Page 8 of Lone Star Showdown

With that, he headed toward what she assumed was his bedroom suite. He didn’t shut the door so moments later, she heard the shower turn on. She also saw some info begin to flow across the screen. Bios and backgrounds on every name he’d entered. Not just scratch the surface info either. There were lots and lots of details.

She read through the data dump on Dr. Cooper while the others were loading. Including her own. There it was. All there on the screen. Not exactly a picture-perfect childhood, what with basically being orphaned and left with an eccentric great-aunt in a survivalist compound. Her breakup with Chase was listed, too. First, as an announcement of her engagement on Chase’s Facebook page. Then, her own “announcement” of sorts when she’d changed her relationship status from engaged to single.

“What kinds of databases are these?” Rachel muttered. But the answer was obvious.

They were thorough ones.

She’d heard things about Maverick Ops. About their high success rate for their clients. About the lengths the owner, Ruby Maverick, and her operatives would go to solve a case. But Rachel was now seeing one of the tools they must use to accomplish that success rate.

Jason’s info began to scroll, and the trial documentation pertaining to him was all there, complete with pictures of the bruises. Medical documents, spelling out the broken bones and a concussion. His brief stay with Hildie was also there, as was the current address of the foster home where he’d been moved after Paulie had basically kicked him out.

Manson’s photo popped onto the screen, and the data began flowing on her. Rachel was reading it when her phone dinged, causing her heart to go to her knees. Because at this hour, a text was likely bad news.

Oh, mercy.

Had the killer found the kids?

She nearly dropped her phone, bobbling it in her hurry to see the message. But the ID wasn’t for the shelter. It was unknown caller on the screen.

Spam.

Except she knew in her gut that it wasn’t.

Trying to steel herself up, she clicked on the message and saw the words. The horrible, godawful words.

Rachel turned and bolted toward the door.

Chapter Four

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Jericho had been in the shower less than a minute when he heard the blasted beep of his security system.

Fuck. What now?

Since he’d been checking the reports as they scrolled in, the screen over the vanity was already on. “Spike, shift to cameras,” he instructed.

And Jericho quickly saw the answer to his what now? Rachel had opened the front door and was hurrying down the porch steps. No doubt heading to her car.

But why?

Jericho very much intended to get that answer so he scrambled from the shower, grabbing his Glock and pulling on his boxers. There was a possibility, though it was a super slim one, that Rachel had run because the killer had somehow gotten inside. Jericho didn’t have much modesty, but he preferred not to kick killer butt while baring his own ass.

He didn’t call out to her. Jericho ran, threading out of his bedroom and through the living room. All the while, keeping watch for a potential threat. When he didn’t see one, he hurried outside just as Rachel started her car. She might have driven off, too, had he not stopped right in front of it.

“Spike, all perimeter lights on,” Jericho called out. And the system immediately responded by lighting up the grounds as if it were noon. “Execute an infrared scan for threats.”

While Spike did that, he looked at Rachel. First, to make sure she was alone in the car. She was. Then to see if she was injured. She didn’t appear to be. But her eyes were wide, frantic, and it was obvious she was in the fight or flight mode. Jericho didn’t know which though she was choosing.

“What the hell is going on?” Jericho asked, still looking for that threat. Still not seeing one.

“I have to go,” she blurted. “Move.”

Zero chance of that happening, but he couldn’t go to the car door and open it since that would give her the room to just drive away.

“What happened?” he repeated just as Spike’s voice poured through the tiny speaker on the porch.

“No threats detected,” Spike announced, his voice a decent imitation of the character.

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