Page 31 of Lone Star Wanted
Cassidy turned her head, studying him. “How good is he, really?”
The question was casual on the surface, but her eyes told him what she really meant.Is he good enough to survive this?
Kincade didn’t hesitate. “He’s damn good,” he said quietly. “Best partner I’ve ever had. Smart, methodical, and stubborn as hell when it counts.”
She gave a small nod, but her jaw was tight, and her fingers stayed clenched on the wheel.
Kincade reached out and rested a hand over hers. “He’s out there. And he’s not giving up without a fight.”
Neither were they.
Kincade’s gaze swept the drive-in again, scanning every shadow, every patch of overgrowth. Then he saw it.
A figure near the base of the massive, weather-stained screen.
Too far to see his face. Just a dark silhouette standing still in the morning haze. The figure raised one arm and gave a subtle wave, beckoning them forward. Then he turned and ducked behind the support structure at the back of the screen.
“There,” Kincade said, nodding toward the screen. “You see that?”
Cassidy was already leaning forward, squinting. “Yeah. You think that’s him?”
“Maybe.” She reached for the door handle, but Kincade’s hand shot out. “Hold on.”
Her phone buzzed a second later, sharp and urgent in the silence. Cassidy pulled it from her pocket, her brows pinching as she read the screen. “Text. Unknown number.”
Kincade leaned closer. The message was short.Meeting compromised. Do not approach. Too risky.
Cassidy looked at him, her voice tense. “This has to be from Travis.”
Kincade didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the message, his instincts firing hard in his gut.
“Could be him. Or someone who wants us to think it is,” Kincade added.
Cassidy didn’t have time to respond. Because at that exact moment, a bullet slammed into the truck.
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Chapter Eight
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The bullet punched through the windshield like a fist, spraying shattered glass across the cab of the truck. Cassidy moved fast, covering her face as shards peppered her arms and lap.
Kincade shoved her down with one hand while drawing his weapon with the other. She hit the seat, her breath already ragged, her heart starting to slam against her ribs.
More shots cracked through the air, ripping into the hood. The engine coughed once, then sputtered. Smoke curled from beneath the crumpled metal.
Cassidy’s hand reached instinctively for the gear shift, her mind racing. If the engine wasn’t dead yet, she could throw it in reverse, try to back them out. But then she recalled what was behind them. A ditch, deep and narrow, overgrown with weeds and broken concrete.
They’d end up stuck, sitting ducks.
“Shooter’s elevated,” Kincade said, scanning the lot. “Somewhere behind the screen or up on the roof of the booth.”
She couldn’t see anyone, but she’d take his word for it.
Another round slammed into the passenger-side mirror. Glass exploded, and Cassidy ducked again. Her pulse was thundering in her ears, but she still managed to hear the sound of Kincade’s phone dinging with a text.
He grabbed it, his body still low against the dash, and read the message aloud. “It’s from Jericho. He called for Maverick Ops’ backup. He doesn’t have eyes on the shooter yet, but he’s moving in. He’s also adjusting the drone for a better angle.”
