Page 15 of Lone Star Wanted
She huffed and turned away, arms crossed. Her gaze drifted to the scuffed linoleum as the memory surged. Of the night they’d ended up in bed together. The sharp sting of grief and guilt after a failed op. A hostage lost. Too many questions from the press. Not enough answers from Command.
They had both needed something to hold on to. For one night, they found it in each other. Heat, comfort, something raw and honest. And afterward, she’d thought maybe it could be something more. But then he’d gone silent. Distant. Practically ghosted her.
Now she knew why.
Travis had drawn a line in the sand, and Kincade had respected it. Even if it tore something open between them.
Jericho’s phone beeped, sharp and insistent. He swiped to check it, his expression shifting as he read the incoming notification. “It’s from the techs. Ruby had them compile traffic cam footage.”
Cassidy straightened. “Traffic cams?”
Jericho nodded, already opening the attached feed. “Yeah. Ruby pulled every camera—traffic lights, parking lots, business security—within a fifty-mile radius of the safe house.”
She stepped closer. “There aren’t any traffic cams out there.”
“Not directly at the house,” Jericho said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t trace movement near it. The techs were running license plate searches, looking for both your brother’s vehicle and Kincade’s. And they found something.”
The air in the exam room seemed to go thin.
Cassidy leaned in beside him while Kincade sat forward slightly, ignoring Dr. Pat’s annoyed grumble as she dabbed more antiseptic on the gash at his temple.
Jericho tapped the screen. The video feed opened, timestamped from nearly thirty-six hours earlier.
The grainy view showed a county road, the camera angled from the corner of a feed store parking lot. Dust blew across the pavement as a dark truck came into frame.
“That’s my truck,” Kincade volunteered. She watched as the vehicle passed by and disappeared around a bend. “That’s when I was headed to meet Travis.”
Cassidy’s pulse ticked up. “So the time lines up.”
Jericho paused the footage, frowning at the screen. “We’re still pulling data. Got a few hits on a vehicle that could be your brother’s SUV. Same make and model, but we haven’t confirmed the plate yet.”
Cassidy’s pulse kicked harder. “What about after? Did they catch him leaving the area?”
Jericho shook his head. “Not yet.”
Cassidy crossed her arms tightly, trying to hold back the spiral in her chest. Seeing Kincade’s truck on the screen had made it real. He’d been there. Something had gone wrong after that. And now they were trying to piece together a timeline built on shadows and guesswork.
But Travis’s SUV still wasn’t confirmed.
Either he’d vanished without leaving a trail.
Or someone had made damn sure the trail was gone.
Jericho tapped at the screen again. “Hold up. Here we go.”
A new clip opened, timestamped just under an hour after Kincade’s appearance. The same road, different camera. A dark SUV moved into frame, speeding slightly.
“That’s him,” Cassidy whispered. “That’s Travis’s vehicle.”
Jericho didn’t reply right away, just scrubbed forward through the footage. The SUV moved past a gas station, then through a quiet intersection. Inside the cab, through the windshield, they could make out the faint silhouette of someone in the passenger seat.
Too shadowed to identify.
“Can you enhance?” Kincade asked quietly.
Jericho nodded and jumped to the next clip. “Wait. Got him at a red light. Front angle.”
The screen shifted to a frozen frame. The SUV had rolled to a stop under a traffic light, the windshield caught in just enough glare to make the figures blurry. But not invisible.
