Page 41 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Rena leaned closer. “There,” she said, pointing.

A lone figure stood half-hidden near a mesquite tree at the curve of the road. No vehicle. No movement, just a man, steady and deliberate, lifting binoculars to his face.

Rhett Danner.

“Son of a bitch,” Isla whispered. “That’s him.”

Noah’s jaw locked. “Where’s his car?”

“Not in range,” Isla said, adjusting the zoom. “He must’ve parked off-road.”

Corrine might have sensed it, might have seen some flicker of movement on the edge of her vision, because she froze mid-rant. Her head snapped toward the road, eyes narrowing.

Rena saw the exact moment she spotted Rhett. Corrine’s body went rigid, her expression tightening before she turned and sprinted for her car. She jumped in and sped away.

Isla switched as Corrine’s car kicked up dust and tore down the narrow stretch of road. Within seconds, she reached Rhett, jerking the wheel to stop in front of him. The door flew open, and she stormed out, shouting, her gestures sharp and wild.

Rhett shouted back, just as furious. His stance was coiled, dangerous.

“There’s no sound this far from the gate,” Rena said, frustration biting through her tone.

“I can fix that.” Isla’s fingers blurred over the keyboard. “I’ll run it through the lip-reading program. Give me a sec.”

On the big monitor, the footage stuttered and processed, text beginning to crawl across the bottom of the screen in jagged bursts. The software couldn’t capture everything, but fragments began to appear.

Rhett: … you sold me out…

Corrine: I didn’t—

Rhett: You went to them.

Corrine: I told them what they needed to hear—

Rhett: You threw me under the bus.

Isla’s eyes flicked toward Noah. “That one’s clear. He’s pissed that she turned on him.”

On the feed, Corrine shoved a finger into Rhett’s chest. He caught her wrist, his grip visibly hard even from this distance. She tried to jerk free, shouting something that didn’t register before shoving at him again.

Corrine spun around, yanked open her car door, and slid behind the wheel. The tires spat gravel as she tore away from Rhett, speeding back down the road toward the main highway.

Rena’s eyes flicked to the monitor. Isla had already switched feeds, following the car until it disappeared in a blur of dust and heat shimmer. Rhett didn’t move. He just stood there, a dark silhouette against the pale stretch of road, shoulders squared, staring directly at the nearest camera.

“He knows we’re watching,” Rena murmured.

“Yeah,” Isla agreed.

Rhett’s lips started to move. Isla didn’t even wait for Noah’s nod. She threw the feed into the lip-reading program again. Within seconds, jagged text appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Rhett: I’m not behind this. But I hope whoever is… finishes the job. I hope they kill Noah. All of you.

Then he smiled—cold, deliberate—and turned his back on the camera.

“Hell,” Rena whispered.

Noah’s face was unreadable, his gaze locked on the monitor.

Rhett strode off the edge of the feed, vanishing into the tree line. Isla scrambled to another camera, then another, until she caught him again.