Page 78 of The Scout

Then her expression softened, her voice quieter when she asked, “What happened to him?”

My stomach clenched. I wasn’t sure why I told her. Maybe it was the way she looked at me, the way she listened without judgment. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, I wanted someone to know.

I turned onto my side, propping myself on an elbow as I ran a hand down my face. “One night, while I was deployed, my father disappeared.”

She didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. She just watched me, waiting.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to keep going. “It wasn’t until later that we found the note. It told us the truth. That he worked special projects for the State Department from time to time. That he’d spent years freelancing for the Agency. That he’d been slowly building something for us—a nest egg.”

Her brows pulled together. “A nest egg?”

I gave her a slow nod. “That nest egg turned out to be a fortune worth billions. And we still don’t know where it came from. One day I got a call from my father’s attorney, and the next day there were a lot of numbers with zeroes behind them in a lot of different accounts.”

She sucked in a breath, her fingers stilling against my arm. I saw the calculations running through her head, the attempt to put together a puzzle with pieces she hadn’t even known existed.

I kept going. “We were all in the military, building our own careers. But we made a pact.” I swallowed hard. “We agreed to get out. As soon as we could. And we’d put everything into Dominion Defense.”

I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “I was the first to leave the service. I had to pave the way.The others followed. And for years, we’ve combed the globe, searching for him.”

Silence settled between us. I expected her to look at me like I was insane. Like I was a man obsessed with a ghost. But when I met her eyes, there was no judgment. No disbelief.

Just compassion.

It hit me harder than I expected.

Something in my chest pulled, tightened in a way I didn’t understand, didn’t fucking like. I had no use for softness, for sympathy, for the quiet kind of understanding that lived in her eyes. But here she was, looking at me like I wasn’t some kind of monster.

Like I was something worth saving.

I clenched my jaw, looking away.

It was dangerous to feel this way about her. To want her like this. But right then, I made myself a promise.

I would do anything to keep her safe.

Even if it meant giving up my own life.

27

ISABEL

The sheets were warm, tangled around my legs, the scent of Ryker thick in the air. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls. I was still breathless, my body thrumming with the kind of satisfaction that came only from him, from the way he touched me.

Ryker lay beside me, propped up on one elbow, watching me with those intense, piercing eyes, his fingers trailing along my bare hip. His touch was possessive, like he was memorizing me, like he wasn’t ready to let me go just yet. Maybe ever.

I rolled onto my side, mirroring him, letting my fingers drift over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the heat of his skin beneath my touch. His body was a work of art—every ridge, every scar, every hardened muscle telling the story of the battles he had fought, the wars that had shaped him. But it was his eyes that captivated me most. There was something unguarded in them now, something rare.

I thought about what he had just toldme—his father’s disappearance, the billions left behind, the way he and his brothers had abandoned everything to chase down ghosts. It was a pain I couldn’t fully understand, but I knew loss. I knew what it was like to ache for something that would never come back.

“That must have been so hard,” I whispered, letting my fingers graze along the edge of his jaw, my thumb sweeping over the rough stubble. “Losing him like that. Never knowing your mom.”

His expression flickered, just for a second, before settling back into that careful, unreadable mask. “We never talked about her,” he admitted. “Dad didn’t even keep pictures. Just said she wasn’t built for the life they had. That she wanted something else.”

I frowned. “You never wanted to find her?”

He exhaled. “Not really. If she wanted to be found, she would’ve been.”

The words were gruff, but I didn’t miss the edge beneath them—the quiet, buried pain of a boy who had grown up never knowing the woman who brought him into the world.

---