Page 37 of Lone Star Wanted
Becker’s jaw worked. “Because he was trying to kill you.” His tone was clipped and defensive. “I was saving your asses. It was obvious that guy wasn’t firing warning shots. He wanted you both dead.”
Cassidy stepped forward. “And it would’ve been nice to ask him why.” Her voice was calm, but the edge in it cut deep.
Becker’s eyes snapped to her, irritation flaring. “He wasn’t in the mood to chat. You saw that rifle. You think he was just going to put it down and confess? He wasn’t just a threat to you. There’s a ranch fifty feet behind that screen. Families. Kids. I did my job.”
Kincade didn’t say what he was thinking. That Becker’s shot had been too convenient. Too well-timed. The shooter had been cornered. Close to being taken alive.
And then, suddenly, he wasn’t. Because he was dead.
Becker straightened, clearly ready to end the conversation. “Jericho McKenna’s in the parking lot. He brought over a vehicle for you.”
That didn’t surprise Kincade. Cassidy’s work truck had taken enough rounds to be totaled.
Becker moved behind his desk. “You’re free to go. But if Travis contacts either of you, even a text, I expect you to report it. Immediately.”
Cassidy didn’t answer. Neither did Kincade. They turned and walked out, the door closing behind them with a quiet click.
Outside, the sun was bright and unrelenting, but it didn’t burn away the tension gripping Kincade’s spine. Jericho leanedagainst a matte black SUV, arms crossed, watching them with that unreadable expression.
Kincade kept walking, already thinking three steps ahead. If Travis contacted them again, Becker would be the last to know.
Jericho straightened as they approached, his sunglasses catching the glare of the sun. “The SUV’s fully equipped,” he said, motioning toward the vehicle behind him and giving Kincade the key. “Surveillance gear, extra weapons, burner phones, first aid kit, the works.”
“Thanks,” Kincade told him and Cassidy muttered the same.
Jericho hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward a motorcycle parked off to the side. “That’s mine. I’ll take it back to HQ.” He tapped his phone. “Nothing on the drone feed so far. But we’ve got a preliminary ID on the dead guy.”
Kincade tilted his head. “Already?”
“Snapped a shot after Becker yanked off the mask. Ran it through Ops facial rec. Took a minute, but we got a hit.” He pulled up the image and handed the phone to Cassidy. “Name’s Dennis Franks. He was a reserve deputy under Sheriff Moran in Blanco Pass.”
Cassidy frowned, studying the face and repeating the name under her breath. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“That’s because it was a while ago,” Jericho explained. “Twenty-five years back. Got into some kind of internal mess. Misconduct, maybe drugs. Fired. Disappeared from the area and moved to San Antonio. Did some private security work. Nothing stable.”
Kincade narrowed his eyes. “You think he stayed in touch with Sheriff Moran?”
Jericho gave a slow shrug. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Yeah, it was. Another question for which they didn’t have an answer.
Jericho slid his phone back into his pocket and stepped away from the SUV. “I’ll keep you updated,” he said. “If anything pops on the drone feed or traffic cams, I’ll ping you first.”
Cassidy gave him a short nod. “Thanks, Jericho.”
“Stay sharp.” He knocked the side of the SUV with two fingers in a casual goodbye before straddling his bike and firing up the engine. The low rumble faded as he pulled out of the lot and sped off down the street.
Kincade climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Cassidy slid in beside him, her expression still tight. They both glanced back at the sheriff’s office.
Marlene stood at the window, half-shadowed behind the blinds, watching them. Kincade didn’t like the look in her eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or calculation.
He turned onto the street, steering them away from the office. “We need to get back to your place,” he said. “If Marlene’s mother was actually taken and if she’s still alive, we need to find her. She could have answers. Like who gave the order to grab Travis, or who’s bankrolling all this. If she’s not dead, she’s still in play.”
Cassidy was quiet for a beat.
“I also want a word with Sheriff Moran. About the shooter, Dennis Franks,” Kincade added.
Cassidy’s mouth tightened. “Good luck getting a straight answer out of him.”
