Chapter Twelve
While he waited, and waited for Rhett to come in for his interview, Gage leaned back in the hard wooden chair, the edge of it biting into his shoulder where the stitches still pulled.
The sheriff’s office felt smaller than usual, one of those cramped, old buildings that smelled faintly of coffee, dust, and gun oil. Afternoon light spilled in through half-closed blinds, cutting the room into stripes of gold and shadow.
Next to him, Rena sat perched on the edge of another chair, phone in hand, scrolling through updates from Crossfire’s tech team. Her focus was sharp, but he could tell from the way her leg bounced that the waiting was eating at her too.
Sheriff Chase sat behind her desk, short blond hair mussed from running her hand through it a dozen times. She was on the phone again, half-listening, half-commanding whoever was on the other end. Every few seconds, she jotted something down on a yellow pad already filled with notes.
The tension in the room was thick, heavy as the Texas heat pressing through the windows.
Of course, a different kind of heat would crank up when the sheriff had Rhett and then Brady in the interview room. Which should be happening soon. Rhett would be up first, and Sheriff Chase would be asking him the big questions of how and why his DNA had been found in that hangar.
Gage was very much interested in the answers.
Of course, that didn’t mean Rhett was going to give them the truth, but he was at least going to have to come up with a plausible explanation.
Rena’s phone dinged at the same time Gage’s did, and he saw the file that Isla had forwarded. A digital copy of Corrine Astor’s so-called “profile” on Brady Halden.
According to Corrine’s neat, clinical summary, Brady was “a tactical survivor type, disillusioned, morally injured, clinging to a warped sense of brotherhood.” There were references to betrayal, to “the team’s disavowal that scarred him,” and to his “latent need to prove justice through retribution.”
Gage snorted under his breath. “She makes him sound like some avenging saint with PTSD.”
He glanced up to see that Rena was reading the same report on her phone, her expression tight. Sheriff Chase was still on her call so Gage leaned closer to Rena and kept his voice to a whisper.
“What do you think? Corrine’s just trying to deflect guilt?” he asked Rena.
“Could be,” Rena admitted. “But Corrine’s not completely wrong about him. Brady showing up at that hangar, right before the explosion? I have a hard time believing that was a coincidence.”
Gage nodded. “And he’s got motive. The disavowed op, the grudge against Noah… the man lost everything because of Crossfire. If he wanted payback, that party would’ve been the perfect setup.”
“Even if Corrine’s spinning it for her own gain,” Rena added, “Brady still fits.”
Gage blew out a hard breath, his eyes dropping back to the profile. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Fits too damn well.”
He closed the file, feeling that familiar coil of tension tightening in his gut. Whether Corrine was deflecting or not, Brady had blood in his eyes, and Gage couldn’t shake the feeling that the next move was already in play.
Gage lifted his gaze the second Sheriff Chase ended the call. “Lab didn’t find either Corrine’s or Brady’s DNA in that hangar,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. Cleaning solution could’ve nuked whatever trace was left.”
Yeah. A crime scene scrubbed like a damn operating room, and nothing tying either of the two most smug suspects to it. But Rhett’s had been there all right. Maybe an indication he was guilty. Or maybe someone just wanted them to believe that.
“Corrine’s now claiming Crossfire Ops is trying to kill her,” the sheriff went on. “She’s trying to pull in the FBI and the Texas Rangers to demand they shut Noah and Crossfire Ops down.”
Gage huffed out a sharp, humorless breath. “Of course she is.”
The anger coiled low in his gut again. Corrine didn’t just want to survive this, she wanted Noah finished. And she wasn’t bothering to pretend otherwise anymore.
“Corrine told Noah he should resign,” Gage reminded them. “Guess this is the next play.”
“She didn’t get traction manipulating him directly,” Rena added, “so she’ll try this angle now.”
Sheriff Chase rubbed her temples. “I’m working damage control. Right now, none of the agencies are biting. They know how often we deal with false retaliation claims tied to military contractors and intel groups. But if Corrine keeps screaming loud enough?”
He didn’t need her to finish. He could feel it. The storm that hadn’t passed at all, just shifted. But if Corrine thought Crossfire Ops was going down without a fight, she was about to be deeply disappointed.
At the sound of footsteps, Gage looked out into the bullpen. Rhett Danner stormed through the door with his lawyers flanking him, two suits who looked as if they’d rather be anywhere else.
“This is Noah’s doing,” Rhett snapped, his voice dripping venom as his gaze zeroed in on Gage and Rena. “He sends his little soldiers to dig through my life and then drags me back here like I’m some kind of criminal.”
