Page 16 of The Sentinel

“Yeah?”

“Crumb’s fed,” Eric Norton said, voice rough like always. He was an old pal from high school. “Didn’t take her long to get here.”

I leaned back, my jaw tight. “She bite you?”

“She tried. You picked another viper, Marcus.”

I smirked, quick and sharp. “You might be right.”

Norton chuckled—low, dry. “Still got that lacrosse hustle, Dane. Always knew how to set a play.”

“High school was a long damn time ago,” I said. “You still slow as shit off the line?”

“Faster than you, asshole.” He paused, tone shifting. “This 77 thing real?”

I didn’t answer right away. My gut hummed, that same old hum. “Maybe. You in if it is?”

“Sheriff’s office suits me for now,” he said. “But Dominion’s got a pull. Might work for you one day—better pay, better toys.”

“Door’s open,” I said. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.” Click.

I pocketed the phone and stared out at Charleston—tourists shuffling, locals sipping coffee like nothing was burning. Norton and I went back. We’d been lacrosse champs at Sullivan’s Island High. He’d been a brick wall on defense. I’d been the fast bastard scoring goals. I’d trusted him then, and I trusted him now. If Claire took the bait, we’d know soon.

I drove back to Dominion Hall, my tires chewing pavement and my mind chewing more. The gates clanged shut behind me, iron teeth locking tight.

I hit the ops room where monitors were humming. Ryker was there, pacing like a caged beast. He saw me, then stopped cold—six-four of Dane rage squared up.

“Got a call,” he said, his voice low and lethal. “Senator Holloway. Says intel’s sniffing—CIA, NSA, the whole alphabet soup.”

I didn’t flinch. “Sniffing what?”

“Us,” he snapped. “Dominion. Pier explosion’s got traction. There are whispers it’s terrorism.”

My gut clenched. “That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” His eyes burned, black and unyielding. “Feds are coming to town, Marcus. Terrorism label brings heat—eyes on us, our contracts, our dirt.”

I crossed my arms and held his stare. “We’re clean.”

“Clean don’t mean shit in a witch hunt,” he said. “Washington’s looking for scapegoats. The senator’s twitchy. Our contacts up there want assurances we’re not a liability.”

“We’ve handled heat before,” I said. “They need us. Always have.”

“Not heat like this.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “The last thing we need is feds in our backyard. We’re the ones who watch. Not them.”

I nodded, short and tight. “I hear you.”

He didn’t back off. “Then what’s the play? Claire’s still out there, digging and talking. You said you’d handle it.”

“I am,” I said, my voice steel. “I dropped her a crumb—Department 77.”

Ryker’s face went hard, his jaw locked and his eyes blazing. “You fucking what?”

I didn’t move. “She’s got the lead now. Thinks she’s hunting it solo.”

He exploded—two strides, chest in my face. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You fed her Department 77? You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

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