Then ten.
Nothing.
No doors. No movement.
Now.
He zipped the infrared binoculars into the pack and pulled out the smaller pair, tucking them inside his jacket.
Then he moved.
Careful.
Low.
Bone-deep steady.
He descended the rise, boots sinking into wet mulch and leaves, keeping to the darkest edges where the yard met the woods. The brick structure sat forty yards behind the main house…half-hidden by ornamental pines and the slope of the yard.
He reached the back of the structure and waited, ears tuned for any hint of life inside.
Nothing.
The only sound was his pulse, frantic in his ears. He wiped his hands on his jacket, suddenly aware of how slick his skin had become—sweat or cold, he couldn’t tell.
What if I’m too late?
He looked up.
The skylights glinted faintly against the winter sky, angled sharply along the roof’s apex.
Scout wrapped his fingers around the cold edge of the gutter and hauled himself onto the retaining ledge, boots scraping brick. Fromthere, he found a foothold against the cedar trim and, with a controlled exhale, hoisted himself onto the steep pitch of the roof.
The shingles were slick beneath his gloves. He kept his weight low, crawling carefully toward the skylights.
If she was in there, this was the closest he’d been to her since she disappeared.
When he reached the first skylight, he eased up just enough to look.
One slow count.
Another.
Then—very slowly?—
Scout cupped his hands around the glass
and peered inside.
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.
