Chapter Fourteen
Rena was asleep, her breathing soft and even against his chest. Gage lay still, one arm draped around her, feeling the rise and fall of her body against his. The room was quiet—too quiet, maybe—but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like the silence of waiting for the next attack.
It just felt… still.
He should’ve been thinking about boundaries, consequences, about how this could complicate everything between them and with Crossfire Ops. He’d tried to tell himself that a dozen times already. But when she’d looked at him the way she had, open, unguarded, trusting, he hadn’t stood a chance.
It had always felt inevitable. From the moment they’d met, there’d been something electric beneath the surface, simmering just out of reach. Maybe it had taken danger, loss, and too many close calls to strip everything else away, but they were here now. Together.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering. No regrets. Not a single one.
Still, the thought lingered. How hard it was to think about the future when every day could be the one that ended it. When someone out there still wanted them dead.
But tonight, he pushed that thought aside. He tightened his arm around Rena, let the weight of her against him anchor him to something good, something worth fighting for.
Rena stirred against him, a soft sound escaping her as she blinked awake. The dim light from the lamp cast faint gold across her face, and when her eyes found his, a slow, sleepy smile curved her lips.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice rough with sleep.
“Hey, yourself,” Gage murmured, brushing his thumb over her shoulder.
She leaned in and kissed him, lazy and unhurried, but there was heat there too, the same spark that had drawn them together hours ago. When she pulled back, her gaze searched his. “What time is it?”
He reached over for his watch. “Just after midnight.”
She sighed and settled back against him for a moment, her hand tracing idle circles over his chest. The air between them hummed again, low and dangerous.
Then her stomach gave a quiet growl, breaking the spell. She laughed softly. “Guess I’m starving.”
He grinned. “Good thing I still have ice cream in the fridge.”
He slid out of bed, tugging on his pants, but before he could take a step, both of their phones buzzed on the nightstand. Gage grabbed his, scanning the screen. “It’s Noah.”
“Get to the briefing room. Now,” he read aloud.
The warmth between them vanished, replaced by that sharp, familiar edge of adrenaline.
They scrambled to get dressed, the urgency in Noah’s message cutting through whatever warmth had lingered.
Gage’s pulse was already kicking into high gear as he tugged on his shirt and boots, the weight of his gun settling against his hip like second nature.
“Think it’s another attack?” Rena asked, her voice tight as she zipped her vest.
“Or another invasion,” he muttered. Either way, it meant trouble.
They were out the door in seconds, the echo of their footsteps pounding down the corridor. The air inside the headquarters felt charged, tense as if the building itself was bracing for what was coming.
When they burst into the briefing room, Gage immediately saw all the people who were already there.
Noah stood near the main console, Isla typing furiously beside him.
Sheriff Chase and Deputy Sanchez were seated at the side table, both watching the monitors, while three other techs tracked data feeds.
Operatives, Delaney Hart and Eli Torres, were geared up, too.
So much for Noah’s order to get some rest.
Gage’s gaze snapped to the monitors, and his stomach dropped. Two screens showed what was clearly live drone footage, the camera feeds flickering slightly with movement. Both images were of remote compounds, fenced and spread across rough, scrub-covered terrain.
Noah glanced over as Gage and Rena came in. “Looks like our informant was right,” he said. “The techs found the two training facilities less than half an hour ago.”
And judging by the sharpness in his tone, Gage knew they were about to find a hell of a lot more than that.
Isla spun her chair toward them, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, energy drink in hand—but her grin was pure Isla.
“You’re welcome,” she said, then launched into her explanation.
“I cross-referenced heat signatures from our satellite feeds with flight path anomalies. Took me all night and two pots of coffee, but boom, two facilities. Hidden deep in the woods, both of them. Practically invisible unless you know exactly what to look for.”
She turned back to her screens, pulling up side-by-side drone feeds. “This one’s near the river basin, completely off any mapped road. The other’s north. Hills, rock cover, good visibility from the ridge. Perfect spots for off-grid training.”
Noah nodded, stepping closer to the monitors.
“Both are close enough to Crossfire Creek to make staging the attack possible. And the terrain matches the tactical routes the attackers would’ve used for fast access, easy retreat.
” He pointed at one of the feeds where faint tire tracks were visible through the drone’s infrared filter.
“You can still see vehicle imprints. Fresh. Within the last forty-eight hours.”
Rena leaned in, her brow furrowed. “So, one of these could be where they trained the men who hit the hangar?”
Noah’s jaw tightened. “Not could be. Was. The data lines up too cleanly. Both sites match the chatter our informant passed along. I’d bet everything we’ve got that whoever planned this used at least one of these places as their base.”
“Who owns them?” Gage asked.
Isla blew out a breath, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
“That’s the fun part. I’m still untangling it.
Whoever’s behind these used at least three shell companies, all routed through international holdings.
Think tax havens, dummy accounts, fake addresses.
It’s a digital onion of lies. And I’m peeling it one stinky layer at a time. ”
“Both sites have helipads and hangars big enough to fit choppers,” Delaney pointed out. “Noah, that tracks with the reports on the aircraft Rhett bought.”
Gage followed her gaze to the feed, to the two faint rectangles carved into the dirt, the shape unmistakable.
Eli, who’d been scanning the live thermal overlay, frowned. “No visible choppers. And the drones aren’t picking up any heat signatures, either.”
Isla swiveled back toward them, her tone turning serious.
“Yeah, and before anyone gets too optimistic, no heat sources doesn’t mean no people.
I think these buildings are lined with heat-shielding material.
Military grade. Could be empty.” She paused, eyes flicking to Noah.
