Chapter Ten
Gage’s head was still spinning, and Corrine’s words were looping through his brain like shrapnel.
Maybe every bit of what she’d said was a pack of lies, or maybe there was some truth buried in there, something she was manipulating to her advantage. Either way, it didn’t matter right now. They had a lead, and that was what counted.
Rena and he stepped out of the sheriff’s office into the thick Texas heat, but before they even made it to the SUV, both their phones dinged at once. Gage pulled his out and saw a text from Isla. Coordinates, a pinned location, and a short note.
“Middle of nowhere,” Rena muttered, reading the text.
“Yeah.” Gage slipped his phone into his pocket. “Exactly the kind of place someone would stash a couple of choppers and a small army.”
She shot him a look that said she agreed and maybe wished she didn’t.
Gage caught some movement from the corner of his eye and spotted the guy approaching them.
Tall, lean, dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt.
His dark blond hair was neatly trimmed in a way that looked deliberate rather than fussy, and his pale blue eyes were sharp.
Calculating, not tired. The kind of gaze that suggested he noticed everything and filed it away for later use.
Rhett’s gaze locked on them instantly. Gage had never met the man, but it was obvious that Rhett knew exactly who they were.
“Kellan. Calloway,” Rhett greeted. His voice carried that smug rasp of recognition, a tone that didn’t quite reach friendly. “Crossfire’s cleanup crew, huh?”
Gage didn’t bother correcting him. Rena and he exchanged a quick glance, silent agreement passing between them. Don’t rise to the bait.
Unlike Corrine with her polished calm and media-ready smile, Rhett wasn’t even pretending to play nice.
His body language screamed contempt. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but there was a sharpness to his stance, a coil of tension that said he was spoiling for a fight, verbal or otherwise.
Rhett stopped a few feet from them, a scowl tightening his face. “Where’s your fearless leader?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Is Riggs too busy spinning damage control to show his face?”
Gage kept his voice even, calm. “Noah’s inside. On the trail of the coward asshole who tried to kill a hangar full of kids.”
The change in Rhett was instant. The smirk vanished. His jaw clenched, muscle ticking hard along his cheek. A flicker of something—pain, rage—passed through his eyes before he masked it again.
“Yeah,” Rhett snarled. “Noah would know all about death and killing. He’s made a career out of both. My wife. My baby. He’s the reason they’re dead.”
“No,” Rena immediately replied. “I’ve read the file, Danner. Your wife was a tech who volunteered for that mission. She was there because she wanted to be. And she went on that op without telling anyone she was pregnant.”
Rhett’s expression froze. Shock, maybe guilt. But it vanished just as fast, replaced by cold fury. “That’s what they told you,” he said, voice dropping, calm again but laced with venom. “That’s what Crossfire always says when they want to clean the blood off their hands.”
Gage didn’t move, didn’t blink. He just met Rhett’s stare head-on, the air between them crackling with tension.
Rena’s correction had hit home. Rhett knew it.
And for the first time, Gage wondered if the anger burning behind those pale blue eyes was the kind that wanted justice, or the kind that wanted to burn the world down with it.
Rhett’s composure cracked, his voice rising just enough to turn heads near the door. “She was pregnant!” he snapped, eyes blazing now. “Mission or not, it was still Noah’s fault. He gave the order. He always gives the damn orders, and people die for them.”
Gage felt Rena stiffen beside him, but he didn’t bother responding. There wasn’t anything he could say that would cut through that kind of anger. He turned, motioning for Rena, and they headed toward the SUV parked by the curb.
“Every damn one of you,” Rhett shouted after them. “Every operative at Crossfire Ops, you’ll all pay for what you’ve done.”
Rena didn’t look back, and neither did Gage. He kept his eyes on the SUV, jaw tight. There was no reasoning with that kind of twisted conviction.
Still, as he reached for the door handle, a darker thought slipped in. Corrine Astor had thrown Rhett straight under the bus without hesitation, and Gage couldn’t help but wonder how that particular revelation was going to go over once Rhett found out.
Given the venom in Rhett’s voice just now, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be pretty.
Gage slid behind the wheel, the door shutting with a solid thunk. Rena was already tapping at the console, loading the GPS coordinates Isla had sent. The route blinked onto the screen. Ten miles of empty terrain and what barely passed for a trail winding toward their target.
