Chapter Nine
Dawn broke over Palo Pinto County in bruised shades of violet and tarnished gold, cutting through the lingering pall of smoke that hung low over the Brazos Valley.
In the passenger seat, Maya had her tactical laptop balanced on her lap, the bright blue light from the screen illuminating the sharp, determined contours of her face.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail, revealing the small smear of dried limestone dust along her jawline that she hadn't bothered to wash away.
Luke kept his left hand steady on the wheel, his dark eyes scanning the empty stretch of two-lane asphalt ahead. "Let me guess. Three of them are dead or missing."
"All three missing state troopers we found badges for in that chest," Maya confirmed, her voice cold and precise. "Their signatures are on the original corporate charter. But the fourth name isn't an officer."
Luke’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly on the leather steering wheel. "Who is it?"
"Harlan Vance," Maya said softly, looking over at him. "Sheriff Pete Mercer’s predecessor—the former county commissioner who ran Palo Pinto County for twenty years before disappearing to a private ranch along the Hood County line."
Luke let out a low, dangerous growl from deep in his chest. The pieces were locked into place with sickening clarity.
"Harlan Vance didn't just build a land empire.
He used state troopers to clear out property owners who refused to sell their river frontage, killed the officers when they became liabilities, and buried the evidence under fifty feet of rock. "
"And when Harlan died three years ago, the land holdings passed to a private trust," Maya continued, scrolling through the encrypted corporate structure.
"A trust controlled by an active, offshore account that’s been paying real estate taxes on four abandoned timber parcels along the Brazos—including the old gravel processing plant three miles outside Granbury. "
Luke reached across the center console, his massive, calloused hand coming down over hers, stopping her fingers on the keyboard. His palm was warm, solid, and grounding against the chill of the morning air.
Maya paused, looking up from the screen to meet his dark, burning gaze.
"You haven't slept in twenty-four hours, Maya," Luke murmured, his voice softening into that low, intimate rumble reserved only for her. "When we hit that gravel plant, it’s not going to be a paper audit. He’s cornered, and he knows we have his trail."
Maya turned her hand beneath his, her slender fingers lacing firmly through Luke's, feeling the steady, iron-hard pulse in his wrist. The fear that had stalked her four years ago in Fort Worth was gone, replaced by an unyielding resolve that burned hotter than the wildfire in Devil's Hollow.
"I spent thirty years thinking my father abandoned his land, Luke," Maya said, her eyes fixed on his with absolute, fierce devotion.
"He didn't abandon anything. He was murdered for standing his ground against Harlan Vance.
I'm not running from this fight, and I'm sure as hell not letting you walk into that plant without me. "
Luke stared at her for two long seconds, his chest rising and falling in a deep, quiet breath. A faint, rare shadow of a smile touched the corner of his hard mouth before his grip on her hand tightened possessively.
"Then we end it today," Luke said quietly.
He lifted his shoulder mic, clicking the channel over to Game Warden Cole Remington’s tactical frequency.
"Cole, this is Grayson," Luke barked into the mic, his voice turning to pure steel. "Reroute your team to the old Brazos River gravel plant off County Road 308. We have a primary target location—and the owner of that square-body Ford is waiting for us."