Chapter Twelve
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Brenna sat on the exam table in the Crossfire Ops treatment room, her knee throbbing as Beck gently examined the bruising. Colt stood nearby, arms crossed, a matching collection of cuts and bruises shadowing his skin.
They had changed out of their soaked clothes and gear and showered once they’d made it back to headquarters, but Brenna could still smell the stagnant water from that explosion. The scent seemed embedded in her skin.
“You two got some kind of competition going on?” Beck asked, squinting at her knee. “See who can rack up the most damage in one day?”
“One day,” Brenna murmured. “Feels more like a lifetime.”
Beck shot her a look. “Well, congratulations. I think it’s a tie.”
She managed a faint smile but it didn’t last. The ache in her body wasn’t just physical. It was the weight of everything. The water tower. The trap. Wallace. The killer still out there.
Well, he was unless that killer happened to be Wallace himself.
The jury was still out on that.
Beck wrapped her knee and stepped back. “You’re banged up but nothing’s broken. Try not to test that knee too hard.”
“I’ll try,” she said. But she wasn’t sure she’d succeed.
Colt shifted beside her, silent but steady. She glanced at him, and he met her gaze. No words passed between them, but she saw the same thing in his eyes that burned through her. Frustration, exhaustion, and that quiet, pulsing need to finish this.
They had Wallace. He was alive. In the hospital. Under guard. For now, that was going to have to be enough until they either got a break in the investigation. Or the killer struck again.
Beck looked over at Colt. “You want me to take a look at you?”
Colt shook his head. “I’m good.”
Brenna snorted softly. But she didn’t call him on the lie.
He offered her a hand that she took, even if she tried not to lean on him as much as she wanted to. “Please don’t insist on driving back to your place in San Antonio tonight.”
She considered it. And decided she wouldn’t insist.
Colt must have seen that in her expression because he added, “You’re welcome to stay at my cabin on the grounds. I have a guest room,” he tacked onto that after a second’s pause.
She opened her mouth, then closed it just as quickly. It was a different kind of danger to spend the night under the same roof with Colt. She should be resisting him, but at the moment, with the fatigue rolling through her, she couldn’t remember why resisting was necessary.
“All right,” she said, and she saw the quick surprise go through his eyes. Then, the slow grin that only a Greek god and Colt could have managed.
“Good. You got a go-bag in your vehicle?” he asked. “Because if so, Noah had it brought here.”
“I have a go-bag,” she confirmed, and it would have everything she needed for an impromptu sleepover. Well, everything but the mental strength to resist Colt. There was no gear, or cure, for that.
They walked out together. Or more accurately, she limped out. Her knee ached. His ribs had to be worse.
Noah and Harlan stood just outside the door. Noah took one look at them and raised a brow. “You two all right?”
“We’re fine,” Colt said.
Brenna gave a nod. “Just a few bruises.”
Noah didn’t even pretend to believe it. “For the record, I know that’s bullshit.
But I’m going to trust you both to know your own limits.
” He paused barely a heartbeat and continued.
“I just got off the phone with Sheriff Chase. She spoke to Wallace. He says he doesn’t know who took him.
Claims the person stayed behind him the whole time and wore a mask. ”
“Of Naomi?” Brenna asked.
Noah nodded. “That’s what he said. The explosives have all been collected and are on their way to the lab. The CSIs are working through a small cabin near the shed and the water tower. It’s probably where he was being held.”
Brenna didn’t say anything right away. She glanced at Colt. His jaw was tight. Hers probably was too.
Because none of this felt like a break.
Not yet.
“What about Gary?” Colt asked.
“He’s scheduled for an interview in the morning,” Noah replied. “Sheriff Chase’s team will handle it, but I’ll be there.”
“I want to be there too,” Brenna said.
“So do I,” Colt agreed.
Noah gave a quick nod of approval. “Then I’ll loop you in when I get the exact time.”
With that, they said their goodbyes and headed outside. They stopped by her car first so she could get her bag, and then Colt veered toward one of the Crossfire Ops SUVs. He opened the passenger door for her.
“My cabin’s not far,” he explained. “Quarter mile at most, but I’m not letting you walk on that knee.”
“And I’m not letting you walk with those ribs,” she fired back, sliding into the seat.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got wheels,” he said, circling around to the driver’s side.
As Colt started the SUV and turned onto the private road away from the main building, Brenna took in the layout of Crossfire Ops headquarters.
The central compound stood solid and modern, ringed by training facilities on all sides.
Obstacle courses, a shooting range, a simulation house.
Scattered across the land beyond those were small cabins tucked into trees and behind rocky outcroppings.
Privacy, space, and quiet, all by design.
“Ruby and Owen wanted this to be more than just a place to work,” Colt said as they passed a dimly lit path and a cabin with a porch light glowing. “They designed it to be a community. A place where guys like us could come back to life.”
She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze moved over the natural landscape, the heavy trees. It was quiet out here. Isolated. Safe.
She thought of Ruby Maverick and Owen Striker.
Their vision for Crossfire Ops wasn’t just about operations and missions.
It was about hiring people like her and Colt—former military and law enforcement professionals who had survived the worst. People who had been broken in some way and needed more than just a paycheck.
Colt parked near a low cabin with cedar siding and a covered porch. There were two wooden chairs on the porch, one with a folded blanket draped over the back. He came around and opened her door before she could try it herself. She didn’t argue. Not this time.
Inside, the cabin was simple and clean. Warm.
