Page 90 of Deadly Force
He gently cups my chin.“For we can do nothing against the truth, but only for the truth.”
I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry as his fingers brush my cheek. “Do you always use Scripture like it’s a weapon?”
He steps closer, gaze steady and searching. “This is warfare, sweetheart. It’s the most effective weapon I’ve got.”
My breath catches in my chest. Heat rising to my skin as he tangles his fingers in my hair, sending waves of delight running down my spine.
All my senses come alive. The soup bubbling on the stove, the ticking of the clock on the wall, the thumping of my heart, and the masculine scent his skin carries.
Oh boy.
If he kisses me now…
I don’t have to wonder.
He pulls back, the shift subtle but final. His hand slips from my hair, and something cautious flickers in his eyes before he turns toward the stove.
Back to the soup.
Safer. But definitely not where I wish his attention was right now.
Caleb
My gaze locks on the gentle swirl of steam rising from the bowl of tomato soup in front of me. It curls into the air, catching the soft kitchen light, the scent rich and familiar. That’s the task at hand: eat, refuel, survive.
Not the woman sitting across from me, her silence louder than words. Not the pull I can feel even now.
I bow my head. My voice is low, steady. The only sound between us aside from the quiet hum of the fridge and the tick of the old clock on the wall.
“Lord, thank You for this food and for getting us this far. Brooke’s worn thin, and I’m running close myself. We need Your strength. Not just to keep going, but to do it right. Give us courage when things get dark. Clarity when the path twists. And the discipline to stay focused, even when it’d be easier not to. Keep her safe. Keep me sharp. And don’t let either of us forget who we’re really fighting for. Amen.”
“Amen,” Brooke murmurs, her voice softer than it’s been all day.
We eat in silence. The soup’s lukewarm, the toast a little burnt, but it’s warm and edible, two luxuries I’ve learned not to take for granted. The only sound is the clink of her spoon against ceramic and the occasional crunch of toast.
She glances at me once. Then again. I focus on my food like it’s mission-critical intel.
Underneath the table, her knee knocks into mine. My spoon hovers midair. This space isn’t big enough. The entire house isn’t big enough.
My phone buzzes, cutting through the tension like a shot.
Zack.
“You have something?” I answer, pushing toast around on my plate.
“Been speakin’ to someone over at TPD,” Zack drawls, voice low and easy. “Keepin’ it quiet, but they’ve got a suspect. Jordan Hayes.”
All my muscles tense. “Tell me.”
“EMT student. Gun license. Drives a white van. Currently sportin’ a brand new windshield.”
“What’s his connection to Brooke?”
Brooke freezes, eyes widening. I draw my gaze away and wish I’d thought to exit before answering.
“Didn’t get that far,” Zack doesn’t push. He doesn’t have to. The name came up for a reason.
“They moving on it?”
