Chapter Thirteen
Deacon stood at the kitchen counter with a mug of black coffee warming his hands while he stared out the wide window at the pasture beyond the house.
Morning light spread soft and pale over the ranch, catching the slow movement of his horses as they grazed.
It should have been peaceful. Most mornings, it was.
Ranger lay stretched out at his feet, dead to the world, legs twitching slightly like he was chasing something in his sleep.
The house was quiet.
Mostly.
Water rushed behind the closed door of the guest bathroom down the hall. The steady sound of the shower running told him Jessa was awake. That single fact stirred something low and restless in him, heat tightening in his gut before he could shut it down.
After the kisses they had shared, the kind that burned and promised far more than either of them should have touched, it had taken every ounce of discipline he owned not to go to her in the night. Not to pull her close, not to take her to bed and forget the world for a few hours.
But the timing had been totally wrong.
The firebombing of Lauren’s grave had crushed whatever fragile momentum they had built. Like a fresh wound ripped open, raw and unforgiving. Jessa had gone pale, shock hollowing her out, grief carving itself deep beneath the surface.
She had needed space. Rest. Time to breathe without someone else’s need pressing in on her.
So Deacon had kept his distance, even when every instinct in him said to do the opposite. He had made sure the house stayed quiet. He had let her sleep while she tried to recover from a loss that refused to stay buried.
He took a slow sip of coffee and watched one of the horses lift its head, ears pricked toward the house. Soon enough, everything would jump to full throttle mode again. Answers would be chased. Anger would surface. Violence might possibly follow.
But for this moment, Jessa was alive. Safe. And for now, that was enough.
Deacon hadn’t gotten much sleep, but at least the pain was better today. Duller. Manageable. He could breathe without every movement reminding him of shattered glass and torn muscle, and he took that small mercy where he could.
Too bad the investigation hadn’t improved at all.
No sign of Wynn. No sign of Corbin. And still nothing solid enough to put cuffs on Shade. Means and motive meant nothing if you couldn’t prove a damn thing, and right now proof was the one thing they were missing at every turn.
There’d been no sightings at Lauren’s grave either. No witnesses. No passing cars. No suspicious figures caught on camera in the surrounding area. Whoever firebombed it had planned the timing well and vanished clean.
The county crime lab was still processing the scene, sifting ash and debris for anything usable. Accelerant residues. Footprints. Tire impressions. Something. Anything that could point them in the right direction.
Deacon took another swallow of coffee and let his gaze drift back toward the land beyond the window. He needed a break in this case. A crack in the wall. One mistake from someone who thought they were untouchable.
He was counting on the lab to find it.
Because if they didn’t, they were blind. And whoever was driving this chaos would know it.
Jessa came down the hall a few minutes later, dressed and ready for the day. Jeans. A simple shirt. Boots. She looked calm on the surface, but Deacon knew better. There was a tension about her, as if she was holding herself together with willpower alone.
His body reacted anyway. Heat stirred low and fast, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t slow. She crossed the kitchen straight to him, curled a hand into his shirt, and she kissed him.
Hard.
The contact jolted through him. Surprise lasted exactly one second before instinct took over. He pulled her closer, deepened the kiss, hands sliding to her waist, anchoring her like he needed proof she was real and standing there.
She pulled back just enough to breathe. Her eyes were dark, intent. “I dreamed about doing that,” she said.
His mouth curved, hungry and pleased. “We can make dreams come true.” He leaned in again, ready to lose the morning in her, when she pressed a palm to his chest.
“Roman texted earlier,” she said, an apology in her tone and expression. “He’s on his way over.”
That stopped him cold.
“And,” she added, “he’s bringing Noah.”
Well. That put the brakes on fast.
Deacon exhaled and rested his forehead against hers. “Why are they coming?”
“Roman wants to check on me,” she said. “And he says they’ve got more on Shade and Lila. More than they had last night.”
Deacon sighed, letting reality crash back in where desire had been moments from taking over. “Guess that answers that.”
She nodded, fingers still curled in his shirt as if she hadn’t quite decided to let go. The case was waiting. The truth was circling. And whatever had just started between them would have to wait.
His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. A text from Sheriff Chase. Shade’s lawyer rescheduled. Interview’s set for one pm today.
