Lucas’s POV
The private jet touched down in Austin just after noon, the Texas sun beating down like it had a personal grudge. I hadn’t slept on the flight—couldn’t. My mind was a storm of what-ifs and memories, churning so hard I felt sick.
John sat across from me, tapping away on his laptop, coordinating with our team on the ground. We didn’t talk much. He knew me well enough to let the silence sit.
As soon as the wheels hit the tarmac, I was on my feet. “How far to the town?” I asked, voice clipped.
“About an hour’s drive northwest,” John said, closing his laptop. “Small place called Willow Creek. Population barely two thousand. She’s renting a rundown house on the edge of town. Our guys scouted it last night—no movement, but her car was there.”
I nodded, jaw tight. Maria Jackson
