Chapter Six
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With her stomach twisting and the frustration roaring through her, Brenna stared at the note Colt had just read aloud.
“Damn it,” she muttered, fingers tightening around her phone. “This bastard’s playing with us.”
Colt stepped back from the tree, scanning the woods again. His jaw was tight, eyes sharp, but there was nothing. No sign of Wallace. No trail to follow. Just the eerie silence of the forest and the echo of the threat pinned to the bark.
“There are no instructions,” she said, voice low with frustration. “Nothing about what we’re supposed to do to try to save him.”
Colt gave a small shake of his head. “She wants us waiting. Nervous. He’s pulling the strings.”
Well, it was working. Her nerves were soaring, and that wasn’t a good thing. She needed to be on her A-game for this. Hopefully, she remembered how A-games worked.
They turned and started back toward the clearing where Harlan was waiting with Gary. Every step made her feel more wound up, more on edge. She hated this, being behind the curve, always reacting instead of getting ahead.
Her phone buzzed, silencing her racing mind, and she stopped, looking down at the unknown number. And the text she’d just gotten.
One line.
Crossfire Creek Bridge.
Brenna turned the phone toward Colt, her voice tight. “He sent the next location. Crossfire Creek Bridge.”
Colt’s expression darkened. “Then we move. Now.”
They broke into a flat-out run, cutting through the trees, and spotted Harlan and Gary waiting near the edge of the clearing. Colt didn’t slow down.
“Let’s go,” Colt called. “We’ve got a lead.”
Gary straightened. “What kind of lead? What’s going on?”
“Shut up,” Harlan snapped, grabbing his arm and pushing him forward. “You’ll find out when we get there.”
Gary scowled but didn’t fight it. They all moved fast through the brush, cutting back toward the SUV parked off the road.
Colt took the driver’s seat, Brenna slid into shotgun, and Harlan shoved Gary into the back seat before climbing in behind him. Colt started the engine and turned them back toward Crossfire Creek, tires crunching over gravel.
“Gary is disarmed,” Harlan let them know. “His two guns are in my pockets. And he’s mad as hell about it.”
“You bet your ass I’m pissed. I’m on your side,” Gary snarled. “I came here because I thought someone wanted to help us figure this out.”
“Maybe,” Brenna said quietly, keeping her eyes forward.
But that was something she’d have to do some thinking, and investigating, about later. For now, they had to get back to Crossfire Creek.
“We found Wallace’s phone,” Brenna said, turning in the seat to look at Harlan.
“Blood on it. No sign of him. Just a note nailed to a tree telling us we might be able to save him if we follow instructions. Then this text came in, directing us to the Crossfire Creek Bridge.” She showed him the message on her phone.
“Could be a setup or a trap,” Harlan muttered, reading the text for himself. “But we have to follow it.”
Colt nodded, eyes locked on the road ahead. “Wallace could be running out of time.”
The SUV hummed along the narrow two-lane road, the low hills of the Texas Hill Country rolling past them in muted golds and greens.
Morning sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the windshield.
The weight of silence filled the vehicle until Harlan pulled out his phone and made the call to Noah.
Brenna couldn’t hear what Noah was saying on the other end, but Harlan’s half of the conversation was crisp.
“Yeah. Brenna and Colt found the phone and the note. Still in place? Hang on.” Harlan turned toward her. “You didn’t move anything, right?”
She shook her head. “No. I figured tampering with it could destroy evidence. We left it all untouched.”
Harlan relayed that to Noah with a short nod. “Yeah. They left it clean. Blood on the phone. The note was nailed to a tree.” A pause, then, “Got it.”
When the call ended, he tucked his phone away. “Noah’s sending a cop he trusts to collect the evidence. Should be there soon.”
From the backseat, Gary leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Will someone finally tell me what’s going on?”
Brenna twisted in her seat to face him. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. You got a text, the same as an investigative reporter did. Similar phrasing, similar threat. The only difference is yours included directions to that exact spot. Why you?”
“I told you, I don’t know,” Gary insisted. “Maybe because I was part of the Timberline op.”
“Have you been digging into Timberline lately?” she pressed. “Talking to anyone who might have ties to this? Shared theories? Told someone you’re looking for answers?”
Gary hesitated, jaw tight. “I’ve talked to a few people over the past year. Guys I used to work with. A couple of the victims’ relatives reached out. Some of them still have questions.”
Brenna narrowed her eyes. “And what did you say to them?”
“I said I had questions too,” Gary admitted. “I never stopped thinking about that mission. About what went wrong. But I never threatened anyone. I sure as hell didn’t send those messages.”
Brenna turned back around, unease prickling at the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure if he was lying or telling the truth. But someone out there had roped him into this, and that meant they were dealing with a game that was far from over.
Colt kept the SUV’s speed steady but fast. The tires hummed over the asphalt, blurring the edges of the winding two-lane road that curved toward Crossfire Creek. Since she’d never been to the bridge, Brenna pulled up satellite images of it as they drove.
“It’s on a narrow country road,” she said, scanning the terrain. “Trees on both sides. Thick brush. Way too many places for someone to lie in wait.”
Colt didn’t glance over, just gave a clipped nod. “We approach slow. Controlled.”
She agreed and tucked the phone away. “When we get there, Gary stays in the vehicle.”
In the backseat, Gary immediately bristled. “Like hell I do. If someone is watching us, they’ll know I didn’t follow through. I got that message for a reason.”
