Page 13 of Lost Hope

She caught the bundle but didn’t move. “Start talking. What did your friend tell you before he died?”

“Nothing specific.” Ronan pulled on a dry shirt, thinking fast. “Just that he was onto something big. Asked us to watch his back.”

She winced.

“Yeah.” The guilt hit fresh. “Whatever trail Tank was following, it was dangerous enough to warrant his death. And your partner’s.”

Maya’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders tensed.

Ronan slumped against the cabin wall, saltwater pouring steadily from his clothes onto the polished teak floor. “Look, I get it. You think we killed Marcus. Maybe even Benson. If I were you, I’d think the same thing.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, sending rivulets down his neck. “But we didn’t. And the only way we’re going to prove that—the only way any of us gets justice for Marcus or your partner—is if we work together. Because right now? We’re all running out of time.”

“I’m a federal agent,” Maya said, voice clipped. She wrapped her arms around herself, suppressing a shiver as her soaked jacket clung to her shoulders. “Once our crime scene unit processes both scenes, we’ll have solid evidence. Real proof. Come in with me. We’ll do this right.”

“We’ll be dead before we hit the front doors,” Ronan said. “Just like Tank. Just like your partner.”

“Or soon after.” Axel wrung out his shirt over the sink, water pattering against steel. “Easy to get us into custody, then make us disappear. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Tank called us,” Ronan said, his voice tight with urgency. “Said he needed immediate assistance. Something terrified him—a decorated SEAL who’d seen everything. So we showed up to help. Instead, we found him dead.”

“Think about it,” Axel added. “Who knew we were going to NCIS headquarters? Only your commander. Those weren’t random thugs. You saw their tactics. That was military precision. They knew exactly when and where to hit us.”

“Someone’s already two steps ahead here,” Ronan pressed. “They killed Tank before he could talk to us. They separated us from Benson, tried to grab us while their partners killed Benson so he wouldn’t call for backup. If we go in now, we’re walking right into their kill box. And you know it, or you would’ve called for backup already.”

Maya’s hand tightened on her phone, but she didn’t dispute it.

“That’s not how I operate,” she snapped, leaving wet footprints as she paced the narrow cabin. “This isn’t some movie. I’m taking you in, and we’re doing this by the book. You’ll give statements, document whatever evidence you have?—”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Ronan straightened, frustration burning through the exhaustion. Water trickleddown his back, making him acutely aware of every bruise and scrape from their escape. The woman might be beautiful, with that shining black hair and her delicate features. But she’d be dead soon all the same unless she followed orders.

He stared her down. If facts didn’t work, maybe pure intimidation would. “The minute we’re in custody, we’re dead. And so are you. But not before they frame all of us for whatever Marcus stumbled into. Make it look like we were all part of it.”

“Not everything is a conspiracy.”

The laugh that escaped him held no humor. “You sure about that? They’re thorough. In a couple of hours, you’ll be NCIS’s most wanted. Right behind us, probably.”

Through the cabin windows, a patrol boat’s spotlight swept past. Maya’s hands tightened on the dry clothes.

Ronan held out her Sig, grip first.

“Oh, wonderful,” Axel muttered. “Give the person who shot you their gun back. Because that’s how trust-building works in your world? Next time I need a hostage negotiator, remind me not to call you.”

Maya’s eyes moved from the gun to Ronan’s face, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. The spotlight swung back, closer now. Time was running out.

Her Sig felt heavy in his outstretched hand. He was betting their lives on reading her right—that somewhere under that professional mask, she had the same questions about Marcus’s death that had been eating at him and Axel.

The woman still hadn’t moved. Still watching him with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Including, he hoped, the fact that he and Axel could have disappeared into the night with her weapon. Could have left her to deal with this alone.

Instead, he was offering her the choice. And the means to shoot them both if she thought they were lying.

“Guys?” Axel’s voice held an edge. “Not to rush anyone’s trust issues, but we need to move before they start sweeping the docks. Doolittle still has his crash pad. It’s less than a mile from here.”

Ronan eyed the neighborhood out past the empty parking lot sandwiched between the marina and the homes. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all night, bro.”

Maya’s face shifted. Something harder settling into place as she reached for her weapon.

Time to find out if he’d bet right.

7

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