Page 55 of Crossfire Creek Vengeance

But for this moment, Jessa was alive. Safe. And for now, that was enough.

Deacon hadn’t gotten much sleep, but at least the pain was better today. Duller. Manageable. He could breathe without every movement reminding him of shattered glass and torn muscle, and he took that small mercy where he could.

Too bad the investigation hadn’t improved at all.

No sign of Wynn. No sign of Corbin. And still nothing solid enough to put cuffs on Shade. Means and motive meant nothing if you couldn’t prove a damn thing, and right now proof was the one thing they were missing at every turn.

There’d been no sightings at Lauren’s grave either. No witnesses. No passing cars. No suspicious figures caught on camera in the surrounding area. Whoever firebombed it had planned the timing well and vanished clean.

The county crime lab was still processing the scene, sifting ash and debris for anything usable. Accelerant residues. Footprints. Tire impressions. Something. Anything that could point them in the right direction.

Deacon took another swallow of coffee and let his gaze drift back toward the land beyond the window. He needed a break in this case. A crack in the wall. One mistake from someone who thought they were untouchable.

He was counting on the lab to find it.

Because if they didn’t, they were blind. And whoever was driving this chaos would know it.

Jessa came down the hall a few minutes later, dressed and ready for the day. Jeans. A simple shirt. Boots. She looked calm on the surface, but Deacon knew better. There was a tension about her, as if she was holding herself together with willpower alone.

His body reacted anyway. Heat stirred low and fast, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t slow. She crossed the kitchen straight to him, curled a hand into his shirt, and she kissed him.

Hard.

The contact jolted through him. Surprise lasted exactly one second before instinct took over. He pulled her closer, deepened the kiss, hands sliding to her waist, anchoring her like he needed proof she was real and standing there.

She pulled back just enough to breathe. Her eyes were dark, intent. “I dreamed about doing that,” she said.

His mouth curved, hungry and pleased. “We can make dreams come true.” He leaned in again, ready to lose the morning in her, when she pressed a palm to his chest.

“Roman texted earlier,” she said, an apology in her tone and expression. “He’s on his way over.”

That stopped him cold.

“And,” she added, “he’s bringing Noah.”

Well. That put the brakes on fast.

Deacon exhaled and rested his forehead against hers. “Why are they coming?”

“Roman wants to check on me,” she said. “And he says they’ve got more on Shade and Lila. More than they had last night.”

Deacon sighed, letting reality crash back in where desire had been moments from taking over. “Guess that answers that.”

She nodded, fingers still curled in his shirt as if she hadn’t quite decided to let go. The case was waiting. The truth was circling. And whatever had just started between them would have to wait.

His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. A text from Sheriff Chase. Shade’s lawyer rescheduled. Interview’s set for one pm today.

Deacon let out a quiet breath. About damn time. He typed back without hesitation. I’ll be there.

He showed the text and reply to Jessa before he pocketed the phone and looked at her, his resolve settling back into place. Whatever Shade was hiding, it was coming closer to the surface. And one pm wasn’t far away.

The security panel chimed, a soft alert that had him checking the window. Two vehicles rolled up the drive. A silver Crossfire Ops’ van and a black Creed Response SUV.

“Company,” he said.

They went toward the door just as Roman and Noah parked and stepped from their vehicles. Both headed for the porch. Deacon disarmed the system and opened the door, letting them in.