“Because Prescott’s arrest made everyone think the threat was over,” she replied without hesitation. “Perfect time to return for cleanup operations. Eliminate witnesses. Tie up loose ends.”
From her perspective, he was exactly what she suspected.
“If we were Crown Mountain mercenaries,” Dom said slowly, “why would we investigate Becca’s murder? Why draw attention to ourselves?”
That gave her pause. He watched her process the question, looking for flaws in his logic.
“Damage control,” she said finally, but with less certainty. “You needed to know how much Becca discovered, who she might have told.”
Dom stood slowly, moving to his equipment bag. Valeria tensed, ready to bolt despite having nowhere to go. He pulled out his phone, fingers moving across the screen.
“Steel Protection was formed five years ago,” he said, turning the phone so she could see the screen from across the room. “After Crown Mountain-style attacks hit shifter communities in Colorado and Nevada.” She leaned forward slightly as he flipped through photos of devastated communities.
“We came here because we thought they might return,” Dom continued. “Systematic attacks like Crown Mountain don’t just stop. The masterminds behind the operation are still out there.”
He caught the first flicker of doubt in her eyes when he flipped to his official incorporation papers with dates that didn’t match her timeline. Dom could read the conflict in her body language. The evidence didn’t fit her theory.
“Professional mercenaries don’t investigate their own crimes,” he pressed gently. “They don’t set up legitimate businesses with public documentation. And they sure as hell don’t rescue police officers from assassination attempts.” She tensed at his words. The last point hit home.
“The phone call. I have a record of her incoming number on our business line,” Dom said, sitting back down. “That can be traced even if she used a virtual number or a payphone.”
Valeria’s rigid posture began to soften slightly. Not convinced, but no longer certain of his guilt.
“She knew something,” Dom continued. “Something that got her killed. But it wasn’t about us. It was about whoever’s still running Crown Mountain operations.”
The cabin fell quiet again, but the silence felt different now. Less hostile. More thoughtful. Dom watched his mate process the new information, her sharp mind working through the implications and connections.
“The emergency response delays,” she said slowly. “That points to someone with official access.”
Dom nodded. “Someone still in place. Still operational. Using the same methods that made the original attacks so effective.”
“And they knew I was investigating,” Valeria added, pieces clicking together. “That’s how I was ambushed.”
“Which means you found something,” Dom said. “Something that scared them enough to order your elimination.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Valeria saton the edge of the narrow bed, arms wrapped around her knees as she stared at the gray sweatsuit Dom had pulled from the closet. The fabric looked soft and clean, and infinitely better than the stiff, sweaty uniform she’d been wearing since the ambush. But accepting it felt like acknowledging she needed his care.
“It’s just clothes,” Dom said quietly from across the small cabin. “You can make yourself comfortable.”
She snatched the sweatsuit without looking at him, hating how her hands trembled with exhaustion. “I don’t need your permission to change clothes.”
“I know.” His voice carried the same careful patience that made her want to scream.
Valeria clutched the soft cotton to her chest, and her bear stirred weakly beneath her skin.
“I’m taking a shower,” she announced, standing abruptly.
Dom nodded, settling into the chair by the window. “Take your time.”
The small bathroom barely had room to turn around, but the promise of hot water felt like salvation. Valeria locked the door and started the shower.
Steam filled the tiny space as she stripped off her uniform, letting each piece fall to the floor. The practical cotton underwear, the regulation bra, the socks that had been soaked with sweat. Everything that connected her to Officer Reynolds—the professional persona that had failed to protect her.
The hot water hit her shoulders, washing away the scent of smoke and gunpowder that had clung to her skin. For the first time since the ambush, Valeria allowed herself to unwind, letting the heat penetrate muscles that had been locked in tension for hours.