Gage had dealt with angry men before, ones who thought fury could make up for guilt. Rhett’s posture, defensive and loud, reeked of both.
Sheriff Chase didn’t even flinch. She motioned toward the hallway that led to the interview rooms. “Come with me.”
She began reciting Rhett’s rights as they walked, and Rhett clearly didn’t like that. He gritted his teeth, muttering curses under his breath, but he followed. The two lawyers trailed close behind, one already pulling out his phone as if he was preparing to record every word.
Gage and Rena exchanged a glance, then followed down the corridor, turning into the small observation room next door.
The space was dimly lit, a narrow window giving them a clear view of the interrogation table.
A microphone glowed red on the desk, live and recording.
Through the glass, they could see Rhett drop heavily into the metal chair, his glare fixed straight ahead.
“He looks cornered,” Rena murmured.
Gage watched the man’s rigid shoulders and the anger burning just beneath his skin. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s see what happens when the walls close in.”
Sheriff Chase powered on the recorder, her tone even and clipped as she read in the case information.
After she had the lawyers say their names for the recording, she added her own, Brady’s, and the time and date.
Then, she swiveled the tablet around, the photo of the hangar and the helicopter pad filling the screen.
“Mr. Danner, have you ever been to this facility?” she asked.
From the observation room, Gage leaned forward slightly, watching every flicker across Rhett’s face. The man looked at the photo for barely a second before scoffing, sitting back with a derisive snort.
“No,” Rhett snarled.
Sheriff Chase didn’t flinch. “Interesting. Because your DNA was recovered from that site.”
The reaction was instant. Rhett’s chair scraped the floor as he bolted halfway upright. “That’s bullshit,” he snapped, color flooding his face. “They planted it, Crossfire Ops, or maybe that viper Corrine. She’s trying to frame me for that attack.”
Gage watched his jaw tighten, muscles twitching like a live wire. The lawyers on either side were murmuring urgently, trying to calm him down, but Rhett was beyond listening.
“Mr. Danner,” Sheriff Chase said, her voice steady but harder now, “I’ll remind you this is being recorded. You’re denying ever visiting the site where your DNA was found?”
Rhett slammed his palms on the table. “I said it was planted.” His glare shot toward the mirror, toward Gage and Rena on the other side of the glass, as if he somehow knew they were watching. “Noah’s framing me. That’s what this is. He wants me to pay for something that was his fault.”
The lawyers both rose halfway out of their seats, one saying sharply, “Rhett, sit down. Now.”
But Rhett just shook his head, breathing hard, his voice cracking under the strain. “You people think you can make me the scapegoat? Not this time.”
“He’s not just angry,” Gage murmured to Rena. “I think he’s scared.”
Of course, that didn’t make him less dangerous.
Gage leaned a shoulder against the wall, eyes still on Rhett through the glass. The man was pacing now, muttering while his lawyers tried to calm him.
“The DNA alone won’t stick,” Gage said quietly. “Sheriff’s smart, but she knows it too. The lawyers’ll demand independent testing, claim contamination. Hell, they’ll say she’s working for Crossfire Ops.”
Rena nodded, her voice low. “And they’ll make it sound convincing. Even guilt looks innocent when there’s a good lawyer spinning it.”
Before Gage could answer, raised voices drifted down the hall from the bullpen. It wasn’t shouting, more the controlled chaos of something bad unfolding fast. Then, he caught it. A familiar voice.
Brady.
Gage was already moving, and Rena was right beside him, matching his pace as they pushed through the door into the bullpen.
Brady stood near the center of the room, one hand pressed to his arm, blood seeping between his fingers.
The dark stain spread quick, soaking into his sleeve.
His face was pale, but his voice stayed level when he saw them.
“Someone shot me,” he said flatly. “Outside. Black SUV, didn’t see who.”
Gage’s eyes flicked to the wound. Upper arm, clean entry. Looked like a through-and-through, but it was bleeding like hell.
Rena was already assessing it, her training kicking in. “That’s a gunshot,” she said, glancing toward the deputies. “Get pressure on it now.”
One of the deputies grabbed a first-aid kit from the wall while another picked up the radio. “Dispatch, this is Deputy Sanchez, we need an ambulance at the sheriff’s office, possible GSW, adult male.”
The room filled with movement, voices, clatter, boots on tile. But Gage kept his focus on Brady. He’d seen enough men shot to know the difference between panic and performance.