Chapter Three
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The moment that Cassidy said, “the quarry,” something sharp lit in Kincade’s chest.
Hope. Real, gritty hope.
Travis might still be alive.
Kincade hurried after Cassidy, and the remaining haze in his head cleared in a rush of adrenaline. Every muscle in his body protested, but he didn’t care. They had a possible location and a sliver of time.
While she was still on the move, Cassidy took out her keys, and she glanced back at him. “You want to stay? Let a doctor take a look?”
“No way,” he insisted, voice flat with certainty.
She gave him a look but didn’t argue.
They pushed through the lobby, boots echoing on the tile. A nurse called out from behind the desk, asking them to wait, reminding them about forms or discharge or something that didn’t matter.
Kincade didn’t slow down, and neither did Cassidy.
Outside, the heat slammed into him, thick and dry, the air buzzing with late-summer insects. They climbed into her patrol truck, and within seconds they were heading out, tires throwing up a trail of dust behind them.
The road out of Blanco Pass stretched long and empty, winding through cracked earth, rusted fencing, and stands of cedar and mesquite. The land rolled low and wide around them, sun-bleached and silent.
The quarry sat about ten miles east of town. Remote, surrounded by scrub and narrow access trails. A good place to hide. Or to walk into a trap.
Cassidy said nothing, her grip tight on the wheel, jaw set. Kincade watched the road ahead, his mind running through every scenario. If Travis was there, they needed to reach him first.
Because if someone else did, there might not be anything left to save.
She hit a button on her steering wheel. “Text Ruby Maverick,” she said. A short pause, then the tone sounded, waiting. “Travis sighting near the quarry east of Blanco Pass. Responding now with Kincade.”
The truck’s system read it back, then sent the message.
Less than a minute later, her phone chimed with a response. Cassidy tapped the screen to check it. “She’s diverting Jericho to the quarry.”
Kincade nodded, just a little of the tension uncoiling in his shoulders. Jericho would no doubt be needed if this situation went sideways.
“You think the county deputies beat us there?” Kincade asked, wishing they could teleport and get to Travis now.
“Probably not yet,” she said, eyes still on the road. “The sheriff’s office is just as far out as we are, maybe farther depending on who’s responding.”
He glanced at the dash, then back at the horizon. “Give me a backup piece.”
Cassidy didn’t hesitate. She reached over, popped the glove compartment, and pulled out a compact Glock wrapped in a cloth. “Mag’s full.”
Kincade took it, checked the chamber, then slipped it into the waistband of his jeans. “Thanks.”
She didn’t answer. Just pressed the accelerator even harder.
The landscape was changing now, the brush getting thicker, the road narrowing as it climbed toward higher ground. The quarry wasn’t far.
Neither was whatever was waiting for them.
The trees thickened as the road dipped, the terrain turning rougher. Kincade kept one hand near the grip of the Glock tucked at his waist, his pulse steady but climbing. They were getting close. He could feel it.
Cassidy’s phone rang, the screen lighting up with an incoming call. She muttered under her breath. “Damn it.”
Kincade glanced over. “Problem?”
“It’s the sheriff.” Her lips tightened. “Of course it is.” Groaning, she tapped the speaker icon. “Sheriff Moran,” she greeted, the worry and impatience coating her voice.
“Cassidy,” Sheriff Hank Moran said. “Tell me you’re not headed toward the quarry.”
She paused just long enough to be defiant. “I’m on vacation, remember? Just out for a drive.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, Moran cursed. “If you’re heading out there, turn around. Right now. That’s county jurisdiction and I don’t want Blanco Pass tangled in this.”
Cassidy’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Sheriff, please don’t make me choose between my badge and my brother.”
Another pause. This one longer and heavier.
Then another curse from Moran. “Hell, Cass. Fine. But be careful. And stay out of the county’s way. You’re not officially on this, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” she muttered.
Kincade didn’t believe it for a second. There was no way Cassidy was going to stand back and let county take the lead.
Not when it was her brother on the line.
And truth be told, neither was he. Travis wasn’t just his partner.
He was the closest thing Kincade had to family.
And whoever set him up had tried to erase Kincade, too.
He shifted in his seat, trying to get a clearer look at the terrain ahead, but something hit him all at once.
A jolt. Not physical. Internal.
His breath caught as a rush of images slammed into his skull—disjointed, too fast to hold onto.
Travis in uniform, green and wide-eyed, fresh out of the police academy.
Then older, harder, in military fatigues, crouched beside Kincade in desert sand.
Then at Maverick Ops, shaking hands with Ruby, smirking across a shooting range.
And finally, Travis again, arriving at the safe house.
Dust on his boots. Tension in his shoulders.