As they pulled away from the station, Rena’s phone chimed. “Drone feed from Isla,” she said, bringing up the images. “Big structure. A hangar with metal roof, reinforced doors. And there’s a landing pad about thirty yards to the east.”
Gage glanced over. The photos showed the facility sitting in the middle of nothing but scrub and dust. No cover, no nearby structures. Just a barren patch of Texas Hill Country.
“Chopper’s gone,” Rena added, flicking to another image. “But that’s a fresh imprint on the pad. It was there not long ago.”
“Yeah,” Gage said, focusing on the road. “Could’ve been moved, or maybe they’ve got more than one left. Either way, somebody built this place to disappear.”
The drone images shifted again, this time to high-angle shots revealing how isolated the facility really was. The nearest fence line was over a mile away, and the so-called road leading in looked more like a washed-out trail, half eaten by weeds and time.
The road narrowed, cutting through scrub and limestone.
The trees grew dense in spots, twisted oaks and cedar that clawed at the edge of the path, and every few yards, white boulders jutted from the earth like bones.
Not land fit for cattle or crops. Just the kind of rugged, forgotten terrain someone would choose if they wanted privacy… or secrecy.
By the time they reached the turnoff for the trail, dust coated the windshield and the GPS had long since lost any sign of an actual road. Ahead, a gray van idled near a cluster of rocks, Cal Granger and Garrett McCall climbing out as Gage rolled the SUV to a stop.
“Glad you didn’t get lost,” Cal said, his usual dry humor muted. He crouched over a handheld scanner, the small screen glowing pale green in the dim morning light. “No heat signatures, but we’re still a few hundred yards out. Could just be range interference.”
Garrett opened the van’s rear doors, revealing an arsenal packed tight with rifles, vests, extra mags, and tactical kits. “I’ll carry the scanner for explosives,” he explained, already strapping on his gear. “Never know what surprises a place like this holds.”
“Copy that,” Gage said, pulling on a vest and checking the Glock at his hip. He grabbed an M4 from the rack, racking the bolt with a metallic snap.
Cal adjusted the heat scanner, tucking it under one arm as Garrett climbed back behind the wheel. The moment all of them were in, the van rumbled forward, tires crunching over gravel and rock as they started the slow crawl toward the shadowed outline of the facility in the distance.
The closer they got, the more it felt as if the world had gone still. No wind, no birds, no sound but the low growl of the engine and Gage’s pulse thudding in his ears.
The van crested a rise, and the hangar came into view.
An ugly slab of corrugated metal squatting in the middle of nowhere.
The helicopter pad sat just east of it, scorched and stained from use.
Even from this distance, Gage could tell it hadn’t been long.
The weeds and scrub around the concrete were beaten down, the dirt freshly packed with tire tracks and boot prints.
“Someone’s been busy,” Rena murmured.
Cal lifted his handheld scanner again, sweeping it across the terrain.
The soft beeps were steady, even, giving off the illusion of calm.
“Still no heat sources,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean squat.
Could be they cleared out fast, or the scanner’s not catching through the structure.
Either way”—he squinted at the readout—” we’d better watch for traps. ”
Gage nodded, eyes fixed on the hangar. “Yeah. Anyone who’d go after a hangar full of kids isn’t the type to hesitate. They’d plant whatever they could to make sure no one walked away from this place.”
Garrett slowed the van to a crawl, dust billowing around them. The stillness pressed in, heavy and wrong.
Gage stepped out first, and he motioned for the others to fan out, every movement deliberate, careful. The air was thick with dust and heat, the sun already high enough to bake the metal skin of the hangar until it shimmered.
“Watch your footing,” he murmured. “If they cleared out in a hurry, they might’ve left something behind.”
Rena covered his six while Cal swept the perimeter with the scanner. Garrett moved to the hangar’s main doors, massive, steel-plated, with a keypad lock mounted beside it.
“Digital,” Garrett said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll have Isla crack it.”
He snapped a quick photo, sent it off. Seconds later, his phone buzzed with a reply. Garrett entered the code Isla had sent back, and the light on the keypad flicked from red to green with a soft beep.
“Door’s live,” he said.
Garrett scanned the doorway, slow and methodical. “No explosives, at least none my gear’s picking up.”
That didn’t mean he relaxed. Gage motioned for Rena to cover him, then eased the heavy door open. The hinges groaned, and a rush of stale, chemical-scented air spilled out.