Chapter Four
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Cassidy’s heart was still thudding when she heard the sound of boots coming her way. A voice followed.
“Deputy Prescott?” a man called out.
She turned, already stepping away from the cedar brush. Kincade slipped the burner phone into his back pocket without a word. His eyes met hers for a beat, sharp and steady, asking if she was ready for whatever came next.
She wasn’t.
Not really.
But she nodded anyway. Right now, she only wanted to find her brother alive and get him medical help if he needed it. She didn’t want to deal with county cops or possible death threats hanging over her head.
They started back toward the quarry and didn’t have to walk far before she spotted the person who’d called out to her.
County Sheriff Duke Becker. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a silver buzz cut and a face weathered by decades in the West Texas sun, his hand rested near his holstered weapon, but he didn’t draw.
Beside him stood Deputy Marlene Lang. Younger, in her mid-thirties. She had dark auburn hair pulled into a no-nonsense braid, mirrored sunglasses, and a body language that mirrored Becker’s. Ready but not aggressive.
Cassidy knew them both. Had worked with them more than once. Trusted them. Or rather she used to. Now, with Travis’s warning echoing in her head, she wasn’t sure of anything.
Not who to trust.
Not what they already knew.
Not what they were capable of.
She forced a steady breath and took a step forward, lifting her chin. “Sheriff. Deputy.”
Becker gave her a short nod, boots grinding into the gravel as he stepped closer. “Afternoon, Deputy Prescott,” he said. “Gotta say I’m not surprised to see you out here. But you know you’re not exactly welcome.” He shook his head, sighed. “This hunt is way too personal to have you involved.”
“Understood,” she said, but it was lip service. It was too personal for her not to be involved.
Becker turned to Kincade, eyes narrowing slightly. “And who might you be?”
“Kincade Maddox,” he answered.
Becker extended a hand. “Sheriff Duke Becker. County. This is my deputy, Marlene Lang.”
Lang gave a small nod. Her mirrored sunglasses made it hard to read her expression, but Cassidy caught the subtle shift in her stance. Alert, attentive.
Becker studied Kincade more closely, then gave a faint, knowing smile. “You’re one of Ruby’s boys, aren’t you?”
Kincade returned the handshake, and he kept his cautious gaze on the sheriff. “You know Ruby?”
“Hell, everybody around here knows Ruby,” Becker said. “Hard woman to forget.”
Marlene glanced at the ground, where the drops of blood trailed through the dirt and cedar needles. “You two see Travis out here?”
“No,” Cassidy answered. “Not yet.”
The county deputy’s attention then flicked to Kincade. “That your blood?”
“Maybe,” he said, brushing a hand near his temple. “I’m not sure.”
She waited for more, but he didn’t offer it.
Cassidy could feel the question sitting between them, heavy and silent. Because to explain that injury, Kincade would have to admit the truth. That he didn’t remember how it happened.
Or whether Travis had been with him when Harlan was murdered.
And in this moment, that truth was more dangerous than any lie.
Cassidy stepped forward, careful to keep her voice neutral. “We’ll let you get on with your search, Sheriff.”
Becker gave a nod, and both Marlene’s and his gazes lingered on Kincade for a second too long. “If you’ve got any influence over Deputy Prescott here, then convince her to steer clear of anything to do with her brother. Best to keep her and yourself out of this search for Travis.”
Kincade made a noncommittal sound that caused Marlene and Becker to scowl.
Cassidy didn’t care about their obvious disapproval, and she wasn’t especially worried about their search.
If Travis was still nearby, she knew damn well he wouldn’t be showing himself.
Not with marked cruisers crawling over the quarry and county cops sweeping the area.
He’d be watching. Waiting. And he wouldn’t make a move unless he was sure it was safe.
With a muttered goodbye, she turned and started walking back toward her truck. Staying silent, Kincade fell in beside her. The tension between them had shifted. Not anger. Not blame. Something heavier. Shared.
At the edge of the clearing, a third cruiser had pulled in, its doors open. The K-9s were out—one black, one tan—both alert and tugging at their handlers.
Deputy Wes Morales stood near the tailgate of his unit, leash in hand. He spotted her and gave her a tight, apologetic look. No words, just a nod of quiet regret.
Cassidy nodded back, but her chest twisted anyway. She liked Wes Morales. But like Sheriff Becker and Deputy Marlene Lang, he fell into that category of people she couldn’t trust.
