Chapter Six
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Cassidy drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. The road between Clear Rock and Blanco Pass was quiet at this hour, empty except for the occasional pair of headlights heading the other direction.
Her mind buzzed with everything they’d just learned, but fatigue was pressing in at the edges. They needed to regroup. Process. Sleep, if that was even possible.
After they’d walked out of Marlene’s house, they’d had a quick debate on where to go—her place, his or one of Maverick Ops’ clean sites—but in the end, they’d settled on her house.
It was closer. And familiar.
Jericho had peeled off after they left Marlene’s. Said he needed a few hours to recharge and dig into some digital leads. He promised to be back by morning.
Cassidy turned onto the narrow drive just outside the edge of town. Her porch light glowed faintly ahead, casting a pool of warm yellow across the worn steps and railing.
The house had once belonged to her parents, a modest craftsman with faded siding and too many memories tucked into the walls. She’d inherited it after they passed, and Kincade had been here plenty of times over the years. Barbecues. Debriefs. Nights when Travis dragged him over for poker or a beer.
She parked in front of the detached garage and killed the engine. The silence wrapped around them like a blanket, heavy and full of unspoken questions.
Kincade stepped out of the truck, stiff from the ride. His clothes were still streaked with soot and ash, a visual reminder of just how sideways the last twenty-four hours had gone.
Cassidy grabbed her keys and looked over at him. “You certainly don’t look your best. Are you in pain?”
He gave a tired grunt. “Not much.”
Once again, that was a lie. She was pretty sure he was hurting every damn where, and she hoped it wasn’t a mistake that they’d skipped the trip to a hospital.
They walked up the porch steps together, neither saying much. Not yet. Inside, the house smelled faintly of cedar. She flipped on a lamp in the front room, its warm glow spilling over the couch, the coffee table covered in folders and a half-finished cup of tea she’d forgotten about.
This wasn’t home anymore. Not the way it had been. Not while her brother was missing. Not while killers walked around carrying badges. And not while the mayor might be the one behind it all.
She glanced at Kincade again.
And knew neither of them would sleep until they found Travis.
Cassidy locked the front door behind them and set the alarm. The keypad gave a quiet chirp as she entered the code, the same one it had always been.
“Travis knows it,” she said without looking at Kincade. “In case he decides to sneak in during the night.” She paused, her fingers resting on the edge of the console. “I pray he does.”
The quiet between them stretched, broken only by the hum of the old air conditioner kicking on. Cassidy’s stomach growled loudly, the sound startling in the silence.
She winced. “Apparently, I haven’t eaten since… I don’t even know when. Maybe yesterday?”
She turned toward the hallway and gestured toward the back of the house. “Go. Take a shower. There’s a bottle of painkillers in the cabinet above the sink. I’ll figure out something to eat.”
Kincade gave her a nod, then headed for the guest bath. He moved slower than usual, and she could tell the pain was starting to wear on him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Just before he disappeared down the hall, he stopped. His eyes landed on the photos lining the fireplace mantel. Cassidy didn’t have to look to know which one had caught his attention.
It was an old picture—Kincade and Travis standing shoulder to shoulder at a training range, both of them grinning like idiots, sunburned and covered in dust. Travis had a ball cap on backward, and Kincade’s shirt was stained with sweat. They looked young. Untouchable.
Kincade stared at it for a long second, his face unreadable. Cassidy said nothing. She let him have the moment. Because no matter what else happened tonight, they were both chasing ghosts.
And hoping like hell one of them, Travis, would walk through the door.
Cassidy moved into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and pulled open the freezer door. She grabbed the container of homemade chili she kept for nights when she didn’t have the energy to cook. Tonight definitely qualified.
She popped the lid, slid it into the microwave, and turned toward the stove. Grilled cheese wasn’t fancy, but it was fast and comforting. She dropped butter in a skillet and reached for the bread and cheese, her movements automatic while her mind ran in circles.
Her brother was still missing. A deputy she’d worked with for years had held him at gunpoint. And two of the most powerful men in Blanco Pass—Sheriff Moran and Mayor Vance Harlan—were possibly involved in a cover-up that stretched back more than a decade. Back to Alisha’s murder.
