Chapter Four
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The Crossfire Ops incident room was quiet except for the soft clack of Harlan’s fingers on a laptop keyboard. Morning sunlight filtered in through the high windows, casting pale stripes across the floor and the sleek metal table where Brenna sat, her fingers curled around a lukewarm cup of coffee.
She hadn’t slept much. A few scattered naps in the chair, head resting against the back wall, one hand always near her phone.
But she hadn’t wanted to leave Crossfire Ops headquarters.
Not until she had answers. Not with Leah’s body still fresh in her mind and those two words etched behind her eyes like a scar.
Justice Served.
She prayed that Wallace Kemp hadn’t met the same fate, but so far, no one had been able to reach him.
Not his boss, his co-workers, his friends, and certainly not Brenna.
That was yet another reason Brenna was here, another reason she hadn’t been able to leave.
And Noah had obviously understood that because he’d set them up here so they could investigate.
So they could hunt for a killer who was hunting them.
The incident room was clean and modern, with multiple digital wall screens lining one side.
One showed a wide-angle photo of Leah’s body as they had found her in the clearing.
Another rotated through the list of names from the hit list, each one paired with the photo of the corresponding Timberline hostage.
Others showed maps, timelines, and data feeds.
Harlan was hunched at a side desk, a file open next to his laptop. He looked rough around the edges, same as she felt. Sleepless. Wired. Focused.
Colt had stepped out ten minutes earlier to meet with Noah, probably to review new intel or get the latest from the local police. Not that she expected much from them. Not when Leah had ended up dead.
She sipped more of her coffee and stared at the screens in front of her. The killer wanted them all to see it. To understand it. And that was the part that chilled her most. He thought this was justice.
And worse, he was just getting started.
Setting aside her coffee, Brenna took out her phone, hitting the redial on Wallace Kemp’s number.
It rang four times before going to voicemail, just like it had on the dozens of other attempts she’d made to reach him.
She didn’t bother leaving another message.
He already had six from her. If he was able to respond, he would have by now.
She shifted her attention back toward the digital screen showing the hit list that’d been left at the scene of Marcus Hartman’s murder.
His name had been first with Leah’s second and Wallace’s in the third slot.
With Marcus and Leah already dead, it meant that so far, the killer was targeting them in order.
And that meant Wallace might be the next to die.
Her chest tightened.
Noah had already stationed a guard at Wallace’s house just outside of town, someone from their trusted network. The incident reports came in hourly. According to the last two, Wallace hadn’t shown up at the house. His car hadn’t returned. No sign of movement at all.
She pulled up the most recent security cam screenshot from the front of Wallace’s property. Nothing but morning fog and a dew-slicked driveway. Still, her gut twisted even more.
Harlan looked up from his screen. “Still nothing?”
She shook her head. “No answer. No activity at Wallace’s house.”
“You think he’s already gone?” he asked.
She didn’t get a chance to answer. The door creaked open, and Colt stepped into the room carrying a paper bag and three to-go cups. The smell of warm breakfast sandwiches cut through the weight in the air, making Brenna’s stomach twist with hunger she hadn’t realized she still had.
His eyes met hers across the table, steady and unreadable, and she cursed silently.
He should have looked exhausted. He should have looked as wrecked as she felt.
But instead, Colt was looking, well, damn amazing.
He had always looked like control wrapped in combat boots, and her body still hadn’t forgotten it.
“Figured we could use something other than caffeine,” he said, setting the bag and cups down.
“Thanks,” she murmured, avoiding the heat that rolled through her.
They dug into the sandwiches without much talk, the quiet filled with rustling wrappers and low sighs. Harlan leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out as he chewed. Colt moved to the main screen and tapped in a new folder. Three more photos loaded onto the display.
“Noah just sent these over,” Colt said, tapping the keyboard on the control for the digital board. “It’s more info on the three family members on the list that we have eyes on.”
Brenna wiped her hands on a napkin and stood to get a closer look. Her heart gave a heavy beat as she took in the photos.
The first was Simon Delgado, 43, a contractor and brother of Teddy Delgado, one of the Timberline hostages. There were whispers that Simon had helped Teddy hide records and silence complaints of the rehab facility that Teddy was running.
Next was Helen Leung, 39, sister of Nora Leung, another Timberline hostage.
Nora had falsely accused a professional rival of assault.
That rival later died by suicide. Media scrutiny had been brief and limited, reportedly because of the Leung family’s deep ties to local media outlets.
Helen had been working as a producer at the time and was suspected of helping bury the story.
The last was Sophia Serrano, 26, a dental assistant living in Austin.
Her older sister, Adriana, had been a Timberline hostage.
