Page 91 of Deadly Force
“Gettin’ a warrant now. Should be soon.”
That doesn’t leave much time. “Worth checking him out?”
“I’d reckon. But looks like you’re drawin’ a little attention yourself.”
Translation: stay put. Let the system run its course. Easy for him to say.
“Copy that,” I say. “Appreciate it.”
“Watch your six.”
He clicks off. I set the phone down and lean back, trying to pretend my appetite hasn’t just taken a nosedive.
Brooke’s staring holes through me.
“What did he say?”
I hesitate half a second too long.
“Caleb.”
“Name came up,” I admit. “Jordan Hayes. EMT. Drives a white van. He sound familiar?”
Her spoon drops, clattering into her bowl. Tomato soup splashes across the table. She doesn’t blink.
“No,” Her voice is hoarse. “We need to check him out.”
At the unspoken question on her lips, I preempt her. “Reese is gone,” I say. “I’m not leaving you unprotected again.”
She straightens. I can see the shift—shoulders squaring, fists curling. Eyes locked on mine.
That look that says she’s going to fight me if she has to.
Brooke
Outside, the desert night presses against the windows, quiet and unmoving, while inside, my heart has started hammering against my rib cageloud and reckless, like it knows I’m about to say something I can’t take back.
"I can stay at the newsroom and wait for you. The doors lock, there's night security, and no one can come in without a pass."
Caleb's silent for a long moment, processing. I can practically hear the gears turning in his tactical mind, weighing risks and variables.
"Brooke—"
"Think about it," I press on. "It's safer than here. More secure. And if something happens to Jordan before the police get to him..." I let the implication hang in the air. We both know what that means—evidence destroyed, questions unanswered, Eliza's death meaningless.
He's wavering. I can see it in the way he's looking at me, that internal battle between keeping me locked away and knowing I'm right about the newsroom's security.
His fingers drum against his thigh. "You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
But I do.
"I'm asking you to let me wait somewhere that makes sense.”
Every cell in my body wants to move, to do something,anything, but I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not making another call on instinct. Not this time. Not without Caleb’s say-so.
Caleb's jaw tightens once. Then again. His eyesstay locked on mine, unreadable at first, but I can see it, just beneath the surface. The war he's fighting. Not tactical—personal. He's not just weighing risk. He's weighingme. What I've done. What I've learned. Whether I'll listen this time when it counts.
His fingers curl into a fist, then soften. The line between his brows deepens. And for a second, something flickers in his expression. Fear, maybe. Or the memory of what it felt like last time he couldn't protect me.
