Chapter Thirteen
───── ? ────
Colt cracked the last egg into the skillet and gave it a quick stir, letting the smell of butter and bacon fill the kitchen. The quiet morning light drifted in through the windows, softening the rough edges of the day ahead. But his thoughts weren’t on breakfast.
He was thinking about the kiss.
About Brenna’s mouth on his. The feel of her hands pulling him close, careful not to press on his ribs.
He wanted more. Wanted her.
But wanting her and protecting her weren’t the same thing.
His phone buzzed on the counter. The screen lit up with a text from Noah: Gary’s interview is in two hours. Nine o’clock. He wants to talk to you two first. Said he’s coming to Crossfire.
Colt tapped out a quick response. We’ll be there.
He didn’t need to check with Brenna. She wouldn’t miss it.
He heard the sound of footsteps, and Brenna came out from the hall and into the kitchen. Her damp hair was curling around her face, her cheeks still pink from the shower. She wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans, but she might as well have walked in wearing nothing with how fast the heat hit him.
“You’re up early,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.
“Figured we could use something to eat before the fun starts,” Colt said, plating eggs and bacon for both of them. “How’s your knee?” he asked at the same moment she asked, “How are your ribs?”
“Sore,” he answered. “But ready for duty.”
“Same,” she replied.
Maybe that was true, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t stop either of them. They were in deep when it came to this investigation and sore body parts wouldn’t force them to back off.
“Gary wants to talk to us,” Colt relayed to her. “He’s coming to headquarters.”
Brenna paused, eyes sharp. “He reached out?”
“Noah said he did. His interview with the sheriff isn’t until nine, and he’s coming here first. We’ve got time to eat before we meet with him.”
He slid a plate across the counter to her. She took it, nodded, but her gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary. Colt felt it. It was that blasted heat again. But like him, he could see her wrangling it, pushing it aside.
It wouldn’t stay aside. Nope. That heat wasn’t going any damn where.
“Gary didn’t say what he wanted to talk to us about?” she asked as she speared a piece of bacon with her fork.
Colt shook his head. “No. If he had, Noah would’ve mentioned it.” He opened his phone to an attachment and passed it to her.
“What’s this?” she wanted to know, but she was already skimming it.
“Harlan sent it to me about an hour ago. I was up making coffee.”
He took a bite of eggs while she continued reading. The report laid it all out. Confirmation from multiple sources that Wallace and Naomi had, in fact, had an affair. Friends of Fia’s had come forward and said Wallace had been obsessed with Naomi for a while. When it ended, he unraveled.
“Keep going, and you’ll see the deeper dive on Jared,” Colt added. “Harlan found a few things Noah’s team hadn’t pulled yet. Jared’s got ties to Sophia, like we knew. But now we’ve got more. His uncle’s former military, now runs with a militia group out in West Texas.”
Brenna’s brow lifted. “Think the uncle taught him about explosives?”
“No proof yet. But if he did, that could point the finger at Jared. Maybe Naomi, too.”
“She’s certainly been profiting off this,” Brenna said, eyes wide as she flipped to the last page. “Blog posts, video updates, livestreams. Her followers have tripled in the past 48 hours.”
“And every time another victim shows up, her numbers climb,” Colt said. “Views mean ad revenue. Subscriptions. Donations. She’s cashing in.”
Brenna let out a low breath. “So maybe we’re looking at two motives. Money and revenge.”
“Or obsession,” Colt added. “If Wallace still had feelings for her, and she used that to manipulate him…”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, the weight of it all thick in the air between them.
They finished up their breakfast in quiet agreement. No more words were needed. After rinsing their dishes, they grabbed their gear and headed for the SUV. The drive to headquarters took only a few minutes, the morning still cool and the sun barely clearing the tops of the trees.
Gary was just getting out of a dusty black truck when they pulled up. His eyes were wild, shoulders tense. He looked like a man on the edge.
“They’re going to try to pin this on me,” Gary said as soon as Colt and Brenna approached. “I can feel it. The sheriff’s already looking at me sideways.”
“You were at the bridge,” Brenna said, her tone firm. “Then you disappeared for hours.”
“I told you,” Gary snapped. “I had to get out of there. I thought the whole damn thing was rigged to blow. And I didn’t exactly feel welcome around your crew.”
They didn’t slow their pace as they walked, pushing through the glass front doors of Crossfire Ops and heading down the hall.
Colt led them into the breakroom, a sleek, modern space with polished steel fixtures, a round table surrounded by ergonomic chairs, and a commercial-grade coffee station that looked like it belonged in a high-end café.