She moved to the window above the sink and gave a quick glance outside, then pulled the blinds shut. Both men lived less than a mile away. That fact settled like a rock in her gut.
The microwave beeped. She stirred the chili and flipped the sandwiches in the pan, the scent of melting cheese cutting through the cold ache in her chest.
Behind her, footsteps approached softly across the hardwood.
“I threw my clothes in the washer,” Kincade said, his voice lower than usual. Rougher.
Cassidy turned. And nearly forgot how to breathe.
Kincade stood just inside the kitchen, barefoot, freshly showered, wearing jeans and a snug black T-shirt that molded to his body as if it had been sewn on.
His hair was damp and tousled, skin clean, bruises more visible now without the grime.
He looked like a man who’d just walked out of a fight and straight into a magazine shoot.
“There were some spare clothes in the bag Jericho gave me,” he added, but his eyes didn’t miss the way hers had lingered for half a second too long.
Cassidy cleared her throat and turned back to the stove. “Well, Jericho thinks of everything.”
“You’re not wrong,” Kincade said, stepping closer, voice low.
Cassidy slid the sandwiches onto plates with a little more force than necessary and reached for bowls for the chili.
“Food’s ready,” she said, keeping her tone even.
But inside, everything felt unsteady. Charged.
Because Kincade looked damn good. Because they were alone. Because the last time everything in her life had felt this upside down, she’d ended up in her bed with him.
And part of her wasn’t sure she’d make a different choice now.
Trying to shove that thought down, Cassidy set the plates down on the small table in the breakfast nook, the melted cheese stretching slightly as she cut and separated the sandwiches. She added the bowls of chili, grabbed two spoons, and turned, only to find Kincade still watching her.
That damn T-shirt he was wearing sure wasn’t helping. Neither was the intensity in his eyes. The quiet that settled between them had weight to it. A pull.
She glanced away, but it didn’t stop the heat crawling under her skin.
When she looked back up, he was already crossing the space between them. “Kincade—”
He didn’t say anything.
He just reached for her, his hands sliding gently around her waist, pulling her close with that quiet certainty that had always unraveled her faster than any kiss. She didn’t fight it.
And then his mouth brushed over hers. Just once. A whisper of contact.
Barely a kiss.
But it knocked the rest of her breath right out of her.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough. “I had to get that out of my system. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else.”
Cassidy stared at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “Did it work?”
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “No. It only fired up things even more.”
It did for her, too.
She felt it, blooming low and fast like a catching flame. But she swallowed it down and shook her head.
“I can’t,” she muttered. “Not now. It doesn’t feel right to be feeling any kind of pleasure when Travis is still missing.”
Kincade nodded, and this time the smile faded into something quieter. “Yeah. I get that.”
With a sigh, they both turned and sank into the chairs across from each other, the food between them steaming gently, untouched for a long moment.
Because the hunger had shifted. And not just the kind a hot meal could fix.
Cassidy stood, walked to the fridge, and pulled out a cold beer for him. She grabbed a Coke for herself, then returned to the table and slid the bottle across to Kincade. He caught it with a nod of thanks and twisted off the cap.
They ate in silence for a few bites, the grilled cheese still warm and crisp, the chili thick and satisfying. Her stomach didn’t exactly settle, but at least it stopped growling.
“You take the meds?” she asked, watching him over the rim of her glass.
He nodded, taking a long drink of beer. “Yeah. They’re helping.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Helping enough you won’t regret not going to the hospital tomorrow?”
Kincade gave a faint smile but didn’t answer directly. Which meant no, probably not. She’d keep an eye on him either way.
He took another bite, then glanced up. “If your mom were still alive and someone took her to force you into committing a crime or two… how do you think you’d be? Describe your state of mind.”
Cassidy blinked, surprised by the question, but she went along with it. “Uh… I’d be a mess,” she admitted after a moment. “A basket case, probably.”
Kincade nodded slowly and kept eating, calm. Measured. “You think you’d remember to take out the trash?”
She stared at him, the spoon frozen in her hand. And then it hit her. Hard.
Cassidy set the spoon down. “You think Marlene was lying about her mother being kidnapped?”