The living room flowed right into the small kitchen and dining space.
Everything had a purpose. No clutter. Just the kind of quiet, functional comfort that fit Colt perfectly.
A couple of shelves lined one wall, stacked with books and framed photographs.
Her gaze snagged on one sitting above the stone fireplace.
It was a picture of her, Colt, and Harlan from years ago, grinning like idiots, beer bottles in hand.
Happier times.
Colt went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. He held it out to her. “You want something stronger?”
“The water’s fine,” Brenna assured him. Best not to mix alcohol with exhaustion and the throb in her knee. “I’ve got some ibuprofen in my bag and I’ll down a couple of those.”
He nodded and gestured down the hall. “Guest room’s to the right. Has its own bath. But if you need anything, just ask.”
She nodded and held his gaze. For a long beat, neither of them moved.
Fatigue pulsed through her, but so did something else. Heat. Awareness. That hum in her blood that always seemed to spark when Colt was close. Even now, with bruises blooming on both their bodies, he made her heart stir in ways she couldn’t ignore.
He was watching her, too. Silent. Steady.
The space between them felt thick with everything they hadn’t said. And everything they still wanted to.
Colt reached out and skimmed his fingers along her cheek. His touch was light, careful.
“There’s probably no place I can kiss you where it won’t hurt,” he said, voice low.
Her breath caught. The heat between them stirred again, curling through her tired limbs and settling in her chest.
Then he leaned in and brushed his lips over the spot he’d just touched. Gentle. Warm.
“There,” he murmured. “Found one that’s not bruised or scraped.”
He didn’t move away. Instead, he stepped closer and dropped another kiss to her neck, right beneath her jaw. His breath stirred her hair.
“Another one.”
The words barely landed before he pressed a kiss just below her ear.
Something broke loose inside her.
She reached for him and pulled him close, her mouth finding his. The kiss was unhurried but deep, and nothing about it felt careful. It felt like the truth. All that had built between them—danger, need, history—ignited in that one, searing connection.
Brenna eased him closer, one hand sliding around his neck, the other pressed lightly to his back. She kept her touch gentle, mindful of his bruised ribs.
Colt was just as careful. His hand cupped her cheek, the other settling at her waist, not pressing, just holding. But the heat between them made the pain fade into the background. It dulled under the slow rise of want, under the warmth building like pressure beneath her skin.
His mouth moved over hers with more hunger now, and she met it with equal fire. The kiss deepened, turned hotter. She felt it in her blood, in the way her fingers fisted lightly in the back of his shirt. Felt it in the tremble that slid down her spine.
Colt broke away just long enough to breathe, his forehead touching hers, his voice rough. “This is another of those really good mistakes, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she couldn’t agree fast enough. He’d nailed the really good part. But it was indeed a mistake. It couldn’t go anywhere.
Shouldn’t go anywhere, she silently amended.
But, mercy, she wanted him bad.
The kiss started up again, deeper this time, slow and hot. Colt’s mouth moved against hers with a need that curled low in her belly. Brenna forgot all about this being a mistake.
Forgot everything, really, except the way he touched her. The way his lips skimmed hers, then slid down to trace the edge of her jaw.
She might have forgotten how to breathe, but she hadn’t forgotten how to feel. And she felt everything. The rush of desire, the warmth of his hands, the heat pulsing through her like a spark hitting dry grass. Her resolve slipped with every passing second.
Then Colt’s phone rang.
The sharp sound cut through the haze, jolting her back to the moment. She pulled back, breath catching, heart racing. Colt swore under his breath and leaned his forehead against hers for just a beat before pulling away to check the screen.
Colt frowned at the screen, then put the call on speaker.
“It’s Noah,” he said, as if Brenna hadn’t already guessed.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Noah said. “Tell me you haven’t gone to bed yet.”
Colt glanced at her. Their eyes met. Her lips still tingled. Her pulse was still high.
“Not yet,” Colt said.
“Good. Sheriff Chase just got off a call with Wallace Kemp’s ex-wife. Name’s Fia. She dropped a bomb. Says Wallace and Naomi had an affair. That’s what ended their marriage.”
Brenna stiffened. “Are we sure she’s telling the truth?”
“She sounded solid,” Noah said. “Said the affair didn’t last. But when it ended, Wallace lost it. She begged him to get help. He refused.”
Colt looked at Brenna again. Her thoughts were already spinning.
“The sheriff’s planning to question both of them again,” Noah went on. “Wants to know if the affair plays into what’s happening now. Thought you’d want to be in the loop.”
“We do,” Colt said.
“Good. Get some rest, you two. You’ll need it.”
The call ended, and the silence that followed was heavy.
Brenna exhaled slowly. “Wallace and Naomi,” she said. “That changes things.”
Colt nodded, his expression hardening. “Yeah. It does.”
Brenna turned the new information over in her head, but the pieces were still jagged. Wallace and Naomi. An affair. A breakdown. It could be important. It could be the key. But her body ached and her mind felt like it was grinding in circles. She needed rest.
She stepped back, meeting Colt’s gaze one more time. Her body wanted more. Her lips still felt warm from his. She leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight,” she said, her voice quieter than she meant.
Colt didn’t try to stop her. He nodded, his eyes steady on hers.
She turned and walked down the short hall to the guestroom. The light was soft. The bed neatly made. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a second.
Pain meds first. Then sleep.
But when she lay down, she stared at the ceiling and wondered how long she could really stay out of Colt’s bed.
And how soon the killer would strike again.
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