Rumors suggested Adriana had been involved in a university drug ring, helping to traffic pills through campus clubs.
Sophia had once lived with her sister and was suspected of deleting text messages before investigators could get to them.
Brenna stared at the images, then let her gaze drift to the red-ringed photos of Marcus Hartman and Leah Grayson. Wallace Kemp’s photo sat between them, a bold yellow tag across the bottom: MISSING.
“For the past three years, I’ve been digging into what happened at Timberline,” Brenna said, her voice as steady as she could manage. “And I’ve got a person of interest.”
That got Colt’s and Harlan’s attention. They both snapped toward her.
“Gary Ward,” she added.
Harlan let out a low, whistling breath. “Yeah, he’s my choice for a person of interest, too. He was part of the Timberline extraction team.”
Colt gave a tight nod. “He was supposed to cover our exit, but he never showed.”
“He claimed he got delayed because of car troubles,” Brenna said.
“But he might have been involved with tipping off the killer. I looked into him. He had serious money trouble. Gambling. A failed custody battle. He was barely holding it together back then, but he came into a small windfall shortly after Timberline. He claimed it was repayment of a personal loan, but I don’t like the timing. ”
Colt frowned. “So he failed us once. That makes him bitter, maybe guilty. But what’s the motive now? Why start killing again after all this time? As far as we can tell, he’s not demanding money or anything else from those people on that list.”
Harlan washed down more of his sandwich with some coffee.
“Maybe he’s not operating out of guilt. Maybe it’s a twisted sense of justice.
We now know that the original hostages all did something either immoral, illegal or unethical and weren’t punished.
Maybe Gary feels their families should keep paying. ”
Brenna nodded. “And the timing of that new outlook on life could be tied to whatever recently broke him. Something that pushed him over the edge.”
Colt’s gaze flicked back to the screen where Leah’s lifeless body stared out at them. “So now he’s finishing the vendetta that was started at Timberline.”
Harlan’s voice was grim. “Making sure none of us walk away this time.”
Brenna had to consider that was indeed possible. What she was lacking though was any kind of concrete proof. Gary’s debts and his no-show at Timberline weren’t enough to get search warrants or to make an arrest.
“So, could Gary have killed the original hostages?” Colt asked.
That was the million-dollar question. Brenna didn’t have the answer and had to shake her head. “If so, then this justice vendetta must have had a source. A trigger. And I can’t find it.”
Harlan glanced at her. “You’ve spoken to him?”
“A few times. Not recently though. He’s always stuck to his story of the car trouble and never offered up anything that could be used to pin the murders on him.
” She stopped, sighed. “Because he might not have killed anyone. Still, he could have been the one who tipped off the real killer, and that’s why he’s still a person of interest. If he didn’t pull the trigger, he could have given the killer time to do that before we arrived on scene. ”
Harlan was already moving, setting aside his breakfast and grabbing his go bag from under the desk. “You really think it’s him?”
“I think he’s a solid possibility,” Brenna verified. “I’ve got others that I’m looking at, but Gary is at the top.”
Colt started moving, too. He pulled on his tac vest and checked the sidearm at his hip. “Then let’s go pay him a visit. Along the way, you can fill us in on the others who might be behind this.”
Brenna turned to her laptop, double-checking the last known address she had on Gary. “He’s still listed at a place just outside Crossfire Creek. Hilltop rental property near the old quarry. No sign he’s moved.”
“Good,” Colt said. “That keeps this local.”
As they finished gearing up, Brenna slid her tablet into her backpack and glanced toward the screen one last time. Her eyes caught on Leah’s photo.
“We need answers,” she muttered.
Colt looked over at her and nodded once. “Then let’s get them.”
Brenna was halfway to the door when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She yanked it out and saw the caller ID.
“Wallace Kemp,” she blurted on a rise of breath. The relief, and the fresh worry, fired through her.
Harlan stopped beside her, alert. Colt turned back, already pulling his own phone out.
Brenna answered, hitting speaker. “Wallace? It’s Brenna. Can you hear me?”
There was a garbled sound, like a weak groan. Then mumbling.
“Wallace?” she pressed, heart pounding. “Where are you?”
The moaning grew louder, more desperate. “Hurts,” he mumbled. “I can’t… I can’t move.”
Colt tapped quickly on his phone, trying to trace the signal. “Keep him talking,” he said without looking up.
“Wallace,” Brenna said again. “Listen to me. We’re coming, but we need to know where you are. Can you look around? Can you tell me what you see?”
There was a soft choking noise on the line. Then, in a voice choked with fear, Wallace whispered, “Help me. She’s murdering me.”
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