Brenna hesitated. She wished she could take it back, keep that piece of vulnerability locked down tight. But the truth was out, and there was no walking it back.
“Yeah,” she finally admitted. “I miss being part of a team. The camaraderie. It’s like the military, only with fewer rules, fewer deployments, and a hell of a lot less sand.”
He nodded once. “Noah would hire you in a heartbeat.”
She gave a small shake of her head. “That’s not the point. I still get the flashbacks.”
What she didn’t say, what pressed at the edges of her thoughts every time she closed her eyes, was that she wasn’t sure she could trust herself in the field again. Not with the fear still waiting to pounce. Not with Timberline still living in her head.
Colt didn’t push. He didn’t need to. His gaze softened, as if he saw all of it anyway.
“There’ll always be memories,” he said. “Always be flashbacks. Not just Timberline. All the other shit we’ve seen, too.” His voice lowered. “The only way I know to stomp that down is to do something good. Help someone. Save someone innocent from dying or getting taken.”
She let that sit in the space between them. “I’m not sure I can.”
He stepped in close, his eyes never leaving hers. He brushed his mouth across hers again, the kiss light but filled with meaning. “You already did,” he said. “Today. On thatbridge. Flashbacks and shitty memories aren’t going to erase who you are, Brenna. You belong here. You should be doing exactly what you did today.”
She was afraid he was wrong. But more afraid that he was right. Because being right meant she should step back into this life. And she wasn’t sure she could do that, especially with Timberline front and center in her life again.
The door opened and Noah stepped in, giving them both a quick once-over. “Beck just updated me,” he said, voice calm but edged with concern. His gaze shifted to Colt. “You want some time off?”
Before Colt could answer, Noah held up a hand. “I know. You don’t want it. But do you need it?”
“No,” Colt said without hesitation. “I need to go to the sheriff’s office. I need to hear Naomi’s interview for myself.”
Noah gave a short nod. “Sheriff Chase won’t give you any hassle. I already cleared it.”
Brenna could see the tension in Colt’s shoulders ease just a little. He wanted to be there, needed to feel in control again. So did she. And right now, that meant chasing down every lead, every whisper, until they had answers.
Noah leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still no sign of Wallace or Gary,” he said. “And nothing on whoever attacked you out there. But we did find Naomi’s car. It was parked on a trail about a quarter mile from the bridge. Tire tracks around it suggest her attacker moved the car there, then took off in a different vehicle.”
Brenna exhaled slowly and tucked her hands into her back pockets. “Or Naomi could have moved it herself to make it look that way. Or those other tracks could belong to her accomplice.”
Noah gave her a long look. “How high is she on your suspect list?”
“She’s up there,” Brenna admitted. “Right behind Gary. But I still can’t pin down a motive. I don’t know why either of them would start the murders up again.”
Colt’s gaze cut to her, unreadable but sharp. He was thinking the same thing. Someone was pushing this forward with purpose. And they were running out of time to figure out who.
Noah checked the time on his watch. “Right at noon,” he said. “You should get moving. The sheriff’s planning to start Naomi’s interview in about thirty minutes.”
Brenna and Colt turned toward the door, but Colt paused. “Any updates on Cassandra?” he asked, and Brenna knew that was the name of the heiress he and Harlan had rescued the night before.
“She’s doing well,” Noah said. “Stable. The doctors expect her to go home tomorrow.”
Relief swept across Colt’s face, softening the hard lines that had taken up permanent residence there over the past hours.
“Good,” he said, and then fell into step beside Brenna as they headed out of headquarters.
The midday heat hit them the second they stepped outside, but it didn’t slow their pace. They crossed the parking lot to one of the Crossfire Ops SUVs. Before Colt could reach for the driver’s side door, Brenna cut him off and opened it herself.
She looked at him. “No need to aggravate that bruise by driving.”
Colt raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He moved around to the passenger side and climbed in without a word. That alone told her just how much he was still hurting.
The drive to the sheriff’s office took less than ten minutes. Crossfire Creek might’ve been small, but its charm punched well above its size. The streets were clean, lined with mom-and-pop shops that had been there for decades. A diner with a tin roofand hand-painted windows sat on the corner, its chalkboard menu advertising peach cobbler and the day’s lunch special.
Across the street stood a hardware store, a barber shop, and a boutique with flowerpots hanging from the eaves. The buildings were all wood and brick, weathered and proud, giving the town the feel of a place where gunslingers once walked the streets and maybe even died for less than a wrong word.
