Page 56 of Deadly Force
I barely slept. Hard to when the most beautiful woman you’ve ever clapped eyes on is in the same room.
Reese meets us at the fence with a black hard case—quick-pull gear, field-ready. Gloves, trowel, folding knife, shears.
"We need eyes on the ridge," I tell him. "Anyone hits the trail from the north, I want to know before their boots touch dirt."
"Copy that." Reese is already tracking the terrain. "Two access points from up there. Main trail curveseast, but there's a game path that drops straight down. I'll have visibility on both."
We don't have time to be thorough. The cops expect her home. Every extra minute out here is a risk we can't afford, and if someone's watching, we'll end up answering questions we're not ready for.
"Focus on natural catch points," I tell her. "She flung it, didn't aim. Look for snag zones—brush, roots, dips."
Brooke nods, but I can see the pressure wearing on her. This isn't just about finding the truth, it's about staying ahead of the people who think we've found it.
I hit the outer edge of the wash and scan for irregularities. The terrain is deceptive—what looks flat from a distance reveals itself as a maze of small gullies and raised sections, places where water carves temporary channels during monsoon season.
We sweep in silence, the weight of time pressing in. Brooke moves just ahead, scanning under brush, circling the bench again.
She kneels near a mound of packed earth, brushing aside leaves. Nothing.
I check the tree line again. Still clear. Until a voice calls out behind us, making me freeze.
"Morning!"
A park ranger rounds the bend, hands on his belt, eyes alert but casual. Uniform crisp, hat shading his face. He's not here for us, not exactly,but we're not supposed to be here either. Not digging. Not carrying gear. And definitely not poking around with a hard case full of tools and tension.
Brooke straightens, doesn't miss a beat. She steps closer to me, slides her hand into mine like we've done this a hundred times. "Sorry if we're in the way. Just needed a minute to breathe."
She leans against my side, smooth and natural. "My husband's been trying to convince me nature isn't just a giant allergy attack."
Husband?I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. Pretty sure my brain just short-circuited.
The ranger chuckles. "No worries. You're fine where you are. Just try not to go too far off trail. We've had some minor wash erosion this week."
Brooke nods, playing her part perfectly. “We’ll be careful."
The ranger tips his hat and moves on. She waits until he disappears around the bend, then lets go of my hand like it's too warm to hold.
The air between us shifts, charged with something that has nothing to do with the file. For a second, I forget we're on borrowed time.
“Husband?” I say.
A flush creeps up her neck. “It was… it seemed like the best explanation.”
I smile, more to hide how much I liked hearing her say it.
Because if I let myself want that—wanther—I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
Brooke
My pulse trips, then hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
The trail's quiet, scrub brushing gently in the breeze, a bird calling somewhere off in the mesquite. But all I hear is the rush of blood in my ears and the ragged rhythm of my breath
I tilt toward him. The space between us shrinks to nothing, the world narrowing to just this moment, this almost-touch, this?—
But then Caleb blinks and steps back half an inch. "I think we should pray," he says softly, like it costs him something.
Disappointment settles like a stone in my chest. I nod, but my heart folds in on itself, and I have to look away from the gentle apology in his eyes.