She climbed into the truck, her muscles still tense from being surrounded by law enforcement she couldn’t fully trust. She didn’t relax until the engine rumbled to life and the quarry disappeared behind them in the rearview mirror.
Kincade slid into the passenger seat and she did a U-turn to get them out of there. She could feel him studying her as she pulled out onto the gravel road. But he didn’t get a chance to say anything because her phone buzzed in the center console.
She tapped the screen and scanned the message. “It’s from Jericho,” she said. “He wants to meet. Gave an address.”
“Where?” he asked.
“Hollyfield Road on the edge of Mesita Springs.”
Kincade nodded. “Good, that’s not far from here. Let’s go.”
She turned onto the main road, and they sped away from the quarry, the tires humming over the asphalt. The wide Texas sky stretched above them, flat and endless, but Cassidy couldn’t shake the tight coil of unease winding in her gut.
“I think we keep our search for Travis quiet,” Kincade said after a long silence. “No more sharing intel with your boss. Or any other badge.”
She shot him a look. “After the message Travis left on that phone, you think I’m going to argue with that?”
“No,” he said, and for the first time since this ordeal began, the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “But I had to hear you say it.”
“Then you heard me. No playing by the book on this. Finding Travis is the priority, no matter how many rules I have to break.”
He nodded, serious again. “I’ll have the phone sent to our lab. Maverick Ops can break it down. If there’s GPS history, deleted texts, fingerprints, we’ll find it.”
She gave a short nod, but her fingers tightened on the wheel. “That blood we saw back there…”
His voice turned quieter. “It’s possible the same person who clocked me and torched the safe house went after Travis, too.”
Cassidy swallowed hard, keeping her eyes on the road. “Then he could be hurt.”
“Maybe. But he’s obviously alive. He left the phone. Left that message.”
She wanted to hold on to that, but her mind spiraled. God, he could be in pain. Unconscious. Dead.
Kincade turned toward her. “Look, I need to say this out loud, even if I don’t want it to be true.”
She glanced at him.
He continued, “Travis might not even be in the area. It’s possible the phone, the message, and the sighting were planted. A misdirection by someone who wants to lure you out so you can be killed.”
Hell, he was right. With everything going on, she hadn’t even considered that. “If that’s true, then we’re chasing a ghost.”
“We’re chasing someone’s game. Maybe,” he added. “And if it is a game, we need to be smarter than whoever’s playing it.”
Again, he was right. Ironic, since Kincade was the one with the head injury. She should be the one thinking straight, but she clearly wasn’t.
Cassidy groaned and looked at him. “Sorry. I need to focus.”
“Your focus is fine,” he said and then he shrugged when she frowned. “Well fine-ish, considering.”
He reached over and gave her arm a gentle squeeze that was likely meant to be comforting. And it was, sort of. But it was also a touch from Kincade, and it gave her a heck of a lot more than mere comfort.
It gave her one of those flashbacks of him. A reminder of that night they’d landed in bed.
She tried to focus on the road, not on the way her body responded to his being so close. Or how even battered and bloodied, he still looked as if he’d step in front of a bullet for her without blinking.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice thankfully yanking her out of her thoughts.
She shook her head. “Ask me again after we find my brother.”
From her peripheral vision, she could see that his gaze stayed on her, studying him. Maybe also remembering that night they had together as well.
“I will ask again,” Kincade assured her. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
There it was again. That assurance. That comfort.
That pull.
Shaking her head to try to clear it, Cassidy kept her eyes straight ahead, but her pulse was still ticking high as the empty road opened in front of them.
They reached the outskirts of Mesita Springs just before six, the sun beginning to dip low behind the hills, casting shadows over the cracked sidewalks and fading storefronts. The little town looked worn down but resilient, holding onto its last breath of daylight and dignity.
Most of the businesses were already closed. A few neon signs flickered behind dusty windows. An auto parts store, a nearly empty diner, and a corner bar with a hand-painted OPEN sign swinging in the wind.
Cassidy turned off the main road and followed the address that Jericho had given them. It led them down a side street lined with peeling paint and sagging porches, until they reached a narrow lot beside a rundown brick building with faded lettering across the front.
Mesita Springs Children’s Outreach Clinic.
The sign was weathered and sun-bleached. Cassidy doubted they had funding to keep the lights on past five, much less a working exam room inside.
Out front, parked near the curb, was a white panel van. Unmarked. Clean but nondescript.