Page 23 of Crossfire Creek Siege

He started toward his cubicle, then paused and looked back. “After that, meet me in the common room? One drink. A nightcap before we crash.”

Rena hesitated just long enough for the pause to say more than she wanted it to. She didn’t trust herself to sleep anyway. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was still wired, replaying every second of the attack.

“Yeah,” she finally said. “One drink.”

He nodded, eyes lingering on her a beat too long before disappearing into his room.

Rena exhaled, pressed her palm to the cool metal of her door, and muttered under her breath, “Bad idea.”

Then she was going to do it anyway.

Rena slid the door shut behind her, the soft click of the lock sounding too loud in the silence. The room was dim, the low amber light spilling from the wall fixture doing little to soften the edges. She didn’t bother turning on the brighter overhead. Instead, she stood still, listening. The soft hum of the air system. The distant creak of pipes. No footsteps. No voices.

Still, she checked.

Her hand went automatically to her Glock, and she drew it. She swept the compact space the same way she had every night since arriving at Crossfire. Corners, closet, under the bunk. Pointless maybe, but she couldn’t shake the need. The attack had just reinforced what she already knew, that safety was an illusion.

For a short time, at that party, she’d believed it. The music, the laughter, the ridiculous pink frosting and twinkle lights, it had felt like peace. Then all hell had broken loose, and the illusion had burned away in the flash of gunfire.

Now, the flashbacks overlapped. The hangar bathed in red light, blurring with the orange glow of her jet’s cockpit fire, the smell of smoke and metal fusing together in her head until she couldn’t separate one from the other.

Her stomach twisted, and she sank down on the edge of the bunk, elbows on her knees. The throbbing behind her eyes had sharpened to a familiar warning. Migraine territory. She closed her eyes, took a slow breath, counting the seconds until her pulse evened out.

Yeah. She was going to need that nightcap.

Even if meeting Gage in the common room was a bad idea.

Especially because it was a bad idea.

He had that easy charm, that heat that simmered just below his calm surface. And she’d spent too many nights reminding herself that chemistry wasn’t a good enough reason to let her guard down. Still, her mind replayed the way he’d looked at her earlier. Steady, grounding, the kind of look that made her want to believe she wasn’t coming apart.

Rena sighed. “Playing with fire,” she muttered.

She went into the small bathroom, turned on the water and undressed. She stepped into the spray. Hot and hard, more like a massage than a shower. At the moment, it was exactly what she needed even though it was a challenge not to get her stitches wet.

Steam still curled off Rena’s skin when she finally stepped out of the shower. She towel-dried her hair, pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a Crossfire Ops T-shirt, and stared at herself in the mirror. The woman looking back didn’t scream special ops material. Bruised eyes, tired lines, skin pale from stress. But she was still standing. At the moment that felt pretty damn good.

When she left her room and went into the common area, Gage was already there. He’d claimed the corner couch, one arm stretched across the back, a bottle of beer in his hand. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and the faint scent of soap reached her even from a few feet away.

Her pulse kicked, betraying her.

He looked up, mouth curving into that lazy half-smile that did dangerous things to her composure. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Needed to rinse off the apocalypse,” she said, heading for the counter where Noah kept the liquor.

“Same.” He took a sip of beer, watching her with that easy, unreadable expression that somehow felt far too aware.

She grabbed a glass, poured herself a couple of fingers of whiskey, and joined him, taking the chair opposite the couch. The whiskey burned, sharp and grounding, just what she needed to chase away the lingering tremor in her hands.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with everything they weren’t ready to talk about. The attack, the gunfire, the screams. It all hovered there between them, unspoken.

Rena leaned back and let out a slow breath. “You think Noah’s going to count this attack as some kind of final exam?”

Gage’s grin widened. “If he does, I’m demanding extra credit.”

“Yeah? For what—style points?” She found herself smiling.

“For survival,” he said, tilting his beer toward her. “And teamwork.”