“She’s certainly been profiting off this,” Brenna said, eyes wide as she flipped to the last page. “Blog posts, video updates, livestreams. Her followers have tripled in the past 48 hours.”
“And every time another victim shows up, her numbers climb,” Colt said. “Views mean ad revenue. Subscriptions. Donations. She’s cashing in.”
Brenna let out a low breath. “So maybe we’re looking at two motives. Money and revenge.”
“Or obsession,” Colt added. “If Wallace still had feelings for her, and she used that to manipulate him…”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, the weight of it all thick in the air between them.
They finished up their breakfast in quiet agreement. No more words were needed. After rinsing their dishes, they grabbed their gear and headed for the SUV. The drive to headquarters took only a few minutes, the morning still cool and the sun barely clearing the tops of the trees.
Gary was just getting out of a dusty black truck when they pulled up. His eyes were wild, shoulders tense. He looked like a man on the edge.
“They’re going to try to pin this on me,” Gary said as soon as Colt and Brenna approached. “I can feel it. The sheriff’s already looking at me sideways.”
“You were at the bridge,” Brenna said, her tone firm. “Then you disappeared for hours.”
“I told you,” Gary snapped. “I had to get out of there. I thought the whole damn thing was rigged to blow. And I didn’t exactly feel welcome around your crew.”
They didn’t slow their pace as they walked, pushing through the glass front doors of Crossfire Ops and heading down the hall. Colt led them into the breakroom, a sleek, modern space with polished steel fixtures, a round table surrounded by ergonomic chairs, and a commercial-grade coffee station that looked like it belonged in a high-end café. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
Colt grabbed three mugs from the cabinet and filled them, handing one each to Brenna and Gary.
“Sit,” Colt insisted.
Gary sat, but he didn’t stop fidgeting. His knee bounced under the table. His hand wrapped tightly around the mug. He stared into the cup as if it held all the answers he hadn’t found.
“You know what no one ever talks about?” he said. “What it was like after Timberline. For the ones who weren’t there in time. Everyone looks at me like I failed. Like I let it happen. And maybe I did. Maybe I should’ve gotten there faster. But I had car trouble and by the time I got there, it was over. You were all heroes. I was the guy who didn’t show.”
He finally looked up, jaw tight.
“We weren’t heroes,” Brenna said, and there was a rough edge to her voice. An edge no doubt caused by the trauma shitstorm of Timberline.
“I lost everything after that,” Gary went on. “My rep. My job. My friends. Hell, even my damn family pulled away. Peopletalk about survivor’s guilt. You ever heard of failure guilt? It eats you the same way.”
Yeah, it did. “You’re preaching to the choir, Gary,” Colt told him. “We didn’t save a single hostage that night.”
“But you at least got the chance to do that,” Gary muttered. He gathered his breath and continued. “There’s something else. Something I probably should’ve told the sheriff. But I knew how it would sound, and I didn’t need another reason for everyone to think I’m guilty.”
He exhaled hard.
“Two nights before Marcus’s murder, before this whole nightmare got started again, Wallace called me. Said he wanted to meet. Said he had information about Timberline that would change everything. I never called him back. Figured it was just more of his paranoid garbage.”
He stopped and looked at Brenna and Colt. “I should’ve called him back.”
Colt watched as Gary stood up and started to pace near the table, his coffee untouched. The man’s agitation buzzed in the air like static before a storm.
“You should talk to Wallace,” Gary said. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
Colt leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. “Have you spoken to him since that call you mentioned?”
Gary hesitated. It was quick, but Colt caught it. His jaw tightened before he gave a small shake of his head. “No.”
The pause spoke louder than the word.
Brenna arched an eyebrow, and Gary let out a huff. “You all think I’m behind this,” he snapped. “That I killed Marcus. Leah. Maybe even the hostages at Timberline. You don’t say it, but I can see it in your faces.”
Colt kept his tone even. “We’re just following leads.”
