Page 38 of Lone Star Wanted
It would indeed be luck. Or a slip of the tongue. Of course, it was possible that Moran was innocent in all of this, but Kincade was treating him as a suspect along with Becker and Marlene.
They drove in silence for another minute, the tension hanging just under the surface like a live wire.
Cassidy’s phone buzzed, the sound cutting through the quiet. From the corner of his eye, Kincade saw her look at the screen.
And she froze.
Her breath caught hard, shoulders tightening like she’d been punched in the gut. “It’s from Travis,” she said, her voice rough, stunned. “He’s at my house,” she said. “He says he needs us there right now.”
Kincade’s pulse revved up. His mind shifted instantly, gears locking into motion. No time for questions, no time for doubts. If Travis was reaching out now after disappearing, after the ambush, it meant something else could be wrong.
Wrong, as in Travis was being used to draw them into something they weren’t meant to survive. Or maybe it wasn’t Travis at all who’d sent that message.
Still, he pressed harder on the gas, his grip tightening on the wheel. The road blurred under the tires, but all he could think about was Travis. Injured. Hunted.
Or worse.
“Hang on,” he muttered, scanning the rearview and side mirrors. “We’re not walking into this blind.”
Whatever was waiting for them at her place, it wasn’t going to be simple. And chances were, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be safe.
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Chapter Ten
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Cassidy’s heart pounded as they turned onto her street. The familiar sight of her house didn’t bring the usual comfort. Not today. Not after everything.
There were no vehicles in the driveway. No signs of movement.
Kincade slowed the SUV, eyes scanning every shadow. “Watch for a trap,” he said quietly.
She nodded, already reaching for her weapon. The gun felt heavier today, more personal. Maybe because of how close they’d come to not making it out of the drive-in. Maybe because the last time she’d seen her brother, Marlene had been pointing a gun at him.
They stepped out, weapons drawn. She led the way to the front door, every step calculated and slow. Her stomach coiled tighter with each footfall.
The porch creaked under their weight.
She eased the door open and didn’t hear the familiar whine of the security system. Someone had disengaged it.
The lights were off. The blinds and curtains were drawn tight, just the way she’d left them. The living room and entry were shrouded in near-total darkness, save for the faintest sliver of gray light bleeding in around the edges of the curtains.
Her breath caught.
She braced for movement. For a shadow lunging from behind a door or a shot cracking through the dark. Instead, a figure stepped out from the hallway. Steady. Familiar.
Travis.
Cassidy froze. For a second, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Travis stood in the narrow hallway, backlit by faint slivers of light cutting through the drawn blinds. He looked tired. Pale. His face was thinner than she remembered, and there was a jagged cut on his cheek, another on his forearm. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt she recognized. Clothes he kept in the old dresser drawer in the guest room. Clothes he hadn’t touched in months.
But he was alive.
The wave of relief that slammed into her nearly buckled her knees.
“Travis,” she breathed, and then she was moving.
