Page 2 of Lone Star Witness

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Chapter One

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Slade felt the blood seep through the makeshift gauge bandage and snake down his arm, all the way to the back of his hand. His blood. And while the flow wasn’t a gusher that would risk him bleeding out, it needed to be tended soon.

That made this trip a killing-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of deal.

A necessary deal on both counts.

Since Marise Brennan wouldn’t have called him had this not been important. Hell, more than just plain important. Unless it was critical. Marise wasn’t the sort to ask him for, well, anything.

Though anything was exactly what he was willing to give her.

Some debts lasted a lifetime and could never be repaid. She was one of them. And she was the reason that he’d come straight here after finishing that latest op for Maverick Ops.

Not a comfortable trip.

Then again, it hadn’t been a comfortable op, either. Some ops were pissers and shitshows, and that one had fit right into that wheelhouse. Still, he’d won. He’d done his job and kept the case-solved stats high for Maverick Ops.

Of course, winning was expected of him and the rest of the team who took on the missions that law enforcement didn’t have the resources or the wherewithal to do. For him, the latest one had involved rescuing the kidnapped woman, but the next one might be a cold case, finding someone who’d disappeared, being a bodyguard or assisting on a murder investigation.

Thankfully, the next one wouldn’t be for at least a couple of days. His boss, Ruby Maverick, would give him some time to heal from this ass kicking he’d taken. Thankfully, the ass kicking hadn’t been one-sided, and the other guys were going to need a hell of a lot more than a couple of days. That outcome meshed with Slade’s motto when it came to assholes who kidnapped and committed other crimes that got people hurt.

Give worse than you get.

The assholes had gotten way worse.

Slade parked in one of the visitors’ spaces of the Patriot’s Retreat Senior Care Facility and locked up his primary weapon in his glove compartment. He kept his backup weapon where it always was—in a slide holster in his boot. Out of sight but available if needed.

Especially out of sight from Marise.

Because of some of that bad shit they’d experienced together, the sight of a gun could trigger her PTSD and maybe even spur a panic attack. She was capable of defending herself with her hand to hand combat skills, but using a gun was out of the question for her.

Slade got out of the van, wincing and groaning more than he wanted, not from just the bleeding cut but also the bruises and scrapes that were whining about needing some attention. They wouldn’t get it other than a soak in his hot tub once he finally made it home and what Marise could do for him.

But first, he’d help her with whatever she needed.

Even though it was technically spring since it was early May, it was still hotter than hell. Welcome to Texas when winter jumped straight into scorching summer temps. Even though it was a short walk, only about ten yards, he felt beads of sweat pop out on his forehead and hoped it was solely from the heat and that some part of his internal temp regulator hadn’t been damaged in the fight.

He made his way toward the front door of the facility, which looked more like an antebellum house straight out of Gone with the Wind. Definitely no nursing home vibe to the place with its grand white columns, manicured flower beds, and a covered porch that stretched all the way across the front. A trio of fans were making lazy turns over wicker rocking chairs.

Since it was going on ten pm, most of the generously sized windows had no lights spewing from them, letting him know that the residents were likely in bed. But not everyone was down for the night because he saw Marise peering out by one of the sidelights of the door.

A door that opened when she spotted him.

And there she was.

It’d been nearly four months since he’d seen her, but he had talked to her more recently than that. Just a few weeks ago when his brother had been killed. She’d heard about it and had wanted to make sure he was okay.

He was.

No grief for that particular brother who had deserved what was coming to him. The death had been a relief, but Slade had appreciated that once again Marise had had his six. Had there been grief, she would have gotten to him fast.

Just as he’d done for her now.

Seeing her always gave him the same emotional punch. A stew of memories from the past—the ones straight from hell—mixed with a totally male reaction of seeing a beautiful woman. And she was beautiful all right, with her dark brown hair framing a face that had no doubt gotten her plenty of second, third, and fourth glances.

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