Page 9 of Lone Star Wanted
“No,” he said quickly, forcing the word out through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced, but he pushed ahead anyway. “I remembered something.”
Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and searching. “What?”
“Travis. I saw him arriving at the safe house. It was a flash, but… he wasn’t alone.”
Cassidy straightened. “Who was with him?”
“I don’t know.” Kincade squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to force clarity out of the tangle. “I couldn’t see their face. Just a shape. Someone in the passenger seat.”
Cassidy gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white. “Male? Female? Anything?”
“No clue,” Kincade admitted. “But someone came with him.”
That changed everything.
Because if someone else was there, they either knew what had happened, or they were the reason everything had gone to hell.
Cassidy took the final turn, the patrol truck bouncing as they left the county road behind. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, dust curling up in the side mirrors. Ahead, the land dipped into a wide basin of pale limestone, sun-bleached and cracked. The old quarry spread out in front of them, carved into steep shelves and jagged ledges, surrounded by thickets of cedar and mesquite.
Kincade scanned the area fast. No vehicles. No flashing lights. No deputies.
They were alone. For now.
Cassidy parked at the edge of the gravel, killed the engine, and stepped out without a word. Kincade followed, boots hitting the packed dirt hard. The air smelled dry and metallic, like sunbaked rock and distant rain that never came.
Then, he saw them.
“Footprints,” he said, pointing to a faint set of boot tracks veering off from the quarry road. “And blood.”
Cassidy moved in beside him, crouched low. “Still fresh.”
The drops were small but steady, like someone had been limping. Kincade’s gut twisted.
“Travis could be hurt.” Cassidy stood slowly, her voice tight. “Travis,” she called, sharp and loud, echoing off the rock walls. “It’s me. It’s Cassidy.”
Silence answered. No voice. No movement. Just the quiet of open land and something waiting.
She didn’t call out again. They exchanged a look, then started moving, following the trail along the edge of the quarry wall. The prints veered toward the brush, cutting through cedar and tangled roots.
Behind them, the faint sound of tires on gravel reached Kincade’s ears. He turned just enough to catch a glimpse of two county sheriff’s SUVs kicking up dust at the top of the rise.
Cassidy saw them too. She grabbed Kincade’s arm and pulled him into the brush.
They dropped low, using the trees for cover. “Come on,” she whispered. “We keep going.”
Kincade nodded. The blood trail was still ahead of them. Fainter now, but it was there. Every drop a warning. Every step a clock ticking louder in his head.
Whoever had been with Travis hadn’t called for help.
And now, the trail was all they had.
The blood trail curved through a cluster of brush and down a shallow slope into a rocky cut along the edge of the quarry. Kincade moved ahead of Cassidy, scanning the ground, boots crunching over gravel. A low wind stirred the cedar branches, the only sound aside from the distant echo of birdsong and the faint hum of engines—county was close, but not on them yet.
“Hold up,” he said, crouching near the base of a cedar.
Something dark was wedged beneath a pile of stones, hidden but not buried. Kincade reached for it and pulled outa phone. No case. No lock screen wallpaper. Just a burner. Disposable, cheap and deliberate.
