Chapter Nine
Rena’s head snapped up at Corrine’s words.
I know who orchestrated the attack.
For a heartbeat, the entire sheriff’s office went still.
Even the deputies typing at their desks paused mid-keystroke.
Rena glanced at Gage, saw the same disbelief mirrored in his eyes.
Noah’s expression didn’t change much, but his posture sure did.
His shoulders went rigid, every line of him tightening with wariness.
Corrine looked utterly at ease under the sudden attention. Too at ease. Her lips curved just slightly, her eyes glinting like she was in control of the room and loving every second of it.
Everything about this woman screamed performance. The smooth voice, the careful body language, even the calculated way she held her hands, palm out, nonthreatening, like a politician selling truth to a crowd. But what Rena felt when she looked at her wasn’t trust.
It was the slick unease of a snake oil pitch.
Sheriff Chase stepped forward, her hard stare pinned to Corrine. “Then maybe you should start by telling us who it was.”
Corrine’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. But this isn’t a quick story, Sheriff. And it’s… delicate.” Her gaze slid toward Noah, then to Rena and Gage. “Perhaps we should sit down and go over it properly? In one of your interview rooms?”
Rena frowned. That wasn’t a request. It was a maneuver. Corrine was trying to direct the tempo, to make herself the one holding the cards.
Sheriff Chase’s eyes narrowed. “I’d planned to handle the interview solo.”
Corrine gave a soft, almost musical laugh. “And I respect that. But surely the interview can wait a bit, can’t it? I think Noah, Ms. Calloway, and Mr. Kellan deserve to hear this firsthand. From what I understand from media reports, they were the ones in danger, after all.”
Her tone was gentle, sympathetic even, but Rena didn’t buy it for a second. Corrine was playing them, laying a careful trap of charm and authority.
The sheriff hesitated just long enough for the tension to thicken. Then she gave a sharp nod. “Fine. We’ll do this in the interview room.”
Corrine’s smile widened, smug and composed. Her lawyer muttered something under his breath, but she ignored him, gesturing gracefully toward the hallway as if she was leading a tour instead of walking into a suspect interview.
Halfway to the interview room, Sheriff Chase began reading Corrine her rights, her voice clipped and steady.
Corrine’s attorney immediately bristled. “We’re here voluntarily,” he said sharply. “My client hasn’t been charged—”
Corrine stopped and turned to him, still smiling that infuriating smile. “It’s fine, Simon,” she said softly, resting a hand on his arm. “The sheriff has a job to do. And it would be irresponsible for her not to consider me a suspect, wouldn’t it?”
Then Corrine turned to the group, all charm once more. “Sheriff Chase, Noah, Ms. Calloway, Mr. Kellan,” she said smoothly. “This is Simon Rourke, my counsel. He’s here to ensure I’m treated fairly.”
“Of course,” Chase said flatly, opening the door to the small interview room.
Rena followed them inside, her pulse quickening.
The interview room was small and sterile, the kind of space designed to squeeze truth out of people.
Or at least make them sweat. Pale gray walls, one reinforced window, and a single table bolted to the floor with four metal chairs.
A camera sat in the upper corner, red light blinking steadily.
Sheriff Chase moved around the table with practiced efficiency, pulling out her chair and setting a small digital recorder in the center. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.
Corrine didn’t seem fazed. She glided into the chair opposite the sheriff, crossing her legs neatly, her lawyer Simon taking the seat beside her.
Rena hung back near the wall beside Gage and Noah.
The air felt tighter standing up, as if they were waiting for the first move in a chess match they hadn’t agreed to play.
The sheriff clicked on the recorder, her voice filling the room.
“This is Sheriff Arden Chase, Crossfire Creek Sheriff’s Office.
” She added the time and date. “We’re conducting a voluntary recorded interview with Dr. Corrine Astor, accompanied by her legal representative, Simon Rourke.
Also present are Noah Riggs, Rena Calloway, and Gage Kellan of Crossfire Ops.
“For the record, Dr. Astor, you are not under arrest, but you have been advised of your rights. You have agreed to speak voluntarily. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” the woman assured her.
Rena exchanged a quick glance with Gage. Corrine’s calm didn’t crack for even a second. The woman looked as if she was enjoying this.
Corrine reached into her oversized leather bag, the motion unhurried, deliberate.
Rena’s muscles tensed automatically, ready for anything but paper.
Still, that’s what Corrine produced. A neat stack of printed sheets held together with a gold clip.
She slid one across the table to Sheriff Chase, then to Noah, extending the next toward Rena and Gage without even glancing at them.
