Page 45 of Lone Star Wanted
Good. He hadn’t expected to.
When Jericho wanted to disappear, he did. That was part of why Kincade trusted him to watch their six.
Kincade motioned to Cassidy with two fingers—watch the perimeter.She nodded and took position, her eyes sweeping the clearing like a hawk ready to strike.
He turned to the back door. It was cheap aluminum, dented, with a flimsy handle and a loose deadbolt. Kincade pulled his lockpick tool from his pocket, slid it in, and worked with quiet precision. The mechanism gave with a soft click.
Unlocked.
In one smooth move, Kincade threw the door open and surged inside, gun raised. A man sat at a small folding table just inside the kitchen. Greasy hair. Sleeveless shirt stained with sweat and food. In his hand was a paper plate, halfway to his mouth—until he saw Kincade.
The plate clattered to the linoleum as the man reached under the table. Kincade didn’t hesitate. One shot, clean through the chest. The guard collapsed backward with a grunt, knocking over the chair.
Kincade swept the room, cleared it with a glance, then turned his head toward the hallway.
“Clear,” he said low, loud enough for Cassidy to hear.
Cassidy rushed in behind him, veering straight toward the far corner of the trailer.
“I’ve got you, Ginny,” she breathed, dropping to her knees beside the woman tied to a battered wooden chair.
Ginny Lang looked smaller than Kincade remembered from her file. Early sixties, gray hair pulled back in a loose, frizzy knot. Her face was bruised, and her mouth was gagged with a filthy strip of cloth. There was a strip of duct tape over her eyes, acting as a blindfold.
Cassidy worked quickly, fingers trembling only slightly as she eased off the duct tape and tugged the gag loose. One of Ginny’s eyes was black and swollen shut. The woman had obviously been knocked around.
Kincade swept out of the kitchenette and toward the guard’s sprawled body. He kicked the pistol out of reach and crouched to check for a pulse. There wasn’t one. Dead. Just like he intended.
But there was no satisfaction in it.
Only urgency.
He checked the guard’s pants pockets for a wallet or phone. Not there. The items were probably somewhere in the trailer, but they’d have to wait. No time for a thorough search now.
Behind him, Ginny gasped in air, ragged and hoarse. She coughed, then broke into a sob that cracked through the tension like a gunshot.
“I’m Deputy Cassidy Prescott, and this is Kincade Maddox. He works for Maverick Ops. You’re okay,” she told Ginny. “You’re safe now.”
Ginny shook her head wildly. “No… you don’t understand.”
Cassidy froze, mid-reach to untie her wrists.
Ginny’s eyes locked on her, panic blazing through the pain. “Marlene—someone’s going after her. They’re on their way right now to kill her.”
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Chapter Twelve
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Cassidy mentally repeated what Ginny Lang had just said. Marlene. In danger. She certainly hadn’t expected the woman to say that.
Kincade turned from the body on the floor, tension hardening his features. He didn’t speak, but his eyes said everything. They needed to move. Now.
Ginny’s voice trembled, rasping through her dry throat. “I heard him.” She tipped her head toward the dead guy. “About a half hour ago. He was on the phone with someone. I couldn’t hear the other person, but when he hung up, he said Marlene was as good as dead. That a team was already on the way to finish it.”
Cassidy’s breath hitched. “You’re sure that’s exactly what he said?”
“I think so,” Ginny murmured, tears spilling down her bruised cheeks. “I tried to escape earlier. He caught me. Maybe he said it just to scare me, to keep me in line. I don’t know. But what if it wasn’t just talk?” She looked at Cassidy with desperate, bloodshot eyes. “Please. Please protect my daughter.”