But he hadn’t been alone.
There’d been someone in the passenger seat of his SUV.
Kincade groaned and pressed his temple, the sudden spike of pain blinding for a second.
Cassidy glanced over. “What? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”
“No,” he said quickly, forcing the word out through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced, but he pushed ahead anyway. “I remembered something.”
Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and searching. “What?”
“Travis. I saw him arriving at the safe house. It was a flash, but… he wasn’t alone.”
Cassidy straightened. “Who was with him?”
“I don’t know.” Kincade squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to force clarity out of the tangle. “I couldn’t see their face. Just a shape. Someone in the passenger seat.”
Cassidy gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white. “Male? Female? Anything?”
“No clue,” Kincade admitted. “But someone came with him.”
That changed everything.
Because if someone else was there, they either knew what had happened, or they were the reason everything had gone to hell.
Cassidy took the final turn, the patrol truck bouncing as they left the county road behind.
Gravel crunched beneath the tires, dust curling up in the side mirrors.
Ahead, the land dipped into a wide basin of pale limestone, sun-bleached and cracked.
The old quarry spread out in front of them, carved into steep shelves and jagged ledges, surrounded by thickets of cedar and mesquite.
Kincade scanned the area fast. No vehicles. No flashing lights. No deputies.
They were alone. For now.
Cassidy parked at the edge of the gravel, killed the engine, and stepped out without a word. Kincade followed, boots hitting the packed dirt hard. The air smelled dry and metallic, like sunbaked rock and distant rain that never came.
Then, he saw them.
“Footprints,” he said, pointing to a faint set of boot tracks veering off from the quarry road. “And blood.”
Cassidy moved in beside him, crouched low. “Still fresh.”
The drops were small but steady, like someone had been limping. Kincade’s gut twisted.
“Travis could be hurt.” Cassidy stood slowly, her voice tight. “Travis,” she called, sharp and loud, echoing off the rock walls. “It’s me. It’s Cassidy.”
Silence answered. No voice. No movement. Just the quiet of open land and something waiting.
She didn’t call out again. They exchanged a look, then started moving, following the trail along the edge of the quarry wall. The prints veered toward the brush, cutting through cedar and tangled roots.
Behind them, the faint sound of tires on gravel reached Kincade’s ears. He turned just enough to catch a glimpse of two county sheriff’s SUVs kicking up dust at the top of the rise.
Cassidy saw them too. She grabbed Kincade’s arm and pulled him into the brush.
They dropped low, using the trees for cover. “Come on,” she whispered. “We keep going.”
Kincade nodded. The blood trail was still ahead of them. Fainter now, but it was there. Every drop a warning. Every step a clock ticking louder in his head.
Whoever had been with Travis hadn’t called for help.
And now, the trail was all they had.
The blood trail curved through a cluster of brush and down a shallow slope into a rocky cut along the edge of the quarry.
Kincade moved ahead of Cassidy, scanning the ground, boots crunching over gravel.
A low wind stirred the cedar branches, the only sound aside from the distant echo of birdsong and the faint hum of engines—county was close, but not on them yet.
“Hold up,” he said, crouching near the base of a cedar.
Something dark was wedged beneath a pile of stones, hidden but not buried. Kincade reached for it and pulled out a phone. No case. No lock screen wallpaper. Just a burner. Disposable, cheap and deliberate.
Cassidy leaned over his shoulder. “That his?”
“Yeah,” Kincade said. “Travis carried one like this for off-grid comms. Only used it when he didn’t want traffic traced.”
The phone powered on, screen flickering to life. No wallpaper. No contacts. Just a prompt for a PIN. Kincade paused, then typed in Cassidy’s birthday. The screen unlocked.
His gut tightened. “He used your birthday.”
Cassidy didn’t speak, just stepped closer as he opened the only saved draft message.
It wasn’t long. Just a few lines. But every word hit like a blow to the chest.
If you find this, Kincade, don’t come looking for me. Protect Cassidy. They’ll come after her next to shut her up. Don’t trust Moran. Don’t trust the others. The person who killed Harlan is a cop.
Cassidy stared at the screen, her face still, her eyes fixed on the words like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
Kincade saw it. The shift in her posture, the way her jaw locked, her breath slowed. The truth had landed, heavy and unforgiving.
Travis hadn’t disappeared to save himself. He’d vanished to stay alive. To protect her. And now Kincade understood the full weight of what that message meant.
The person who killed Harlan wasn’t just close to the investigation.
They wore a badge.
Which meant Travis wasn’t the only one in the crosshairs. Cassidy was too.
Because whatever she did or didn’t know, someone out there was ready to kill to keep it buried.
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