Page 1 of Lone Star Wanted
Chapter One
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The acrid stench of smoke dragged Kincade Maddox back from the edge of unconsciousness. His lungs burned. His throat was raw. Every inch of his body throbbed as if it had been put through multiple rounds in the ring with a heavyweight.
Kincade blinked hard a couple of times, trying to focus, but it was still hard to see more than the haze. There were sounds and more smells, though, and they were coming in much clearer and stronger than his vision. Charred wood crackled close by. Something groaned above him, and the warning flashed in his head.
Roof. Collapse imminent.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his arms to move, his muscles screaming in protest as he rolled onto his side. Ash coated the floor, and heat radiated from what was left of the scorched back and side walls.
What the hell had happened here?
And where exactly washere?
He didn’t know. Not yet. But answers weren’t his immediate priority. He had to get out from under that roof before it fell and crushed him.
Pushing to his knees, he winced as debris crunched beneath his palms. Despite the groans and creaks that the walls and ceiling were making, there were some sounds missing. Nobackup. No sirens. Just the crackle of what remained around him and the roar in his skull.
He scanned what was left of the room. But there wasn’t much to scan. Just an intact area where he’d been lying, and even the windows there had been busted wide open. His gear was gone. No phone. No weapon. No comms.
And no sign of his Maverick Ops partner, Travis Prescott.
That got a reaction from him. Panic knifed through the fog in his head. Travis had been here. Kincade was certain of that. They’d been working a lead together. But the rest was blank.
Blanks sure as hell weren’t good.
But neither was anything about this situation. Well, except for the fact that he was alive.
Kincade staggered toward a jagged shard of mirror still clinging to a scorched dresser. His reflection stopped him cold. Blood streaked his temple. Smoke blackened the side of his face. But it was his eyes—blue, fierce and edged with something he didn’t want to name—that made him pause.
He’d been in burnouts before. Explosions, flash fires, controlled ops gone sideways. But this? He’d never woken up or regained consciousness without knowing where the hell he was.
He made another glance around and realized one thing. He’d been damn lucky. The fire had eaten through nearly half of the house. Thankfully, not the half where he’d woken up. Had he gotten there after the fire and collapsed from maybe smoke inhalation, or had he been left there?
No answers for that either.
He stumbled toward the doorway, such that it was. The frame was charred, and the door itself had collapsed into a heap of blackened wood. Smoke curled from a cracked support beam as he stepped outside.
It wasn’t any cooler here than inside the house. Heat hung in the air, but it wasn’t just from the fire. Mother Nature wascontributing some of it. The scorching sun beat down on dry grass, and the breeze carried the scents of ash and dust. But there was no traffic. No voices. No buildings in sight.
No Travis.
He fought the urge to call out. His memory might be shit, but his instincts were intact. Whoever had torched the place might still be close. Waiting to finish the job. Whatever the job was.
Turning slowly, he took in the surrounding area. He knew this place. It was a safe house. One of several owned by Maverick Ops, the elite private security firm where he’d worked for almost a decade. The property was isolated, tucked into abandoned ranchland. Rusted fencing stretched along the border. Mesquite trees lined the far edge of the field. Low hills rolled beneath a bleached-blue sky.
Not another house. Not a soul.
“Why are we here?” he muttered, then corrected himself. “I.”
His jaw tightened. Travis certainly wasn’t here. And worse, Kincade couldn’t remember why he wasn’t.
He tried to rewind the last few hours, but it was like slamming into a black wall with only bits and pieces trickling over the top. There’d been some kind of a lead. A cold case. Something Travis wouldn’t shut up about. Cassidy’s cousin. That murder investigation Travis wouldn’t let go of.
But everything else was static.
He cursed and instinctively reached for his pocket. He needed his phone so he could call Ruby Maverick, his boss. He had to get help. Had to find Travis.
