Chapter Sixteen
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Brenna woke to soft morning light filtering through gauzy curtains, casting golden streaks across a room that felt unfamiliar and intimate all at once.
For a breathless moment, she didn’t move.
She simply listened to the quiet hum of silence, felt the warmth of the body curled around hers, the rise and fall of Colt’s chest against her back.
She was naked, tangled in the sheets and in Colt’s arms, their bodies pressed close, skin to skin.
The scent of him clung to her, a mix of clean sweat, soap from the shower, and something unmistakably his.
Their clothes lay scattered across the floor, a silent reminder of everything that had unraveled between them the night before.
A flicker of regret stirred in her chest, sharp and fleeting. She could have chased it down, let it grow into doubt. But she didn’t. Instead, a quiet stillness settled inside her, something dangerously close to peace. A tenderness she hadn’t expected wound through her chest like a thread.
This had needed to happen.
Not just the sex, not just the aching, breathless way they had reached for each other. It was the closeness. The surrender. The way she had clung to him like he was the only thing strong enough to hold her together after two days of chaos, adrenaline, and memories that refused to stay buried.
He had been there. Steady. Real.
And last night, he had been her escape.
Beside her, Colt stirred. His movement was slow, unhurried, the stretch of a man with nowhere to be but here. His arm slid more firmly around her waist, pulling her back into the solid wall of his chest. When she glanced over her shoulder, she found him watching her through sleep-heavy eyes.
Then came that smile. Lazy. Crooked. Devastating.
It slipped through her defenses and sent a slow pulse of heat spiraling down her spine.
Damn him.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with sleep, the kind of sound that wrapped around her and settled deep in her chest.
Brenna didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Words felt unnecessary in this fragile hush between them, where everything real had already been spoken without sound. Instead, she leaned in as he brushed his lips over hers, soft and warm, a kiss that felt more like a promise than a greeting.
The kiss lingered, unhurried, and somewhere in the quiet exchange, it deepened. Neither of them meant for it to. It just happened, like a spark catching dry tinder. A slow burn that flared into something hotter, something that refused to be ignored.
Colt’s hand found her side, his fingers trailing along her skin with a careful reverence that made her breath hitch.
The roughness of his touch, the contrast of calluses against softness, sent a shiver down her spine.
Her body responded before her mind could catch up, heat blooming low in her belly, molten and unmistakable.
It wasn’t just desire. It was something more dangerous. Something tethered to everything they hadn’t said.
Brenna pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’re not doing this again, are we?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He gave a half-smile, eyes still locked on hers. “I think we already are.”
She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. The world outside the room could wait. For now, she was where she needed to be.
Colt’s phone rang, sharp and jarring in the quiet room.
They both cursed. And glanced at the time. It wasn’t even eight in the morning yet.
He let out a groan and dropped his head back against the pillow. “Of course.”
Brenna sighed. “We can’t ignore it.”
It could be anything. A lead. A body. More chaos.
She really hoped it wasn’t another body.
Still naked, Colt climbed out of bed, giving her an amazing peepshow. His body moved like he was built for war and pleasure, and she’d had both from him last night. Her skin warmed at the memory.
He found the phone near his jeans, looked at the screen, and muttered, “Harlan.” Then, “I’m putting it on speaker.”
Brenna sat up, dragging the sheet with her as the call connected.
“You decent and up?” Harlan’s voice filled the room.
“Not even close,” Colt said.
“Yeah, well, you’re going to want to get that way. Sheriff Chase just called. Gary’s missing.”
That got Brenna’s attention, and she eased to the edge of the bed, closer to the phone.
Harlan’s voice came steady but grim through the speaker. “Gary’s neighbor called it in. She stepped outside this morning to grab the newspaper and saw his front door wide open. Blood on the porch. She called the local PD. They went in and found signs of a struggle. But no Gary.”
Brenna felt her nerves already tightening. Colt shot her a look, then asked Harlan, “You think Gary staged it?”
“Could be,” Harlan said. “But if he did, why? Is he planning to go off the radar so he can keep killing? Keep feeding whatever twisted thing he’s got going on inside him?”
Neither Brenna nor Colt had an answer for that. The theory was wild, but not impossible.
“Where are Wallace and Naomi?” Brenna asked. “Could one of them have taken Gary?”
