His body might be exhausted, but he still ached for her.
He dried off, pulled on the clean clothes, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand when a new text from Noah lit the screen.
Jared’s uncle bought components used in the bombs. We’re trying to match them to the ones at the water tower and the cave.
Colt read it twice, pressure building in his chest. It was something. Maybe enough to move the investigation forward. Maybe even to pin at least some of this on Jared and Raymond Fitch.
He headed down the hall. The guestroom door stood open, so he knocked lightly and stepped inside. The sound of the shower still ran. Brenna hadn’t come out yet. He hovered for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed to wait.
Colt typed out a reply to Noah’s message.Keep me posted.His fingers hovered over the screen a second longer, then he added another.Any word from CSIs? Anything that points to who killed Raymond and Jared?
The answer came fast.Nothing yet. We’ve got a team combing the area, but so far it’s clean. No prints. No DNA.
Another message followed.
Naomi and Gary have no alibis for either murder. Wallace does, but only because he was still under guard at the hospital.
Colt stared at the screen. Wallace being watched didn’t clear him. Not completely. He could have hired someone. Paid them to do his dirty work. That kind of thing didn’t need a personal touch.
Just motive, money, and a phone call.
Brenna stepped out of the guest bathroom, steam curling behind her like fog. She wore one of those soft sleep T-shirts that barely skimmed her thighs. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, and she looked relaxed, freshly scrubbed.
Colt’s breath stalled in his lungs. The sight of her stirred the heat in his blood. Exhausted or not, his body responded fast.
She met his gaze, brow creased slightly. “Something wrong?” She nodded toward the phone still in his hand.
Colt blinked, shook himself out of the haze clouding his brain. “No,” he said, voice low.
He quickly typed out a message to Noah.Thanks for the update.
Then he stood and crossed to Brenna, handing her the phone. “Here. You should see this.”
Brenna scrolled through the messages, her expression tight.
“This doesn’t clear Wallace,” she said, repeating exactly what Colt had been thinking. “He could have hired someone to do it and stayed out of the blast zone.”
Colt nodded. “Exactly.”
She handed the phone back, eyes sharp. “So all three are still on the list. Wallace. Gary. Naomi.”
Colt slipped the phone into his pocket. “Naomi might have been cleaning house. Killing Jared and his uncle to cover her tracks.”
“Yeah,” Brenna said. “Especially if they knew something that could take her down.”
Their eyes met again. The air between them was thick, buzzing with everything unsaid. Not just the case. Not just the danger. But them. All of it, still hanging there.
Colt took the phone from her, his fingers brushing against hers. The touch was light, but the heat that followed wasn’t. It rolled through him hard and fast, settling low in his gut. He met her gaze, already thinking about kissing her, already feeling the pull.
Before he could act on it, she stepped in and kissed him.
Her lips were soft, sure, like she’d been thinking about it too. The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. It was slow, warm, and deepened by everything they’d survived, everything they still carried.
She slid her hands up his chest, and Colt’s heart thudded against her palms. His hand cupped the side of her face, angling her just right as he kissed her back, letting go of caution, of second-guessing.
Her body pressed close. His ached from the bruises and from wanting her. Nothing else existed. Not Wallace. Not Naomi. Not Gary.
Just Brenna.
