Chapter Thirteen
The corridor between headquarters and the barracks was long, narrow, and quiet, their footsteps echoing off the concrete floor. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting pale light over the steel-gray walls lined with security panels and keypads.
Rena matched Gage’s stride, though every muscle in her body protested.
Her shoulder throbbed, her head pounded, and even though it was only nine pm, the fatigue had sunk deep into her bones.
They’d been in the briefing room for hours with Noah, Isla, Owen, Ruby, and the sheriff going over data until their eyes burned.
And for what?
Two vague coordinates and more damn questions than answers.
“Call it a night,” Noah had said. But Rena wasn’t sure she could call this anything close to rest. Not with her pulse still humming from frustration and pain.
She blew out a breath, rubbing the back of her neck as they turned a corner. “We’re running in circles, Gage. Two possible compounds, no addresses, no proof they even exist.”
“Yeah. But we’ll find them,” he insisted.
She wanted to believe him, but the uncertainty sat heavy. Somewhere out there, the person who’d orchestrated the siege was still breathing, still planning. And that made every echo in this quiet hallway feel like a threat.
When they reached the barracks, Gage went straight for the ibuprofen and grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-fridge. He handed her one, and they downed the meds together in silence. The cold water hit her stomach like a rock.
Rena leaned back against the counter, her thoughts drifting to the pile of bad news they’d collected over the past several hours.
Rhett had readily admitted to owning the helicopters, saying he’d bought them for a new business venture.
A Crossfire Ops type security outfit he was starting up.
According to him, the choppers hadn’t been purchased through shell companies but under his new company’s name.
He’d even allowed Sheriff Chase access to his new headquarters, still under construction, where the helicopters were parked.
Maybe he was telling the truth. Or maybe there’d been three choppers, not two, and one had gone down in flames during the party. But so far, there was no proof. Just more loose threads and half-truths, and Rena was running out of patience trying to tie them all together.
“You want a nightcap?” Gage asked, drawing her attention back to him.
They’d had takeout burgers earlier with Noah and the others, but her stomach gave a small growl. Before she could say anything, he didn’t head for the alcohol but instead he went back to the mini-fridge and pulled out two ice cream sandwiches.
He held them up. “This kind of nightcap.”
Despite the exhaustion dragging at her, Rena smiled. “Now that, I can get behind.”
They settled on the couch, the wrappers crinkling in the quiet. The first bite was cold enough to sting her teeth, but it was comfort she didn’t realize she’d needed.
For a few moments, neither said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was the sound of two people too tired to pretend they weren’t still replaying the last twenty-four hours in their heads.
Gage broke it first. “We’ll find those training compounds,” he emphasized. “And when we do, it’ll lead us straight to whoever’s pulling the strings.”
“Hope you’re right,” she said quietly.
He gave her a faint grin. “You’ll see. I usually am.”
She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “Cocky.”
“Optimistic,” he countered.
For the first time all day, the heaviness in her chest loosened. Maybe it was the sugar rush, or maybe it was the rare comfort of sitting beside someone who understood exactly what it felt like to walk through hell and keep moving anyway.
Their phones buzzed, the sharp sound breaking the fragile quiet that had settled between them. She sighed and pulled it from her pocket, her thumb swiping across the screen. Gage did the same, and she saw that it was a group message from Sheriff Chase to Noah, Isla, Gage, and her.
“Brady’s out of the hospital already,” she read aloud so that Gage wouldn’t have to bother opening it. “Says his injury’s not serious. He refused police protection.”
Gage gave a low grunt. “Of course he did. Man’s got an ego big enough to block bullets.”
Rena’s mouth twisted. “And Rhett’s walked free, too. Sheriff didn’t have enough to hold him, especially now that he’s admitted to owning the choppers. His lawyers are pushing the ‘DNA was planted’ story hard.”
Gage leaned back, the ice cream sandwich melting in his hand, forgotten. “Convenient defense. Too convenient.”
She nodded, her frustration prickling like static under her skin. “Every lead circles back to the same three people, but none of it sticks.”
“Not yet,” Gage said. “But Rhett’s DNA in that hangar means something. Either he’s lying, or someone’s trying really hard to make him look guilty.”
“Or both,” Rena muttered.
She scrolled through the rest of the text. Details, logistics, nothing new. Sighing in frustration, she pocketed her phone.
“Feels like we’re one step behind no matter what we do,” she murmured.
“Yeah. But whoever’s behind this, they’re bleeding resources now. They’ve lost men, a chopper, and surprise on their side. That kind of operation doesn’t come cheap.”
Rena let out a long breath and nodded. “You think that’s what’ll break them? Money?”
He gave a small, grim smile. “Money. Or pride. Sooner or later, one of them slips. And when they do…”
She met his gaze, finishing the thought for him. “We’ll be ready.”
Rena leaned back against the couch, the faint hum of the air system the only sound filling the barracks. The place felt different tonight, less like a temporary station and more like a memory already fading.
She glanced around at the neat rows of cubicles, the plain walls, the faint smell of gun oil and detergent. “Hard to believe this won’t be home much longer,” she said.
Gage looked up, one eyebrow raised. “You mean now that we’re officially out of the trainee zone? I’ll be moving into one of the cabins on the grounds. Supposed to be quiet out there.” He watched her for a beat, his gaze steady and unreadable. “What about you?”
“I’ll be in one of the cabins too,” she said, trying for casual. “Guess that makes us neighbors.”
“Neighbors,” he repeated, the word low. Their gazes locked, heat stretching between them, slow and quiet and undeniable.
