Page 28 of Forest Reed (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #8)

Zoe

The town square came into view just as the church bells struck nine. People moved like it was any other morning—kids tugging on backpacks, old men sipping coffee on the bench, the florist sweeping her stoop. Normal. Safe.

Except it wasn’t.

Forest’s grip tightened on the wheel as he slowed the truck at the edge of the square. His eyes scanned every storefront, every alley, every unfamiliar shadow. “Something’s off.”

Jason leaned forward from the backseat, squinting at the café. “Yeah. Like the fact there’s a delivery truck parked smack in front of it, and nobody’s unloading it.”

Lane’s cruiser pulled in behind us, lights dark. Her voice crackled over comms. “Tell me you see that too.”

“Oh, we see it,” I muttered. “Big box on wheels, unmarked, conveniently blocking half the block. Totally normal.”

Forest shot me a look. “Zoe.”

“What?” I said, shrugging. “If that thing isn’t screaming bomb me, I don’t know what is.”

Jason’s mouth twitched, but his voice stayed flat. “I’ll check it.”

“No.” Forest killed the engine, already reaching for his rifle. “We’ll check it. Together.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because nothing screams casual to a town full of civilians like four armed lunatics creeping around a suspicious truck.”

“Zoe,” Forest growled again.

But I still grabbed my Glock and slipped out after him, muttering, “Fine. Just don’t expect me to keep a straight face when the local PTA thinks we’re auditioning for a bad cop show.”

We moved in fast, keeping low, trying to look like we weren’t about to dismantle someone’s morning commute. Jason slid along the passenger side of the truck, Lane covered the alley, Forest took point.

I crouched at the back doors, palm pressed flat against cool metal. My skin prickled. “It’s warm. Engine’s been running.”

Jason popped the latch. Forest raised his rifle. Lane braced.

The doors swung wide—

And my breath caught.

Crates, stacked neat and tight. Marked with stencils that weren’t stencils at all. Fresh paint. Fresh nails.

Just like the ranger station.

“Son of a—” I started.

“Trap,” Forest finished. His eyes snapped to mine. “Everybody back—”

And then the ticking started.

Forest

The ticking cut through the air like a blade. Too fast. Too loud. My stomach dropped.

“Back!” I roared, grabbing Zoe’s arm and yanking her toward the café wall. Jason was already hauling Lane by the vest when the world blew apart.

The truck erupted in a fireball, heat slamming into us like a fist. Glass shattered, storefronts buckled, screams tore through the square.

My ears rang, my vision went white, and when it cleared, the delivery truck was gone—nothing left but twisted metal and a crater spewing black smoke into the sky.

Civilians scattered, crying, coughing, bleeding. Fire alarms wailed, water from busted mains gushed across the street.

Zoe shoved me off her, coughing hard. “You said back, not through a wall, Mountain Man!”

I checked her, hands running down her arms, her legs—no blood, no burns. Relief punched through me hard enough I almost dropped. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Her eyes flashed. “Tell that to the block currently on fire.”

Jason staggered up, blood on his temple, voice sharp through the ringing. “This wasn’t meant to kill us. He knew we’d clear out. This was meant for them.” He pointed at the townspeople—the café owner dragging her husband out of the rubble, the kid crying beside his bike.

Lane cursed, fury in every line of her face. “He brought the war here.”

My jaw locked, the roar of the flames filling my chest with heat that wasn’t just fire. “Then we end it here.”

And as the smoke coiled high into the gray morning sky, I knew North was out there—watching. Smiling.