Chapter 56
Deputy Scout Wilson
Scout cupped his hands around the glass and peered inside.
At first, all he saw was the soft, diffused glow of a lamp—warm light against pale walls. A small bed. A desk. A quilt folded at the foot.
Then he saw her.
Tessa.
She lay curled on her side on the narrow bed, one arm tucked beneath her cheek, dark hair spilling across the pillow. She didn’t move. Not even a twitch.
Too still.
Air snagged in his throat.
“Tess…”
Barely a whisper. Barely even a sound.
He pressed his fingertips to the glass, needing—aching—to feel something.
But from this angle, he couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Couldn’t tell if she was alive. Couldn’t—
Floodlight.
A hard white burst flared across the yard from the back corner of the main house.
Scout jerked back so fast his boots slipped on the shingles.
He flattened instantly, chest to the roof, pressing himself into the cold grit.
Don’t look up. Don’t move.
The beam swept across the roofline.
Held.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Scout counted each one.
Then—
Dark.
The light snapped off.
Silence rushed back in.
Wind in the trees. Nothing else.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
He slid one hand carefully beneath himself, just enough to reach his pocket.
Found his phone by feel. Unlocked it without lifting his head.
No time for a message.
No typing.
No sound.
One silent tap.
SEND LOCATION.
The pin dropped.
Sent.
He locked the phone and slid it back beneath his chest.
And went still.
Sheriff Burke Scott — Home Evening
Burke had just thrown another log on the fire when his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Not a call.
Not a text.
A LOCATION PIN.
From Scout Wilson.
Burke froze.
Rosie was up in one smooth motion, already moving toward the door.
Caitlin might’ve been her person now… but Rosie still knew what Burke was.
Scout wouldn’t send a pin unless he couldn’t talk.
Caitlin looked up from the sofa where she sat cross-legged with her laptop, glasses sliding down her nose. “Everything okay?”
Burke didn’t answer—not until he tapped the notification.
The map opened. The pin settled—right on Sinclair’s address.
Sinclair. Always calm. Always smiling. Always holding the cards.
Burke’s heartbeat dropped into a slow, heavy thud.
“Burke?” Caitlin pushed upright, worry sharpening her voice.
He exhaled once.
Controlled. Quiet.
Then he moved—pulling on his jeans. Grabbing his duty belt from the hook by the door and buckling it tight.
He drew his service weapon from the safe, holstered it, and pulled on his boots without fully sitting down.
“Cait,” he said, already moving, “stay here. Lock the door behind me.”
Her eyes widened. “Is it—?”
“It’s Scout.”
That was all he had to say.
Rosie stood now, tail stiff, waiting.
Burke clipped her tracking harness from the peg on the wall and crouched just long enough to slip it over her shoulders.
“You’re coming,” he murmured.
Caitlin stepped forward, face pale. “Burke, please—”
He cupped the side of her face, brief but grounding. “I’ll call when I can.”
Then he grabbed his jacket, keys, and radio in one motion.
He thumbed the radio as he opened the door, his voice steady—edged with urgency.
“Dispatch, this is Sheriff Scott. I need units en route to my location immediately. Code Three. Stand by for address.”
Burke heard the brief pause on the line and knew Dispatch had caught the edge in his voice.
Static. Then: “Copy, Sheriff. Ready.”
Burke rattled off Sinclair’s address.
Caitlin stood in the doorway, one hand over her mouth, watching him go.
Rosie leapt into the passenger seat before he even closed her door.
Burke slid behind the wheel, engine roaring to life, tires chewing gravel as he tore down the mountain road.
A silent pin from Scout wasn’t a request.
It was a warning. A cry for speed. And a near certainty:
Tessa Quinn had been found.