Page 89 of The Scout

I glanced between them, my chest tightening. “Department 77.”

Silence.

Then—all hell broke loose.

A sharp crackle of static burst through their radios, followed by the sudden spike of voices shouting through their earpieces.

“Did she just say Department 77?”

“Confirm that right fucking now.”

“Scout, do you copy?”

Neither of the men up front had time to process what was happening before?—

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the night, an ear-splitting roar that sent shockwaves through the SUV, rattling the windows, shaking the entire vehicle like a toy in a giant’s hand.

My scream caught in my throat as the force of it slammed into us, the air vibrating with raw, unrelenting power.

I didn’t even need to look. I knew where it had come from.

The pier.

Through the windshield, I saw it—flames erupting, swallowing the wooden structure, shooting skyward in an inferno of orange and red. The air turned thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning wood and gasoline seeping into the car, into my lungs.

People were screaming, running. Their silhouettes were frantic against the backdrop of fire and destruction.

My heart stopped.

Ryker.

Ryker was on that pier.

“Oh my God,” I choked out, my fingers scrambling for the door handle. “We have to?—”

The driver was already throwing the SUV into drive, his face set in stone. “Hold on.”

The tires screeched against the pavement as we shot forward, the echoes of the blast still ringing in my ears.

I could barely breathe. Could barely think.

Because Ryker had been right there.

30

RYKER

The SUV rolled to a stop, tires crunching against the pavement. The doors unlocked with a quiet click, and for a second, I just sat there, fingers flexing against my thighs, my breathing even.

The ocean stretched out ahead, dark and restless, the slow roll of waves barely visible in the dim glow of dusk. Beyond that, the pier jutted into the abyss, swallowed by shadows, disappearing into nothingness.

The wind had picked up. The salt in the air mixed with the scent of an oncoming storm, thick and electric, wrapping around me like a warning.

I stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind me. The second my boots hit the pavement, my earpiece came alive.

“Target is still in position,” Elias reported. “No movement. Facing the structure at the end of the pier. Identity recognition is a negative.”

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