He’d been pacing for twenty minutes, jaw clenched, eyes sharp as glass.
Finally, I asked, “What is it?”
He turned, shoulders taut. “Troopers reported in from the ridge.”
My stomach tightened. “And?”
“They found the vans.” His voice was low, clipped. “Still there. Still chained. The people inside were alive.”
I let out a shaky breath. Relief, at least for them. “That’s good news.”
Adam’s expression didn’t soften. “Not when there wasn’t a single masked man left. Not dead. Not wounded. Nothing. Like they were never there.”
A chill crawled down my spine. I knew about the blood on the mud, the masked bodies dropping one by one under the fire. I’d seen them. We all had.
“You’re saying—”
“I’m saying someone got there before DPS did.” He raked a hand through his hair, voice rough with anger. “Cleaned the ridge. Everybody, every shell casing. Gone.”
My throat closed. “That’s impossible. In that storm—”
“Not impossible.” His eyes met mine, dark and steady. “Organized. Efficient. Which means this wasn’t just a cartel hit or some backwoods militia. This was bigger. And whoever they are, they don’t want to be seen.”
I shivered despite the warm room. The idea of masked men vanishing into the storm was bad enough. But someone powerful enough to erase an entire battlefield? That was terrifying.
Adam came to sit beside me, his hand covering mine. His skin was warm, grounding, but the storm in his voice was real.
“They tested us last night, Raine. And now they’ve covered their tracks. Which means they’re planning something else.”
I looked into his eyes and saw the truth I didn’t want to admit.
The fight on the ridge hadn’t been the war.
It had only been the beginning.
54
Raine
By late afternoon, the motel parking lot buzzed with activity again. Black SUVs lined the curb, men in wide-brimmed hats and star badges stepping out into the fading light. The Texas Rangers.
Adam stood near the hood of a cruiser, arms crossed, jaw set. He hadn’t shaved, hadn’t slept, and yet he looked every bit the commander. Hawk and Russ lingered nearby, listening but silent. I stayed close, not because I needed to—but because I couldn’t seem to be more than a few feet away from him. Not after last night. Not after almost losing him.
The lead Ranger pulled off his hat, running a hand through his gray hair. “Your report says there were casualties on that ridge.” His voice was calm, steady, the kind that had weathered decades of crime scenes.
“There were,” Adam said flatly.
“Except,” the Ranger replied, “we didn’t find any. No bodies. No blood trails. No casings, either. Like the fight never happened.”
The words made the hair rise on the back of my neck.
Adam’s jaw tightened. “We didn’t imagine it. You found the people in those vans. Do you think they put themselves inside and chained each other up?”
“I don’t think you did,” the Ranger admitted. His gaze swept the lot, lingering on me before returning to Adam. “But whoever cleaned that ridge knew what they were doing. Quick, efficient. Military-level operation.”
My breath caught. Military-level. That wasn’t cartel. That wasn’t even organized crime.
“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