Kincade wiped his mouth with a napkin, calm as ever, but his eyes stayed sharp. Focused. “I’m not saying she’s lying,” he said carefully. “Not yet. But the trash thing? It stuck with me. Something about it felt… off.”
Cassidy frowned. “People do things out of habit, even when they’re stressed.”
“Sure,” he agreed, “but add it to the rest of what we’ve seen. At the quarry, Marlene kept those sunglasses on the whole time, even in the shade.”
“So?”
“So I couldn’t see what she was thinking. And that bugged me,” he said, voice low. “She didn’t look like a woman desperate to find her mother. She looked… guarded. Calculated.”
Cassidy considered that, the image of Marlene standing by the patrol truck flashing through her mind. The way she held herself. The way she seemed tense but not frantic.
“She could be in shock,” Cassidy offered. “Some people shut down. And maybe she doesn’t have a great relationship with her mom.”
Kincade nodded. “That’s possible. Could be she’s just damn good at throttling back on her emotions. Could be taking out the trash was rote. Something normal to cling to in the middle of chaos.”
He paused, finishing the last bite of his sandwich, then set the plate aside and looked straight at her. “All of that could be true.” Then he leaned back in his chair. “But until I know for sure… she’s a suspect as far as I’m concerned.”
Cassidy didn’t argue. Because deep down, the same doubts had already started to creep in.
She set her plate in the sink and leaned against the counter, her arms folded tight across her chest. Her thoughts were tangled with everything that Marlene had told them. Especially that part about the external drive. About the missing files—files Travis had somehow recovered.
She glanced at Kincade. “You remember what Marlene said? About that hard drive Travis found? That it had deleted records?”
“Yeah,” Kincade said. “Tip from a minor. Someone who saw Alisha the night she was taken.”
“She said the tip wasn’t filed officially. But Travis found it anyway.” Cassidy pushed off the counter and took out her phone. She pulled up the department’s old missing persons database and started typing.
“Travis told me once that there were a few cases he always wondered about. Disappearances that never sat right with him,” she murmured. “There was one that stuck with me. A kid went missing not long after Alisha was murdered.”
She turned the screen toward him.
“Benji Salazar,” she said. “Fifteen. He lived on the east side, rough neighborhood. Family had a long history with CPS, and when he vanished, everyone just assumed he ran.”
Kincade frowned. “But what if he didn’t?”
“Exactly.” Cassidy nodded, the chill settling into her bones. “What if Benji was the one who left that tip? What if he saw Alisha get into Vance Harlan’s SUV, and someone found out?”
Kincade’s expression darkened. “And that someone made sure he couldn’t say anything else.”
Cassidy stared at the boy’s photo on the screen. Round face. Shaggy dark hair. A crooked, nervous smile.
“They said there was no evidence of foul play,” she continued. “But maybe they weren’t looking.”
Kincade stepped closer, his voice low. “If Travis found that file, then he wasn’t just getting close to the truth. He already had it.”
Cassidy nodded, her throat tight again. Because it was possible someone had made damn sure the witness disappeared before he could share what he’d seen.
Cassidy was still deep in thought, staring at the faded photo of Benji Salazar when her phone rang. She jumped, her heart instantly in her throat and automatically answered it.
Silence for a beat. Then, “Cass,” someone muttered.
Her knees nearly buckled at the sound of his voice. “Travis?” she choked out, and she put the call on speaker. She also checked the screen and saw that it was from an unknown number.
Kincade was at her side in an instant.
“Oh my God. Travis, where are you? Are you okay?” she blurted.
“I’m, uh, alive,” he said, but his voice was strained, distant. “I can’t stay on the line long. I just needed you to know I’m not dead.”
“Where are you?” she pressed. “Tell me, we’ll come get you—”
“I can’t say. Not yet. But listen carefully. You know the old drive-in off Route 12? Meet me there at ten tomorrow morning.”
Cassidy’s grip on her phone tightened. “I’ll be there,” she whispered. “Travis, please—”
“I gotta go,” he said. “Be careful. Don’t trust anyone.”
The line went dead.
Cassidy stood frozen, the silence ringing louder than his voice ever could. But her brother was alive.
And tomorrow, they’d finally get answers.
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