Page 4 of Crossfire Creek Siege

She almost smiled. Almost. “You’re confusing stubborn with stupid.”

He grinned. “Nah. I’ve seen stupid. It doesn’t look half as good in tac gear.”

Rena shook her head, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. For a second, the pulse in her temples eased. Then the laughter and thump of bass from the sound system echoed through the hangar, a reminder that the night hadn’t even started yet.

Six weeks. One party. And a man who could make her remember what breathing felt like.

And what burning did, too.

The sound of boots on concrete drew her attention from Gage. Noah crossed the hangar with Ruby and Owen flanking him, the trio cutting through the glow of the battery lights like the command team they were.

Ruby moved with the kind of confidence that came from decades in the field. Tough, mid-fifties, her short blonde hair tucked behind her ears, posture military-straight. She looked as if she could disassemble a weapon or a person with the same efficiency.

Owen was built like the wall he probably used to kick down for a living. Broad shoulders, black hair threaded with gray, and that easy authority of a man who didn’t need to prove a damn thing. Between them, Noah looked more weathered but no less commanding, his dark hair cropped close, his limp barely noticeable despite the prosthetic that had replaced one of his legs.

Noah’s gaze landed on Rena first. “You two met Ruby and Owen yet?”

Rena shook her head.

“Then let’s fix that,” Noah said, motioning between them. “Ruby Maverick, Owen Striker, meet Gage Kellan and Rena Calloway. Two of our newest trainees. Both came highly recommended.”

Ruby’s handshake was firm and assessing, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “I’ve read your files,” she said. “Noah’s glad to have you both here.”

Owen’s handshake followed, solid as a promise. “Heard good things,” he added, his gaze flicking between the two of them. “Real good things.”

Rena managed a polite smile but said nothing. Because she had no doubt those good things were all about Gage, the decorated pararescuer with the reputation for bravery under fire, the guy everyone wanted on their six. Not the ex–fighter pilot with migraines and a record that read like a cautionary tale.

Rena straightened her shoulders anyway. If she was going to be in this world again, she’d stand tall in it, even if her head was pounding.

Noah’s grin came easy, the kind that softened the lines around his eyes. “Appreciate you two stepping up to help out tonight,” he said. “Not exactly the kind of mission you trained for, but Lily’ll love it. Means a lot to her that the real deal’s here keeping watch.”

Rena nodded, though inside she wasn’t sure volunteering was the right word. With all the ops teams deployed and most of the techs off-site, there hadn’t been much choice. Crossfire Creek felt half-empty, a skeleton crew left to mind the home front. That skeleton just happened to include her and Gage, the only trainees who hadn’t yet been cleared for field duty.

“Lily’s headed into the Army in a couple months,” Noah continued, glancing toward the giant pink cake as if it were an explosive he hadn’t decided how to defuse. “Says she’s gonna make it into Delta Force.”

Gage gave a low whistle. “Ambitious.”

Ambitious didn’t begin to cover it. Delta’s selection course had a ninety-percent washout rate, and that was for the candidates who trained their whole careers to get there. Still, she could respect the kid’s lofty goal. Wanting to chase the impossible was a language Rena understood far too well.

It was the reason she was here at Crossfire Ops.

Noah’s smile turned proud and a little wistful. “Lily’s determined,” he said. “I figured this might be her last wild night before things get serious.”

Rena followed his gaze to the string lights and pink balloons swaying from the rafters, and for a fleeting moment, she wished determination was all it took.

Noah’s phone buzzed, the sharp tone cutting through the low hum of conversation. He glanced at the screen, then, grinning, he pocketed it.

“Bus is here with Lily and the party guests,” Noah relayed. “Let the invasion begin.”

He headed toward the massive hangar doors, his limp barely slowing him down. Rena and the others followed, walking beneath the overhead fans stirring hot air that smelled faintly of sugar and engine oil.

Late June in Texas definitely wasn’t forgiving. Even though the sun had already set, heat radiated off the concrete and pretty much everywhere else on the compound.

When Noah hit the switch, the hangar doors rolled open with a mechanical groan, and a wave of sound rushed in. Laughter, chatter, the clatter of boots and sneakers. Sixteen teenagers poured inside like a tidal surge, all wide eyes and restless energy.

Rena blinked, taking them in. The kids were decked out in lightweight tactical gear and training fatigues, courtesy of Crossfire Ops. The mock uniforms looked good on them, she decided. Bright, eager faces under baseball caps and borrowed comm headsets. They pointed at the obstacle course and the laser-tag rigs, their voices bouncing off the high ceiling as they jostled one another for a better look.

Noah sealed the doors again, and then the lights inside the hangar went dark. For a split second there was silence, just the hum of the generators, and then the room exploded into color. Beams of neon light shot through the darkness, streaking over the floor, the walls, the massive pink cake. A laser show pulsed to life, synced to a pounding pop beat that made Rena’s ribs vibrate.