finally turned to Sheriff Chase again, her tone slipping back into smooth professionalism. “I understand I’m here as part of your investigation into last night’s attack on Crossfire Ops.” She folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Well, you can relax, Sheriff. I’m here to help.”
A pause, a hint of satisfaction curling Corrine’s lips. “Because I know who orchestrated the attack.”