Page 1 of Lone Star Christmas Mission

Chapter One

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Cash Whitaker silently cursed when he stepped into the house and saw the blood. Blood that was nearly the same color as the shattered red Christmas ornaments next to it.

Don’t let it be her blood.Don’t let it be Kayla’s.

Those were the thoughts, the prayers, and the pleas that were pulsing in his head. The fear was ripping through him the same way that someone had torn through this living room.

With his Glock in a death grip in his hand, Cash kept moving, kept listening. Kept watching for a kidnapper, or a possible killer, as he threaded his way through the carnage.

The sofa and chairs had long, jagged cuts in them, exposing the fluffy white filling that looked like snow. What was left of the Christmas tree lay smashed and battered on the hardwood floor. The wrapped presents around it had been stomped on, the ribbons and contents crushed.

With the exception of the overhead light, every possible glass object and bit of decor in the room had been broken. The mirror above the fireplace. The windows and lamps. The Santa and angel figurines that he guessed had once been on the mantel and end tables.

Had the kidnapper left the overhead light intact so Cash would have no trouble seeing that blood and the destruction?

Maybe.

The mess could have been designed to be a distraction. And it was. But setting up a distraction was far better than an out of control rage from some strung-out asshole who might have taken Kayla.

Cash saw more blood, splattered drops of it that led out of the living room and toward the hall. Cash followed the grisly trail, still listening for any signs of life.

There weren’t any.

But he refused to believe she could be dead. No, Kayla had to be alive. He’d already failed her once. A big assed failure that had crushed her soul. And his. He couldn’t fail her again.

“I’ve got the money,” he lied, calling out to…well, whoever the hell had sent him the text.

Come alone. No cops. No Maverick Ops buddies. Bring 50K to 614 Shelter Lane by midnight or Kayla Morgan dies.

The text had arrived at 11:30 pm. Definitely not enough time for him to gather a ransom demand and get here before that deadline. And Cash had a bad feeling that the money hadn’t been a strong motive in the kidnapper getting him to come here. No, this felt like more.

Like a sick kind of déjà vu.

Cash had thankfully been familiar with both the rural address outside of San Antonio and the home owner, Kayla Morgan. Yes, he knew her, and he couldn’t let her die. That’s why he’d started the half hour drive straight here from his house in the Texas Hill Country to a rural area just outside of San Antonio. Along the way, he’d also called his boss, Ruby Maverick, head of an elite security force, Maverick Ops.

Of course, Ruby had insisted he wait for backup, and as one of her operatives, Cash would have normally followed her orders to a tee.

Well, to a tee-ish anyway.

Sometimes, criminals and therefore the missions couldn’t play by the rules or have the luxury of backup. It was already three minutes until midnight, and if he waited, it’d be way too late.

He’d done plenty of dangerous solo missions before. First in military special forces and for the last five years, missions for Maverick Ops. And he had a plan. Not an especially good one. But it was the best that he had been able to come up with at such short notice. He would attempt to negotiate with the kidnapper and free Kayla. If negotiations failed, he’d killed the SOB who had taken her.

Cash kept moving. And saw more blood.

These weren’t just drops but smears as if someone had maybe stepped in it while on the move. Perhaps while running to try to escape. The sight of it tightened his gut even more, and he had to shut down the thoughts that the worst had already happened.

Again.

That déjà vu shit was kicking in again.

Cash just kept walking, letting the blood lead him to a room at the end of the hall and to an open door. Kayla’s bedroom, he knew. He hadn’t actually been inside it, but he’d glanced in it once when he’d visited her here a year ago to exchange Christmas presents.

The lights were off in the room, but the curtains and blinds were both fully open on the trio of floor-to-ceiling windows. There was enough moonlight filtering in through the trio of windows to provide some illumination.

And some damn creepy effects.

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