The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
Colt grabbed three mugs from the cabinet and filled them, handing one each to Brenna and Gary.
“Sit,” Colt insisted.
Gary sat, but he didn’t stop fidgeting. His knee bounced under the table. His hand wrapped tightly around the mug. He stared into the cup as if it held all the answers he hadn’t found.
“You know what no one ever talks about?” he said.
“What it was like after Timberline. For the ones who weren’t there in time.
Everyone looks at me like I failed. Like I let it happen.
And maybe I did. Maybe I should’ve gotten there faster.
But I had car trouble and by the time I got there, it was over.
You were all heroes. I was the guy who didn’t show. ”
He finally looked up, jaw tight.
“We weren’t heroes,” Brenna said, and there was a rough edge to her voice. An edge no doubt caused by the trauma shitstorm of Timberline.
“I lost everything after that,” Gary went on. “My rep. My job. My friends. Hell, even my damn family pulled away. People talk about survivor’s guilt. You ever heard of failure guilt? It eats you the same way.”
Yeah, it did. “You’re preaching to the choir, Gary,” Colt told him. “We didn’t save a single hostage that night.”
“But you at least got the chance to do that,” Gary muttered. He gathered his breath and continued. “There’s something else. Something I probably should’ve told the sheriff. But I knew how it would sound, and I didn’t need another reason for everyone to think I’m guilty.”
He exhaled hard.
“Two nights before Marcus’s murder, before this whole nightmare got started again, Wallace called me. Said he wanted to meet. Said he had information about Timberline that would change everything. I never called him back. Figured it was just more of his paranoid garbage.”
He stopped and looked at Brenna and Colt. “I should’ve called him back.”
Colt watched as Gary stood up and started to pace near the table, his coffee untouched. The man’s agitation buzzed in the air like static before a storm.
“You should talk to Wallace,” Gary said. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
Colt leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. “Have you spoken to him since that call you mentioned?”
Gary hesitated. It was quick, but Colt caught it. His jaw tightened before he gave a small shake of his head. “No.”
The pause spoke louder than the word.
Brenna arched an eyebrow, and Gary let out a huff. “You all think I’m behind this,” he snapped. “That I killed Marcus. Leah. Maybe even the hostages at Timberline. You don’t say it, but I can see it in your faces.”
Colt kept his tone even. “We’re just following leads.”
“Yeah? Feels more like a damn conviction.” Gary cursed under his breath. “I didn’t do it.”
No one answered. The silence stretched, heavy.
“Fuck this,” Gary spat out.
He turned and stormed out of the breakroom, boots thudding down the hall.
Colt didn’t move. Just stared at the door swinging slowly behind him.
“That hesitation,” Brenna said quietly, “he’s hiding something.”
Colt nodded. “Yeah. Question is, what?”
He stepped out of the breakroom with Brenna at his side, the conversation with Gary still gnawing at the back of his mind.
“We should head to the hospital,” Colt said. “Have a word with Wallace.”
Brenna gave a short nod. “Agreed. He might be more willing to talk now.”
They turned the corner, heading toward Noah’s office, but the voices stopped them cold. Gary’s voice, sharp and angry, cut through the hallway.
“I’ve had enough of the accusations,” Gary shouted. “You all think you’re so fuckin’ righteous, but you weren’t there.”
Noah stood facing him, calm but firm. The prosthetic leg didn’t slow him, didn’t make him look any less capable. Still, Colt could see the tension in his shoulders, the line of his jaw tightening.
“You’re done here,” Noah said, his voice like stone. “Get out.”
Gary’s fists clenched at his sides. His face flushed red as his breathing quickened. For a second, Colt thought he might take a swing. He braced, ready to jump in.
But Gary didn’t move. His gaze flicked from Noah to Colt and Brenna, then back.
“I should’ve known coming here was a waste,” Gary spat out. He turned and stormed down the hall.
Colt watched him go, the weight of suspicion still heavy in the air. When he looked back at Noah, the other man just shook his head.
“He’s unraveling,” Noah muttered.
Colt couldn’t argue with that. And unraveling meant Gary could be even more dangerous than he already was. Then again, his anger could be justified if he truly was innocent.
“We were about to leave so we could try to have a word with Wallace,” Brenna said, drawing Colt’s attention back to Noah and her.
Noah gave a short nod. “Good timing. I was on my way to let you know that Wallace just called from the hospital. He wants to see you both, too.”