“Pierce,” Dean Foster muttered from somewhere behind him, “if you die before breakfast, I’m taking your protein powder.”
Logan gave a short laugh without turning his head. “You’d need upper-body strength to lift it.”
Dean wheezed something that might have been a laugh or might have been the last breath of a dying man.
The boat crew pushed up the strand, passing the line of weather-beaten pilings near the training compound. The sky was beginning to pale, though the sun hadn’t risen yet, and the entire coast smelled like salt, diesel, and cold rope.
That was when Logan saw her.
Continue on the next page:
