Page 22 of Lone Star Wanted
“It matched the SUV driven by Vance Harlan back then,” Marlene went on. “The same one he gave to his campaign manager two years later.”
Kincade felt the chill crawl up his spine. “Vance wasn’t the mayor back then,” he said.
“No, but he worked for the mayor and had access to both the county and Blanco Pass cops. Travis thought Vance was involved. Either he picked Alisha up himself, or he was covering for someone who did. That tip would’ve pointed the finger away from Aaron Clegg. And the info was scrubbed.”
Kincade exchanged a look with Cassidy, the same thought flashing between them both.
If Travis had proof that Vance Harlan was connected to Alisha’s death—maybe even responsible—then Daniel Harlan’s murder wasn’t about silencing a man.
Kincade frowned. This wasn’t some pissed-off cop or low-level thug. Whoever was behind it had resources, reach, and a reason to silence anyone digging too deep.
Someone like Vance Harlan.
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Chapter Six
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Cassidy drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. The road between Clear Rock and Blanco Pass was quiet at this hour, empty except for the occasional pair of headlights heading the other direction.
Her mind buzzed with everything they’d just learned, but fatigue was pressing in at the edges. They needed to regroup. Process. Sleep, if that was even possible.
After they’d walked out of Marlene’s house, they’d had a quick debate on where to go—her place, his or one of Maverick Ops’ clean sites—but in the end, they’d settled on her house.
It was closer. And familiar.
Jericho had peeled off after they left Marlene’s. Said he needed a few hours to recharge and dig into some digital leads. He promised to be back by morning.
Cassidy turned onto the narrow drive just outside the edge of town. Her porch light glowed faintly ahead, casting a pool of warm yellow across the worn steps and railing.
The house had once belonged to her parents, a modest craftsman with faded siding and too many memories tucked into the walls. She’d inherited it after they passed, and Kincade had been here plenty of times over the years. Barbecues. Debriefs. Nights when Travis dragged him over for poker or a beer.
She parked in front of the detached garage and killed the engine. The silence wrapped around them like a blanket, heavy and full of unspoken questions.
Kincade stepped out of the truck, stiff from the ride. His clothes were still streaked with soot and ash, a visual reminder of just how sideways the last twenty-four hours had gone.
Cassidy grabbed her keys and looked over at him. “You certainly don’t look your best. Are you in pain?”
He gave a tired grunt. “Not much.”
Once again, that was a lie. She was pretty sure he was hurting every damn where, and she hoped it wasn’t a mistake that they’d skipped the trip to a hospital.
They walked up the porch steps together, neither saying much. Not yet. Inside, the house smelled faintly of cedar. She flipped on a lamp in the front room, its warm glow spilling over the couch, the coffee table covered in folders and a half-finished cup of tea she’d forgotten about.
This wasn’t home anymore. Not the way it had been. Not while her brother was missing. Not while killers walked around carrying badges. And not while the mayor might be the one behind it all.
She glanced at Kincade again.
And knew neither of them would sleep until they found Travis.
Cassidy locked the front door behind them and set the alarm. The keypad gave a quiet chirp as she entered the code, the same one it had always been.
“Travis knows it,” she said without looking at Kincade. “In case he decides to sneak in during the night.” She paused, her fingers resting on the edge of the console. “I pray he does.”
The quiet between them stretched, broken only by the hum of the old air conditioner kicking on. Cassidy’s stomach growled loudly, the sound startling in the silence.
She winced. “Apparently, I haven’t eaten since… I don’t even know when. Maybe yesterday?”