Deacon let out a quiet breath. About damn time. He typed back without hesitation. I’ll be there.
He showed the text and reply to Jessa before he pocketed the phone and looked at her, his resolve settling back into place. Whatever Shade was hiding, it was coming closer to the surface. And one pm wasn’t far away.
The security panel chimed, a soft alert that had him checking the window. Two vehicles rolled up the drive. A silver Crossfire Ops’ van and a black Creed Response SUV.
“Company,” he said.
They went toward the door just as Roman and Noah parked and stepped from their vehicles. Both headed for the porch. Deacon disarmed the system and opened the door, letting them in.
The tension walked in right with them.
Noah’s gaze found Jessa immediately. He hesitated, as if he was still learning where to put his feet in this new reality. Jessa looked just as unsure, shoulders tight, expression guarded.
After a couple of those wired moments, Noah reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. He held it out to her.
“I thought you should have this,” he murmured.
Jessa took it with careful hands. Deacon watched her face soften as she looked down. The photo showed two teenagers, young and unscarred. Lauren was smiling, bright and carefree. Noah stood beside her, arm slung around her shoulders, both of them laughing at something caught just outside the frame.
It clearly hit her. Hard. “Thank you,” Jessa said, her voice low. “I didn’t have anything like this.”
Noah nodded, emotion tight in his expression. “I wish there’d been more.”
Roman shifted then, casting Deacon a look from the corner of his eye. It was subtle, but the message was clear enough. Be smart. Be careful. Keep your hands off my sister.
Deacon met the look and kept his face neutral. He wasn’t about to argue the point out loud. But privately, he knew the truth. He wasn’t going to play it smart when it came to Jessa.
He never had.
And whatever restraint he was showing now was on borrowed time.
Those kisses they’d shared were already a promise. A warning. Sooner rather than later, they were going to stop pretending they could keep this contained.
Eventually, it was going to send them straight to bed.
They all moved into the kitchen, and Deacon reached for the coffee pot without asking. He poured mugs for everyone and slid them across the counter. It felt easier to do something useful than to stand around thinking about Jessa.
Roman took the cup but didn’t drink. His focus was sharp, his mind no doubt already chasing angles.
“Who would’ve known about the exhumation?” Roman asked.
Deacon leaned back against the counter. “Any number of people. The request went through legal channels. The paperwork crossed a few desks. The cemetery owner was notified, too.”
“So the leak could’ve come from anywhere,” Noah said.
“Exactly,” Deacon replied. “Which makes it damned frustrating. Anyone along that chain could’ve tipped someone off. We were never going to keep it quiet.”
Roman’s jaw tightened. “That was our best shot at clean proof.”
“It still might be,” Deacon said. “The crime lab’s processing the scene.
Someone firebombed that grave to destroy evidence, which tells me they were scared of what we might find.
” He took a sip of coffee that had gone bitter in the pot.
“But yeah. The exhumation getting out could’ve been leaked by almost anyone. ”
And that made closing the net around the killer that much harder.
Noah was the one to break the silence. “We’ve got more confirmation,” he said. “Shade and Lila were having an affair before Lila’s husband was killed. Solid proof. Messages. Dates line up.”
Deacon took that in slowly.
“And that was the same window when Clayton Hargrove was seeing Lauren,” Noah continued. “According to one of Clayton’s friends, he planned to try to reconcile with Lila. He’d told her he wanted to come home.”
Deacon rubbed a hand over his jaw, working through the angles. If Clayton was headed back to his wife, it weakened Lila’s motive. At least on the surface. A jealous rage did not hold the same weight if the marriage was about to be repaired.
Unless…
Unless Lila wanted Clayton out of the way for good. Not because of Lauren, but because of Shade. If Clayton was gone, there was no choosing. No reconciliation. No competing loyalties. Just freedom.
And Shade would have plenty of motive of his own to help make that happen.
“That doesn’t clear Lila of the attacks and other things going on right now,” Deacon said. “It might actually give her a different reason.”
A colder one.
One that tied Shade even tighter to everything that had happened since.
The security alert chimed again. Deacon pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up the live feed. The moment the image resolved, he cursed.
“Hell.”
A familiar truck rolled up the drive, slow and deliberate.
“Corbin’s here,” he said.