Page 6 of Hollow Trace

Coulter grabbed the handle beside his head, muttered something under his breath about her being crazy as they closed the distance. She slowed just enough to ease onto the bridge without rocking it, more of the earth breaking away as the front tires rolled onto the slats.

The wood creaked, loud cracks echoing up from beneath the pillars as the view out the front canted onto a nausea-inducing angle. Everything inside the Jeep shifted, skittering across floorboards as the vehicle slipped toward the edge of the bridge, providing a clear view of the water raging ten feet below them.

A slight increase in speed helped her pull it back toward the center, some of the planks splitting from the weight, the pieces snapping sharply before striking the raging water beneath them. White foam splashed around them, the entire structure shaking as they neared the halfway point.

Another massive crack, and the bridge shook, the back half dropping a foot, pitching the truck toward the lip. Engine growling, the revs nudging toward the red, she countered the pull, dropping it into four-wheel as she shifted gears.

The lead SUV roared to a halt behind them, dirt and gravel spraying out the sides as the passenger door opened, some asshole in tactical gear jumping out. He aimed at the truck, sparked a round off the bumper, jerking the Jeep ahead enough that Scout overcorrected — had to ease off the gas before she careened off the opposite side.

Despite everything still tilted to the point it felt as if the vehicle might roll at the slightest bump, Quinn grunted, raised the rifle, then fired, hitting the guy center mass. The creep tumbled back, cartwheeling a few times before shaking it off, slowly crawling back toward the door.

Quinn laid down another few pulls. “I don’t know what these guys are on, but nothing I hit seems to… shit. Scout, baby, punch it. That asshole just threw a frag.”

Scout ignored the endearment — the way it fluttered her stomach, warmed a part of her that had been cold since they’d become Black Hollow — dividing her attention between the other side of the gully and the rearview as she hit the gas, got the Jeep rocking when the grenade blew, shaking the structure until she thought the bridge would simply drop out from beneath them.

Smoke billowed into the air, an entire section of the bridge falling into the river as the remaining beams groaned, slowly pulling apart. Nails shot out, pinging off the truck as the slats heaved, then cracked, wood splintering into the air.

Thirty feet out, the rest of the bridge started falling, each section collapsing into the white water in a cascading wave. The truck slid, riding the far edge, tires squealing, engine whining. She held on, smoke curling around them, obscuring the last several feet.

Locking her arms, she punched it, shooting out onto the mouth of the gravel road as the last beams finally gave, toppling into the river in an explosion of water and wood. The rear wheels hit the edge, spinning against the last piece of wood still clinging to the ground, the flatbed hovering over the thirty-foot drop into the ravine.

Scout held firm, aware if she let up on the gas, they’d likely slide back — follow the bridge into the water. Smoke poured up from the tires, the engine sounding like it might blow, when the wheels finally found purchase on the slick wood. The truck lurched forward, kicking up more gravel and mud as they launched down the track, a wake of bullets chewing up the forest as she fishtailed around a corner, barreling down the overgrown road.

Darkness fell around them, cloaking every possible pitfall in deep shadows before she finally flicked on the lights, bounced the Gladiator onto a questionable spur. The engine quieted as she slowed, still doing a sweep of the mirrors, checking overhead in case they had a drone. Heavy silence settled in the cab, filled only by the gravel crunching beneath the tires and their combined ragged breathing slipping into the empty spaces.

Coulter peeled his fingers off the handle, shaking his head as he nudged her shoulder. “That was insane. Remind me to have a chat with Gideon when we get back. Simple anomaly my ass.”

“Only if I don’t get to the guy first.” She jumped when Quinn cleared his throat, staring at them as if he didn’t know whether to clap them on the back or arrest them.

He crossed his arms over his massive chest, straining the fabric along his biceps — jacking the heat up inside the truck until Scout thought she’d spontaneously combust. “Since it appears the immediate threat is over, now’s the perfect time to explain why you’re both not nearly as dead as advertised.”

Coulter sighed. “About that… It might be best if you didn’t…” He faded off when their tablet pinged. Coulter picked it up off the floor, stared at the screen, brow furrowed, mouth pinched tight. He glanced at her, then back at Quinn. “I just got a text from Gideon. He said that signal he’d picked up on is trailing us, which makes sense if it’s connected to those assholes in the SUVs, but there’s another one coming from inside the truck.”

Scout scoffed. “How is that possible? They didn’t get close enough to plant a tracking device.”

“If that’s not strange enough, this one isn’t going through Finch’s network. Gideon said it’s pinging off a satellite.” Coulter eyed Quinn. “Hey, Mountie. You didn’t pick up anything back there, did you?”

Quinn leaned back, looking as if he was weighing whether to answer or not before he dug into his pocket, removed a matte-black watch. He held it out. “You mean, something like this?”

Coulter stared at it, cursing when Quinn turned it over, showed the pulsing blue light amidst the cracked casing. “Well, shit. Where did you get that? And why the hell were you out here in the first place? It’s at least an hour outside your jurisdiction.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, his gaze finding Scout’s in the rearview. “I found it on a trail. I think it’s Brea’s.” He leaned forward. “She’s missing, and I’m pretty sure those men took her.”

CHAPTER THREE

The blue light flashed weakly amidst the shadows inside the truck, each pulse like a tiny heartbeat slowly fading away. Taking what remained of the oxygen with it, because no matter how hard she tried, Scout couldn’t catch her breath.

Brea.

Scout hadn’t seen the woman in years. Not since Scout’s parents had died, taking her reason for venturing back to her blip of a hometown with them, especially with Quinn living in Hope. But she remembered the way Brea had followed her and Quinn around as teenagers, teasing them whenever she caught them kissing. Covering for Quinn when he snuck out to meet Scout, or when Scout crept into his room.

Brea was the only family Quinn had left, and if she’d somehow gotten mixed up with Finch’s crusade…

Scout hit the brakes, shuddering to a halt amidst dirt and mud. The engine idled in the background, the struts creaking as the vehicle settled, the twin beams carving out a swath of light.

Coulter muttered under his breath. “I need to jam that thing before every one of those enhanced assholes shows up, bridge destroyed or not.”

Scout forced in a breath as Coulter grabbed his bag from behind the driver’s seat, started rummaging through it. “That was Brea’s Wrangler? What the hell was she doing out here?”