Page 33 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

He stopped dead.

Jessa took out her phone and looked at the screen. “Unknown number,” she let him know.

Jessa’s jaw tightened, but she hit answer and put the phone on speaker, holding it between them like it might bite.

“Wynn?” she asked.

Static crackled.

Then a low, ragged voice slid through the speaker. “Jessa.” Yeah, it was Wynn all right.

Deacon felt Ranger press against his leg, sensing the shift in the air.

“Where are you?” Jessa demanded. “And who tried to kill Deacon and me tonight?”

“Noah killed your mother,” Wynn blurted, obviously dodging Jessa’s questions.

Well, shit.

Deacon rolled his eyes but held back from saying no way in hell had Noah killed Lauren.

“They’re all covering it up for Noah,” Wynn went on. “You hear me? Crossfire Ops. Creed Response. All of them. Protecting him. Protecting the killer.” His voice cracked at the last word. Grief and fury twisted into something jagged.

Deacon felt his pulse spike. Wynn had always been intense, but this was something else. This was a man gone off the rails.

Jessa kept her voice steady, but he could hear the strain. “Wynn, listen to me. Noah didn’t do this.”

“He did.” Wynn hissed. “Noah… Noah let it happen.”

Deacon moved closer. “Wynn,” he said, going all cop with his tone, “if you have evidence, then tell us. And then you can spill who tried to kill Jessa and me tonight.”

There was a harsh inhale. A shuffle. As if he’d jerked the phone away from his mouth or turned his head.

“I have it,” Wynn whispered. “All of it. Proof. And the same person who killed Lauren… they’re the one trying to kill you.”

Jessa huffed. “Do you really believe Noah is behind this?” she asked quietly, and she sounded just as skeptical as Deacon felt.

Silence.

Wynn didn’t answer.

Instead, they heard something in the background—a faint click. A creak. A door, maybe.

Wynn sucked in a sharp breath. “Can’t talk now,” he whispered. “Not safe. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he cut in, voice suddenly panicked. “We’ll meet. I’ll tell you where. Just… be ready.”

The line went dead.

Chapter Eight

Morning light crept in through the guest room curtains far earlier than she wanted. Gray light. Quiet house. The faint sound of Ranger’s nails clicking somewhere down the hall. Deacon’s place always felt steady, grounded.

Exactly the opposite of her mind.

Jessa finished her shower and stood in front of the dresser, towel-drying her hair while the steam faded from the mirror. She hadn’t slept much. Maybe an hour or two between the ache of memories and the echo of Wynn’s voice threading through her dreams like poison.

The attack. The bullets slicing the night. Deacon bleeding beside her.

Then Roman dropping the truth on her like a bomb, that Lauren hadn’t died of cancer. She’d been murdered. And Wynn, unhinged and ranting, insisting Noah had done it.