Page 21 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

Jessa hesitated. The pause made his stomach tighten. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Shade’s… complicated. He trades in information. Secrets. People’s dirt. He doesn’t pick sides. He just picks payouts.”

Deacon frowned. “Meaning this ‘secret file’ that Wynn has could be worth something to Shade.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “If the list is real, if it’s as sensitive as Wynn claims, it could be one very large blackmail stash.”

Deacon let out a low whistle. “Hell of a payday.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “So if someone wants to make Roman and me… pliable? More willing to pay or comply or stay quiet?” Her fingers tightened on the wheel. “Attack us. Scare us. Make us desperate.”

Deacon stared out the windshield, jaw locked. “And Shade could be part of that?” he asked.

Jessa exhaled. “He could. He could also be in over his head. Or being used.”

Not exactly reassuring for any of those options.

Crossfire Creek finally blinked into view, a scatter of street lamps and shuttered storefronts against the dark Hill Country sky. Nearly everything was closed this time of night—hardware store dark, the feed shop locked up tight, even the little boutique row empty except for a flickering porch light.

But the diner on the edge of town?

Luna Mae’s never closed.

Its neon crescent moon sign buzzed faintly, casting the gravel lot in a pale blue glow. Inside, yellow light spilled through the big front windows, revealing a handful of late-night customers.

Jessa slowed the SUV, eyes scanning. “There,” she whispered.

Deacon followed her gaze. Brett Calder/Shade sat in a booth near the back, half-turned to keep the room in view. He was bigger than Deacon expected. Big shoulders. Thick forearms, a neck wrapped in tattoos. Close-cropped dark hair. He wore a faded jacket, but nothing about him said computer geek.

Hell, the guy looked more like a bouncer at a rough-ass bar than a hacker with dark-web reach.

Jessa parked, and they got out. Deacon’s hand hovered near his sidearm as they crossed the lot. He went with habit, instinct, caution. Jessa obviously did, too, and walked as if she expected trouble with every step.

Inside, the bell over the door chimed, the scent of frying onions and coffee hitting him at once. A waitress glanced up, muttered a bored-sounding greeting and then went back to wiping down a table.

Shade’s eyes cut toward them the second they stepped in, and he stiffened when he saw Deacon.

Jessa moved first, heading for his booth. “Shade,” she said, stopping beside the booth. “This is County Sheriff Deacon Raines.”

Shade’s glare flicked from her to Deacon, sharp and annoyed. “I know who he fucking is. You brought the sheriff,” he spat out.

“Damn right she did,” Deacon said.

For a heartbeat, Shade looked like he might bolt. His eyes darted to the door, muscles tensing like a wolf ready to run.

But he didn’t move.

He slumped back against the booth, jaw clenched. “Fine,” he muttered. “Sit. But next time I say alone, I mean it.”

Deacon slid into the booth across from him, ignoring the throb in his side. Jessa sat beside him, shoulders tight with tension.

“Where’s Wynn?” he asked, his voice cop hard. He wasn’t wasting any time with pleasantries.

Shade didn’t blink. “I don’t know.”

Deacon leaned forward a fraction, watching every twitch in the hacker’s face. “Try again.”

Shade’s jaw ticked. “I said I don’t know where the fucker is.”

He was either telling the truth… or he was one hell of a poker player. Before Deacon could press, the waitress wandered up with a tired smile and a notepad. “Coffee?”