Page 63 of Lone Star Wanted
He didn’t have much time. And neither did Marlene.
Marlene raised her gun with trembling hands and fired. The shot cracked through the cemetery, wild and high, smashing into the headstone just inches above Cassidy’s head.
“Cassidy!” Kincade’s heart seized in his chest.
“I’m good,” she shouted back.
But she wasn’t the one bleeding.
Travis let out a pained grunt and dropped to his knees, clutching his arm. Blood soaked through the sleeve of his shirt, dark and fast.
Kincade watched as Cassidy did a quick check of her brother’s arm. She said something to Travis, something Kincade didn’t catch, and then Cassidy took off. Making her way toward Marlene.
“Damn it,” Kincade growled.
They were falling apart one by one, pinned down, picked off. Marlene was half-conscious and flailing. Cassidy was exposed. Travis was hit. And that son of a bitch was still out there, still shooting.
“Enough of this shit,” Kincade snarled.
He surged from behind cover, adrenaline flooding his system. He charged toward the trees, eyes locked on the flash of movement behind the brush.
“Jericho, I’ve got him!” he shouted.
The shooter turned, weapon raised, but Kincade fired first. The shot caught the man across the temple. Not a kill shot, but enough to send him reeling.
The man staggered back, stumbled, then reached up and ripped off his ski mask.
And Kincade stopped cold when he saw the shooter’s face.
It was Sheriff Becker.
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Chapter Eighteen
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Cassidy stared at the man who had just ripped off the ski mask. Sheriff Becker.
Her gut twisted. She had suspected him, of course. Had listed his name alongside Vance and Moran in every late-night theory she and Kincade had worked through. But part of her had clung to the hope that they were wrong. That no cop, especially one sworn to protect their county, would try to kill them. Try to kill her brother.
That hope shattered in front of her, replaced with the hollow thud of betrayal.
She tore her gaze away from Becker and looked at Travis. He was pressing his hand to his arm, blood seeping between his fingers, but he was upright. Coherent. The wound didn’t look life-threatening.
Marlene wasn’t so lucky.
Cassidy could hear her soft moans, could see her slumped shape behind a nearby headstone. Blood darkened the ground beneath her. The shot to her shoulder had been bad enough, but now she was hit again. Marlene wasn’t moving much.
She shifted her attention to Kincade who stood with his gun raised, his body taut with tension. Kincade was behind cover. Barely. He was behind an oak, and he had his icy gaze pinned tothe man, to the county sheriff, who was apparently at the center of this nightmare.
Becker was still on his feet, his own weapon loose in his hand. She didn’t know if he’d try to run or fire again. But she wasn’t about to let Kincade face him alone. Not after everything they’d survived. Not after coming this far.
Cassidy’s pulse thudded hard in her ears as she spotted Jericho moving through the headstones. He was low to the ground, nearly invisible in the shadows, but she caught the flash of his hand as he reached Marlene. In one quick motion, he knocked her gun away and kicked it out of reach.
Before Cassidy could breathe a word of relief, Becker spun toward the movement. The shot cracked through the air.
Jericho dove behind a tall headstone, the bullet chipping off stone just inches from his head.