“You can argue with someone who cares,” Harlan growled without looking at him. “Or you can get out now and walk the rest of the way.” He put his hand on the door handle. “Middle of nowhere. Your call.”
Gary clamped his mouth shut. Brenna didn’t miss the way his jaw worked or the heat in his eyes. But he stayed quiet.
Good. The last thing they needed was another variable when they were already walking into what could be a trap.
The road narrowed as they approached the bridge, the tree cover growing denser, branches clawing toward the sky. The shadows deepened, the sun filtered and fractured through layers of leaves. Brenna could feel her pulse quicken with every mile.
Colt slowed the SUV and pulled off the shoulder about thirty yards from the bridge. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they rolled to a stop. He and Harlan grabbed their binoculars, scanning the road, the tree line, the edges of the bridge.
“Nothing,” Colt muttered. “No movement. No vehicles.”
Brenna leaned forward, her eyes locked on the structure. The bridge itself was old steel and concrete, long enough to span the creek bed but narrow, with no shoulder and limited sightlines. Too many places to hide. Too many angles they could be ambushed from.
Then a voice shattered the quiet.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
It was faint, but clear. And female.
Brenna’s heart stuttered. She looked at Colt, who was already reaching for his Glock. Harlan was doing the same.
“That’s not Wallace,” Brenna said. “That’s a woman.”
Harlan turned in his seat, locking eyes with Gary. “Stay put. No matter what you hear.”
Gary opened his mouth, but Harlan cut him off with a glare that said he meant it. Colt and Brenna jumped out first, weapons ready. Harlan followed, closing the door behind him.
Colt leaned toward them as they moved up the gravel shoulder. “Watch your backs,” he whispered. “If Gary is playing us, he could come out swinging.”
Brenna nodded and kept her gaze sweeping left and right. And behind her as well to keep an eye on Gary. As they neared the edge, she caught sight of movement just below the far side.
“There,” she said sharply, pointing.
A blindfolded figure dangled from the side of the bridge, her wrists bound in front of her and a rope looped under her arms. She was swinging slightly, her shoes scraping the concrete edge. Her voice cracked with another cry for help.
And this time, it was a voice that Brenna recognized.
What the hell was she doing here?
Colt and Harlan rushed forward while Brenna took position near the embankment, weapon up and ready. Colt grunted as he reached down and grabbed hold of the woman’s arms. Harlan leaned over to assist, both men pulling together until she was up and over the side, panting and trembling.
“Naomi,” Brenna spat out like profanity as she pulled the blindfold from her eyes, and Colt untied her.
The reporter slumped to the ground, her knees hitting the pavement hard. Blood trickled down one temple, and there were rope burns across her wrists, a bruise already forming on one cheek.
Brenna stepped forward, heart pounding. “Why are you here?”
Naomi looked up, her eyes wide and scared. “I got a text. Right after I spoke to you. It said if I wanted the truth about Timberline, I had to come here. Alone.”
Brenna’s jaw clenched. The text. Like the one Gary got. One sent him to the woods. One lured her here.
Someone was orchestrating all of it. Someone who wanted them on edge. Someone who knew exactly how to pull their strings.
Her gaze slid to Naomi. Then back toward the SUV where Gary was waiting.
Maybe one of them was playing the game. Or maybe they both were.
Colt crouched beside Naomi, scanning her for any hidden injuries. “Have you seen Wallace Kemp?”
Naomi shook her head and winced. “No. Is he the one who attacked me?”
“Why would you think that?” Brenna asked, watching her closely.
“Because someone grabbed me from behind. I didn’t see their face. They were wearing a ski mask and dark clothes. It happened fast. I barely had time to react before they hit me with something.”
“What did they use?” Colt asked.
Naomi reached up and gently brushed her hair aside. “A stun gun, I think. My neck still burns.” Two red marks were visible just below her ear, slightly swollen.
Brenna narrowed her eyes. “And you’re sure you never saw who it was?”
“I swear. They didn’t say anything, just zapped me and tied me up. I came to when I was already hanging.”
“Show us the message,” Colt said, his voice tight.
Naomi fumbled with her phone, her fingers trembling as she opened her messages. She handed the phone to Brenna. The screen displayed a short text.
If you want the truth about Timberline, come to Crossfire Creek Bridge. No cops. Come alone.
Brenna’s grip tightened around the phone. The wording was almost identical to the one Gary had received. Someone was baiting them. Controlling the board and watching every move.
She passed the phone back to Naomi and exchanged a look with Colt. They were being played.
But for what end? And where the hell was Wallace Kemp?
Brenna stood and wiped her hands on her jeans, her eyes scanning the thick woods around the bridge.
“Naomi, where did you park?”
Naomi blinked, still shaken. She looked toward the other end of the bridge, then frowned. “Up that way,” she said, pointing beyond the trees. “Just off the road. I left it there when I came down here.”
Colt and Harlan both turned to look. Brenna followed their gaze. There was no sign of a car.
Naomi’s face paled. “It was right there. A dark blue sedan. I swear.”
“Looks like someone moved it,” Harlan muttered.
Brenna clenched her fists. These twisted games were getting worse. The killer was pulling strings, toying with them all. She turned in a slow circle, her gaze cutting through the tree cover, searching for Wallace or any hint of a trap.
Nothing.
Her stomach knotted.
Then, a sudden burst of light and heat rocked the air. And an explosion shattered the quiet.
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