“Or could be full of assholes we can’t see. ”
A beat of silence followed, thick and heavy. “Armies,” Delaney murmured. “Hidden behind shields.”
Gage stared at the monitors a moment longer, unease threading through his gut. The compounds looked too quiet, too clean. Every instinct he had was screaming trap.
“Maybe this is a setup,” he said, voicing his concern and glancing toward Noah. “Two empty-looking facilities, conveniently found right after Rhett admits to owning choppers? Could be bait. Lure us in with hidden troops or assets waiting to light us up.”
“That’s possible,” Noah readily admitted. “Which means we prepare like it’s the worst-case scenario.”
Everyone in the room gave some form of agreement, either verbally or nods.
“So what’s the plan?” Rena asked.
Before Noah could answer, the door opened, and the sound of bootsteps filled the room. Cal and Garrett strode in first, both looking like they’d come straight from the field, fatigue jackets, weapons slung, eyes sharp.
“Got your message,” Cal said, nodding toward the monitors. “What’s the target?”
And then another pair followed close behind.
Harlan Creed and Colt Morgan, two of Crossfire’s top operatives.
The air in the room seemed to tighten a notch as they entered, quiet authority radiating off both men.
Harlan’s gaze swept over the displays, assessing, calculating, while Colt moved beside Noah without a word.
Now it felt like a war council.
Noah waited until the door shut, the hum of the monitors filling the silence.
“Good,” he said. “You’re all here. We’ve confirmed the locations of two suspected training compounds.
They match the patterns from the attackers’ routes, and the terrain checks out.
But we don’t know what’s waiting inside. ”
Noah motioned toward the long table at the center of the room. “Grab a seat,” he said, tone brisk, all commander now. “We’re not wasting time.”
Gage and Rena took their places side by side. Cal and Garrett slid into the seats across from them. The others followed suit, and in moments, the room stilled, the kind of silence that came before orders were given.
Noah remained standing, remote in hand, the glow from the monitors sharpening the hard lines of his face. “Here’s how we’re playing this,” he began. “Two sites, two teams. We go in coordinated and cautious.”
He clicked the remote, and the feeds split, each facility filling one side of the wall of monitors.
“Team One will hit Site Alpha,” he said, gesturing to the left screen.
“That’s Rena, Gage, Cal, Garrett, Isla, and Sheriff Chase.
You’ll have one drone overhead and full satellite backup.
I’ll be in the air with you, chopper support and comms relay, but for the sake of keeping things quiet, I’ll keep my distance. Won’t move in unless needed.”
Rena straightened slightly, eyes locked on the screen. Gage could feel the coiled readiness beside him, the same energy that thrummed in his own blood.
Noah turned to the right screen. “Team Two takes Site Bravo. Harlan, Colt, Eli, Delaney, and Deputy Sanchez. Beck will handle air support for your bird.” He nodded toward one of the computer stations.
“Jace Cutler will be your tech liaison. He’ll monitor both teams from here, coordinate drone feeds and satellite syncs. ”
Jace, young and sharp-eyed, gave a small wave from behind his bank of monitors. “Everything’s hot and ready. Drones are already cycling recon sweeps, and comms are live.”
“These locations are our best lead yet,” Noah went on. “But we don’t assume anything. We go in with full protocol. Surveillance first, ground insertion second. Minimal risk until we know exactly what’s inside.”
Cal nodded. “And if we find hostiles?”
“Then,” Noah said, his expression hardening, “we end this.”
The words hung in the air, simple and final.
Gage felt the familiar shift inside him, the blend of calm and adrenaline that came with an operation’s edge. He glanced at Rena, their gazes meeting in silent understanding.
They’d already survived hell together.
Now they were going back into the fire.
Noah’s eyes scanned the room once more. “Gear up,” he said. “We move in thirty.”
The command snapped everyone into motion. Sounds clinked as guys checked vests, boots were tightened, radios tested. Gage felt that old familiar rhythm settle into him, the ritual that steadied the jitter of readiness. Magazine checks, quick nods, a final thumb across a sight.
Sheriff Chase stood, slipping on a vest. She met Noah’s gaze, then addressed the room.
“I’ve got warrants signed,” she said. “Judge cleared them.” Her voice was calm but there was no mistaking the edge underneath.
“And I had added on the warrants that I’d be using consultants from Crossfire Ops since all of you are better equipped to deal with a paramilitary setup like this. ”
“So, we have a legal right to be on both sites,” Noah added, picking up the explanation.
“A legal right to detain anyone there as well and seize any and all weapons,” the sheriff spelled out. She paused a heartbeat. “I trust the judge, but I won’t pretend there aren’t people who’d like to know where we’re headed.”
Isla looked up from a laptop. “If anything leaks, we’ll see activity on comms and drone feeds.”
Sheriff Chase nodded. “That’s why we move like it’s an ambush from the word go. Assume they’ve got eyes, assume they’ve got gear. We go careful, we go lethal if we have to.”
“We prepare for the worst and hope for the best,” Noah emphasized. “No hero moves. No lone wolves. Stick to the plan, keep comms clean, and watch your sectors.”
Gage clipped his radio on, fingers steady despite the tightness in his chest. He could feel Rena beside him, another practiced click as she secured her kit.
For a second their hands brushed. No words.
Just the same understanding they’d carried through firefights and accidents.
Trust the person next to you with your life.
Outside the briefing room, the compound hummed, vehicles warming, rotors cycling, techs calling final checks. Inside, they finished last-minute preparations, tucking away the small comforts of civilian life and loading the hard comforts of war.
If this was a trap, they’d meet it head-on. If it wasn’t, they’d burn out every shadow that still threatened Crossfire Ops. One way or another, tonight they would get answers.