Page 44 of Lone Star Wanted
Kincade set the thermal scanner aside and tapped back to the satellite images Jericho had sent. The aerial view of the trailer came into focus—grainy but detailed enough. He studied the angles and the layout. One main door at the front, another narrower entry at the back. That one led directly into the kitchen, if the blueprints Jericho pulled were still accurate.
“There,” Kincade said, pointing. “The back door. It’s tucked in under a sagging awning, mostly in shadow. No direct line of sight from the front. That’s our best point of entry.”
Cassidy leaned in, nodding slowly. “Less exposed. Cleaner approach.”
He turned to her. “I’m going to have to take the guard out which means we won’t be getting any answers from him.”
Her eyes met his, steady. “You’re sure?”
“No way around it.” He tapped the image of the trailer again, his voice low and hard. “We open that door, we become targets. And if the guy gets a shot off, he might not aim for us. He could shoot the hostage.”
Cassidy’s jaw tensed, but she gave a small nod.
Kincade looked away for a moment, gathering the edge that always came before a kill. He wasn’t one to take lives lightly, but he knew when it was necessary.
And this time? Hesitation could cost them everything.
His phone buzzed, and Kincade saw the message from Jericho pop up on the screen.
In position. Opposite side of the trailer. Parked out of sight. Moving in now. Will scan for explosives once I’m closer.
Cassidy leaned in to read it, then let out a low groan. “Explosives,” she grumbled.
“I was already thinking about it,” Kincade said, slipping the phone into his pocket. “If Ginny’s alive in there, she’s leverage. Someone’s going to protect that asset.”
Cassidy rubbed a hand over her face. “Or she’s a decoy. A trap.”
“Exactly,” Kincade said. “Either way, the people pulling the strings wouldn’t leave her unguarded, and they might have set a boobytrap.”
He glanced toward the trailer again, squinting through the rays of the sun. The trailer’s outline was still and silent, but he knew better than to trust the quiet.
Every step forward had to count.
Because the next few minutes might decide if Ginny Lang lived, or became collateral damage.
A few tense minutes passed, every second stretching longer than the last. Then his phone buzzed again with another message from Jericho.
No signs of wires, charges, or traps. Exterior’s clean. You’re good to breach. Code Black: clear to engage.
Kincade’s jaw flexed at the message. “Code Black,” he repeated. “That’s Jericho’s shorthand for clean access, high-risk potential.”
He showed the screen to Cassidy, who nodded without a word. Jericho wouldn’t interfere unless they needed him. That was their rhythm. Their trust.
Kincade reached behind the driver’s seat and pulled out two Kevlar vests, tossing one to her. “Suit up.”
They slid them on quickly, both already checking their weapons. He double-checked the suppressor on his pistol, then tucked a backup into his waistband. Cassidy chambered a round with practiced ease, eyes locked on the trailer.
“Ready?” he asked quietly.
She nodded once. “Let’s go get her.”
They stepped out of the SUV and into the brush, the crunch of dry grass muffled by the rustling wind. Kincade kept low, using the scraggly line of cedar trees as cover. Cassidy moved right behind him, silent, steady.
The trailer loomed ahead, faded and sagging but still intact. The sun had dropped lower now, shadows stretching longer across the dirt.
Adrenaline fired through him with each step.
They reached the trailer in less than a minute, crouched low beneath the line of rusted-out windows. Kincade glanced around the back corner but saw no sign of Jericho.
