Page 36 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Toward his vest.

“Grenade!” Gage shouted.

The metallic clink of the pin echoed, followed by a low, hollow thunk as it hit the dirt.

Then the world went white.

The blast tore through the air, a concussive wave that lifted dust, fire, and shards of debris. Gage hit the ground hard, the roar swallowing everything else—sound, thought, breath.

Chapter Eleven

Rena yanked the zipper of her clean Crossfire Ops hoodie up to her throat, her hands still trembling some. The motion sent a dull throb through her temples, that same ringing pressure pulsing behind her ears.

Her clothes from earlier sat in a heap by the door. They were torn, streaked with dirt and soot, and spattered with what she hoped was just mud. The explosion had gone off close enough to leave her body humming from the shockwave, her muscles aching as if she’d been slammed into a wall.

They’d come close. Too damn close. Again. But they had thankfully all walked away. Well, everyone had walked but the man who’d tried to shoot them.

She sat on the edge of her bunk, staring at her hands. There was still grit under her nails, the faint smell of smoke in her hair. And she figured it was the same for Gage.

Across the thin wall, she could hear the low hiss of running water. His shower. He’d been covered in the same dirt and debris she had as they’d ridden back to the compound. Neither of them had said much on that drive. There wasn’t much to say when a man blew himself to pieces ten feet away.

Rena rubbed at her forehead, trying to ease the pounding there. It wasn’t just the blast echoing through her skull. It was the gnawing frustration that they were no closer to answers. Whoever had orchestrated this had covered their tracks well. The shooter was ash now, his secrets gone with him.

She glanced toward the door when she heard the shower shut off and Gage start moving around in his cubicle. He was no doubt naked, and that caused her pulse to jump before she could stop it. She didn’t know if it was adrenaline, exhaustion or just Gage, but the heat that always sparked between them hadn’t burned off, even after nearly dying.

And hell, maybe that was the problem.

Death was becoming a little too familiar, and Gage… he was starting to feel that way too.

Rena stepped out of her cubicle and stopped when she saw Gage coming out of his. He’d changed into clean pants and a tee, his damp hair pushed back, his phone in hand, the glow from the screen cutting sharp angles across his face.

He looked up when he heard her, and for a beat, neither of them spoke. His eyes—dark, steady, and always too damn readable—met hers, and she saw it all. The strain, the pain, the exhaustion sitting heavy in his shoulders. The same cocktail of adrenaline crash and soreness that had her own body screaming.

Beck’s handiwork was visible just beneath the sleeve of Gage’s fresh shirt, a strip of clean gauze peeking out where the medic had redone his stitches. Her own arm throbbed under its wrap, each heartbeat a reminder of how close the blast had come.

“Beck earned his paycheck again,” Gage said, his voice rough.

“Yeah.” She moved to grab a bottle of water from the small fridge. “I think he threatened to glue me to a chair if I rip these stitches one more time.”

That earned the ghost of a smile from him. It was barely there but enough to ease something tight in her chest.

She leaned against the counter, unscrewing the cap on the bottle. “How bad?” she asked, nodding toward his arm.

“Hurts like hell.” He shrugged. “You?”

“Same.”

Silence settled again, not awkward but weighted. She could still smell the faint tang of disinfectant from Beck’s work on both of them. Beneath it, the lingering scent of smoke that soap hadn’t quite erased.

Rena took a slow drink, then met his gaze once more. “We need answers, Gage. Before someone else decides to finish the job.”

Gage slipped his phone into his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck, the tension still etched across his jaw. “Isla texted while I was in the shower,” he said. “Sheriff Chase is headed here. Wants to get our statements about the blast.”

Rena nodded, but her stomach twisted at the thought of going over it again. The gunfire, the grenade, the smell of scorched dirt and blood.

“Guess we’re not getting downtime anytime soon,” she muttered. Not that she wanted it. She wanted, needed, to dive right back into the investigation. “Any word yet on how the sheriff’s interview with Rhett went?”

Gage shook his head. “According to Isla, there were no confessions. No cracks. The guy played it cool, just like he did out front of the station.”