Rena felt her pulse trip, the memory of that kiss flickering like a live wire in her chest. She told herself it was exhaustion, adrenaline, too many close calls. But Gage’s eyes held hers, dark and steady, and she knew better.
“Looks like we’ll have trouble staying out of each other’s way,” he murmured.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It hummed, alive with everything they weren’t saying and everything they both knew they wanted.
Gage’s grin tugged wider, the kind that lit his eyes and made him look less burdened, less bruised by the day. “You know,” he said, voice low and playful, “I’ve been considering asking you to dance or something. Just an excuse to get you back in my arms.”
Rena huffed out a laugh, the sound catching in her throat. “A dance? In the middle of the barracks?”
He shrugged, still smiling, and he set the rest of his ice cream sandwich back on the wrapper. “Place could use a little romance. Maybe we’ll start a trend.” Before she could fire back, he stood, holding out a hand. “Come on. One dance. No music required.”
“Gage…” She shook her head, but he was already reaching for her, fingers brushing her wrist. The warmth of his touch shot through her. Too easy, too familiar.
When he pulled her up, she didn’t resist. She put the rest of her nightcap aside as well and went into his arms.
For a heartbeat, they just stood there, close enough that she could feel the slow, steady thud of his pulse under her hand. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her breath hitched.
“Guess we’ll skip the dancing part,” he murmured.
Then he kissed her.
It started slow, testing, searching, but of course, the restraint didn’t last. The kiss deepened, turned hotter, rougher, full of all the tension they’d been holding back for too long. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her in until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between them.
Her fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer still. The world narrowed down to heat and breath and the way he tasted. Dark, dangerous, familiar.
When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard, her pulse hammering in her throat.
“Hell of a dance,” he said softly, his lips still brushing hers.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “No music required.”
Rena’s pulse thudded so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. The air between them was thick, heavy with everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d tried to ignore for months.
She told herself to stop. To take a breath, to step back, to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. They were teammates. Partners. Both bruised and running on fumes after too many close calls.
But Gage’s hands were warm at her back, his breath brushing her cheek, steady and grounding. And for the first time in too long, she didn’t feel like she was standing at the edge of something dangerous. She felt seen.
When he kissed her again, slower this time, the last of her resistance cracked.
Her mind whispered that she shouldn’t—couldn’t—but her body had already made the choice. She didn’t want to stop. Not tonight. She wanted to lose herself in him for a little while, to trade the noise in her head for the solid, quiet comfort of his arms.
They’d been dancing around this for too long, sidestepping what had been building since the first mission they’d shared years ago. Every brush of his fingers, every soft pull of his mouth, felt like a surrender to something inevitable.
Rena didn’t know who moved first, whether it was Gage guiding her backward or her simply following where her heart had already gone. The world outside his cubicle faded, leaving only the soft thud of her pulse and the steady beat of his breath against hers.
He drew her in, the kiss deepening until thought gave way to feeling. Every barrier she’d built to keep herself safe, every rule, every warning crumbled beneath the heat of it.
Gage’s touch wasn’t demanding. It was steady, deliberate, careful in a way that spoke more than words ever could. Even through the chaos of the last few days, he still thought about her first, about her injuries, about her comfort.
When he eased her back toward the small space of his cubicle and shut the door behind them, it wasn’t about privacy. It was about shutting out everything else. The gunfire, the questions, the fear.
For this moment, it was just them.
The kiss turned hungry, full of pent-up need and unspoken promises. Her hands slid over his shoulders, careful where she knew he hurt, and his breath hitched. It wasn’t just lust driving her. It was something deeper, something that had been simmering between them for far too long.
She knew she should stop. That letting this happen could change everything. But she didn’t want to. Not tonight.
For once, she wanted to let herself feel, wanted to remember what it was like to be alive, to touch and be touched by someone who understood what it cost to keep surviving.
Rena drew back, breathless, her forehead resting against his. Neither of them spoke, just the sound of air and heartbeat and need between them. Then she managed a shaky laugh.
“If we keep going,” she whispered, “we’re going to pop every damn stitch Beck fixed.”
Gage’s answering grin was soft, a little reckless. “I’ll be careful.”
That tenderness, that promise, hit her harder than any touch. She searched his face, saw the same war of reason and want playing out there, and realized she didn’t care either. Not about the rules, not about the timing, not about the risks.
All she wanted was him.
They shed what was between them—the layers of uniform, the weight of the last few days, the fear that had been pressing down since the hangar—and tumbled together onto the narrow bed.
He framed her face with his hands, eyes searching hers one last time, silently asking if she was sure. And she was. Completely.
When he finally kissed her again, everything else fell away. All that was left was the quiet truth of it. The ache, the closeness, the choice to let go and reach for something good in the middle of all the wreckage.
It wasn’t about escape anymore. It was about finding something real.
Gage drew her close, guiding her onto his lap, and the careful way he moved, how he made space for both their injuries, told her more about what this meant than words ever could.
They found a rhythm together, slow and deliberate, more about closeness than urgency. Every shift, every breath, pulled them deeper into that fragile, perfect space where nothing else existed.
Rena clung to him, her fingers digging lightly into his shoulders. The moment built between them until it was too much to contain, the heat and emotion cresting like a wave neither could fight. When it broke, it wasn’t just release. It was relief. It was belonging.
Afterward, they stayed tangled together, foreheads pressed, breaths uneven but shared. Rena didn’t speak. She couldn’t.
Because in that quiet, she realized what had truly happened between them wasn’t just passion. It was trust. The kind you only gave once.