“I think this will help you,” she said smoothly. “It’s a profile I worked up this morning.”
Rena accepted the page, her eyes scanning the heading. Rhett Danner. One of their other suspects.
“Rhett Danner,” Corrine went on, voice calm, measured, almost as if delivering a lecture.
“Disgraced Crossfire tech specialist. Lost his wife and unborn child in a mission Crossfire greenlit. He blames Noah for approving the strike. Now he uses his inside knowledge to jam, override, and expose every security weakness you have. A tech genius gone dark. Obsessive. Almost sympathetic in his logic.”
She tapped the paper once with a perfectly manicured finger. “Perfect for the hacker or saboteur who created your blackout and jamming systems. Don’t you agree?”
Rena studied the profile. It wasn’t sloppy. If anything, it was chillingly precise. The formatting looked official, too polished for a last-minute printout. But it wasn’t the paper that set Rena’s teeth on edge. It was the ease in Corrine’s tone. The woman wasn’t suggesting. She was informing.
“You’re saying Danner organized the attack?” Noah clarified, though there was plenty of skepticism in his voice.
Corrine nodded. “I’m saying he’s capable of it. Motivated, equipped, and dangerous enough to pull it off. You know how deep his access went, Noah.”
Sheriff Chase leaned slightly forward, making sure the recorder picked up every word.
“For the record,” she said evenly, “Dr. Corrine Astor has provided a printed profile of one Rhett Danner, a former Crossfire tech specialist. Now, Doctor, I’d like you to tell us why you believe Mr. Danner perpetrated the attack on Crossfire Operations. ”
Corrine folded her hands, her nails a pale, glossy pink against the stark gray tabletop.
“Because, Sheriff, I had lunch with Rhett a month ago. Something we do from time to time. Rhett and I have a sort of… mutual understanding. He’s brilliant but damaged.
Normally, our lunches are drenched in regret.
He’s unable to put his wife’s death behind him, and our conversations tend to circle around that, how unfair it was, how no one paid for it. ”
She paused, her expression softening as if in pity. “But that last time, he was different. Focused. Composed. Almost cheerful. I remember thinking how unusual it was. I asked him about it, and he said something that stuck with me.”
“What did he say?” Noah snapped when Corrine paused.
Corrine’s gaze flicked to him. “He said Crossfire Ops might finally get what’s coming to them.”
The air in the room seemed to shift, just slightly, but enough that Rena felt the weight of it pressing on her chest.
Sheriff Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Did he elaborate on what that meant?”
“Not in so many words,” Corrine admitted. “But the tone was unmistakable. He wasn’t just wishing for it this time. He seemed to know that something was coming.”
“Did Mr. Danner give you any specifics whatsoever about what was coming?” the sheriff pressed.
Corrine shook her head, her expression one of patient exasperation. “No. If he had, I would have gone straight to the police, of course.”
Rena barely kept herself from snorting. Would you, though? The woman’s calm, practiced delivery was too smooth, too rehearsed. Corrine Astor was many things, but noble sure as hell wasn’t one of them.
And if Rhett Danner had hinted at something, if he’d confided in her, it wasn’t hard to imagine Corrine leaning forward, smiling that faint, cold smile, and encouraging him.
Or worse, helping him plan it.
Sheriff Chase’s silence stretched just long enough to make Corrine shift slightly in her chair. Then the sheriff asked, “Where were you last night, Dr. Astor?”
Corrine sighed, not subtly either, the sound of a woman irritated by such tedious questions. “At home. Alone. Watching a documentary.”
“What documentary?” the sheriff quickly demanded.
Corrine arched a brow. “The Mind’s Cage, a BBC special on psychological resilience and post-traumatic growth. I found it very enlightening.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
Another sigh, this one deeper, the hint of a smile returning. “No, Sheriff, they can’t. But really, that should prove my innocence, shouldn’t it? If I’d orchestrated a siege, don’t you think I’d be clever enough to make sure I had an alibi?”
Rena’s stomach twisted. Corrine said it like a joke, but her tone was too precise, too knowing. It wasn’t a denial. It was a taunt dressed up as logic.
Noah’s voice cut through the tension. “Or maybe you don’t have an alibi,” he said, “because you were there at Crossfire Ops.”
The words landed hard. For a split second, Corrine’s mask cracked. Anger flared in her eyes, but just as quickly she smoothed it away, replacing fury with a patronizing smile.
“Tsk-tsk,” Corrine murmured, shaking her head. “You always did have a flair for dramatics, Noah.”