Alena stayed quiet as Cal pulled the SUV to a stop in front of his cabin, the engine ticking as it cooled. For a moment, neither of them moved. The weight of the day pressed down, exhaustion and frustration settling into her bones.
The cops hadn’t found Dexter at her place. They hadn’t found Melissa either, even after searching the properties around Cedar Ridge.
Alena drew in a slow breath. At least David was safe. That was something. She clung to it, because the rest was a mess of uncertainty. She’d known better than to head back to her own house with Dexter on the loose. Still, sitting here, she couldn’t help but feel the tug of conflict.
Cal’s place was probably the last place she should be. But it was also the only place she wanted right now.
The cabin sat low against the trees, all stone and cedar with wide porches and big windows that looked out over the rolling grounds. Like everything else at Crossfire Ops, it was high-end, built with care and intention. Owen Striker had wanted his warriors to have a place that was both comfortable and secure, and it showed in every detail.
It was the safe part that mattered most to her.
Alena pushed open the door of the SUV and let the quiet of the compound settle around her. The cabins stood apart fromone another, tucked into the land for privacy, but all of them close enough that help was never far away.
She looked at Cal, the words spilling out before she could hold them back. “Part of me wants to keep looking, to just go after Dexter. Find him, confront him, and end this.”
Cal’s eyes stayed on her, steady, weighing her words.
“He’s enjoying this,” she went on. “Taunting us. That trail cam footage, being so close to my house, the cut-throat motion, the dead meat. He’s trying to goad us into doing something reckless.”
Her chest tightened as she said it aloud. As much as she wanted the showdown, she knew that was exactly what Dexter craved.
“Yeah,” Cal said, his voice low. “I’d like to confront the SOB, too. But we both know how dangerous Dexter is.”
Alena let out a slow breath. “I do.”
She didn’t need the reminder, though the images pressed in anyway. Dexter wasn’t former military like her and Cal, like most of the operatives at Crossfire Ops. But he’d spent years making himself into a weapon all the same. Martial arts, marksmanship, survival training. He’d studied, drilled, and obsessed until he was lethal.
Not exactly a comforting thought when Melissa was in his hands, when he could be doing God knows what to her right now.
The knot in Alena’s stomach pulled tighter. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing for just a second that she could shut it all out. But she couldn’t.
Not while Melissa was still out there.
A mosquito buzzed close, and Alena swatted it away with an annoyed flick of her hand.
Cal glanced at her and smirked. “Guess even the bugs can’t resist you.”
She rolled her eyes but managed a small smile. “Very funny.” The truth was, she appreciated the effort. Anything to push back the gloom and doom pressing in.
She grabbed the go-bag she’d taken from her locker at headquarters, slinging it over her shoulder. Together, they headed into his cabin.
Inside, the place carried Cal’s quiet stamp. Clean lines, solid furniture, and everything in its place. The stone fireplace dominated the main room, and above the mantel sat rows of framed photos. David and Cal in uniform during their Air Force days, both of them younger, sharper-edged, grinning like they had the world ahead of them. Other shots showed them with the rest of the team at Crossfire Ops, suited up, serious, a brotherhood carved from blood and grit.
No photos of her though. Alena hadn’t expected any. She didn’t keep pictures of him either, not where she could see them. Too many triggers. Too many memories ready to twist into flashbacks. And the heat that came with them, just as dangerous.
She looked at him now, the light from the lamp throwing his features into sharp relief. The truth hit hard. The flashbacks and the heat were both there tonight.
Their gazes held for a long moment, and then Cal sighed. He stepped closer, took the go-bag from her shoulder, and set it on the floor. Before she could think of what to say, he pulled her into his arms.
“This is playing with fire,” he murmured against her hair. “But I’m raw, pissed, and dealing with some bad shit.”
“So am I,” she whispered. And for all the truth in his words, she didn’t pull away.
The hug helped. It steadied her, gave her something solid to hold on to in the storm. But she felt it, too, the edges of her barriers crumbling. His strength, his warmth, the familiar rhythm of his breathing.
David’s question about the baby drifted back like smoke. She knew it had to be on Cal’s mind, the same way it was on hers. No way around it. But she wasn’t going to speak it aloud. That wound was too deep, too permanent. Best to steer clear of the personal, of the massive elephant that would always be standing between them.
So she just held on.
