“On three,” he told Brenna. “Cut both receiver wires. I’ll hit the timer feed. Ready?”
She nodded again.
“One.”
Colt tightened his grip.
“Two.”
His pulse roared in his ears.
“Three.”
Snip.
He yanked the main line to the timer.
The digits blinked… and went dark.
Silence. No beeping. No detonation.
Just the sound of five people holding their breath.
Brenna exhaled first.
Colt sat back hard, adrenaline crashing through him like a wave. Wallace sagged against the tree.
They had done it.
But Colt wasn’t celebrating yet.
Someone had meant for this to be the end. And that someone was still out there.
----- ? ----
Chapter Twelve
----- ? ----
Brenna sat on the exam table in the Crossfire Ops treatment room, her knee throbbing as Beck gently examined the bruising. Colt stood nearby, arms crossed, a matching collection of cuts and bruises shadowing his skin.
They had changed out of their soaked clothes and gear and showered once they’d made it back to headquarters, but Brenna could still smell the stagnant water from that explosion. The scent seemed embedded in her skin.
“You two got some kind of competition going on?” Beck asked, squinting at her knee. “See who can rack up the most damage in one day?”
“One day,” Brenna murmured. “Feels more like a lifetime.”
Beck shot her a look. “Well, congratulations. I think it’s a tie.”
She managed a faint smile but it didn’t last. The ache in her body wasn’t just physical. It was the weight of everything. The water tower. The trap. Wallace. The killer still out there.
Well, he was unless that killer happened to be Wallace himself.
The jury was still out on that.
Beck wrapped her knee and stepped back. “You’re banged up but nothing’s broken. Try not to test that knee too hard.”
“I’ll try,” she said. But she wasn’t sure she’d succeed.