“That’s what Noah and I are working on now,” Harlan said. “You’re welcome to come to HQ and jump in.” He paused, then added with a note of dry humor, “Unless you’ve got something more interesting going on.”
Brenna met Colt’s eyes. “We’re on our way.”
Colt ended the call and gave her a quick kiss. Naked body to naked body. The sigh he let out held regret and promise.
“To be continued later,” he said.
Brenna managed a smile, then slipped off the bed and headed to the guest bathroom while Colt went to his. She moved quickly, washing off the last remnants of sleep and need. Her mind was already shifting gears. Gary was missing. Possibly dead. Possibly faking.
By the time she stepped into the living room, dressed in jeans and a dark tee, Colt was waiting with two to-go cups of coffee. He handed her one without a word. The caffeine hit her tongue and gave her the small jolt she needed.
They grabbed their gear and headed out, both silent, both already mentally back in the game.
Colt drove them to headquarters, the silence between them not tense but focused. When they stepped inside, the sharp scent of coffee and steel met them. Cal Granger stood just past the entry, his brow furrowed.
“You two seen Beck?” he asked. “He was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago. He’s not answering his comms.”
Brenna exchanged a quick glance with Colt. “We haven’t seen him,” she said.
Cal nodded, pulled out his phone, tried again. She heard the call go straight to voicemail.
A knot twisted low in Brenna’s gut. Gary was unaccounted for. And now Beck wasn’t where he was supposed to be either.
She didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
Cal’s frown deepened. “Let Noah know,” he said. “I’m going to check the training area, see if Beck showed up early and just didn’t check in.”
Brenna and Colt nodded, then moved fast down the hall to the incident room. Inside, the lights were dimmed slightly, the glow from the screen casting harsh shadows. Photos filled the display: Naomi, Gary, and Wallace. And the dead. Marcus. Leah. Jared. His uncle, Raymond.
Harlan and Noah were both on their phones, pacing.
Brenna waited until Noah ended his call. “Beck is possibly missing,” she said. “He didn’t show. Cal said he’s not answering his comms.”
Noah stopped cold. His expression shifted, jaw tightening.
“Damn it,” he muttered, already pulling his phone back up. “I’ll ping his comm and call it in.”
Brenna felt that same twist of unease deepen. If Beck had vanished too, this wasn’t just coincidence. This was escalation.
Noah’s voice crackled through the phone speaker. He rubbed his forehead, staring at the wall of photos.
Harlan ended his own call and looked up. “The security cams near Gary’s place were jammed all night,” he said. His eyes flicked to Noah, then to us. “What the hell is going on?”
Colt stepped forward. “Beck didn’t check in this morning. Noah’s just making sure he’s all right.”
“Good call,” Harlan muttered. He sank into a chair, folding his arms. “This is starting to feel like a shitstorm in the making.”
Yes, it did.
Noah ended his call and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve got someone on their way to check on Beck. Maybe he just overslept.”
Brenna nodded, relief flickering in her chest. She hoped that was it.
Noah’s phone rang again. He didn’t put it on speaker this time. His brow creased deeper as he listened.
“What is it?” Brenna asked.
He glanced at Harlan, then back to us. “Sheriff Chase just got a call. Six more relatives of the original hostages are missing.”
Her stomach dropped. “Not the ones in protective custody?”
“No,” Noah said. “These are other family members. Six of them. The same number who died at Timberline.”
Silence filled the room. Six missing. Six dead. It was a pattern that couldn’t be ignored. But how did Gary and Beck fit into this?
Or did they?
All their phones pinged at once. Brenna grabbed hers, heart thudding. A text. No number. Just an attachment.
She met Colt’s gaze. “You got it too?”
He nodded. So did Harlan and Noah.
Noah stepped forward, already moving fast. “Let me run a quick scan before we open it.”
They watched as he worked. Seconds dragged.
“It’s clean,” he said, then tapped the screen. The image blinked into view on the large monitor.
Timberline.
Brenna felt her breath catch.
The once-controlled perimeter was now wild.
Overgrown trees leaned in, their branches curling like claws around the rusted fencing.
Ivy crawled over what was left of the buildings, stone and metal choked by green.
The ground was thick with weeds and vines, as if the earth had been trying to reclaim it.
Even the air in the photo looked heavy, like it carried the weight of memory and rot.
“It looks like the woods are trying to erase it,” Brenna said softly.
“Or bury something,” Colt added.