Page 18 of Lost Hope

Ronan pressed a fist to his churning stomach. Stress always triggered the acid reflux these days. Another souvenir of his last mission. “We follow her. Jump in when her stupid plan falls apart.”

“Ride to the rescue, you mean.” Axel’s voice was dry. “Sure. Whatever. I guarantee you Special Agent Chen isn’t gonna see it that way.”

“Don’t care how she sees it. Long as she’s alive to be mad about it.”

“A fair point,” Axel agreed, already moving toward the door. “Though for the record? I’m fairly sure she’s right about one thing—we’re missing something big about Tank.”

The acid burned harder. Because that was the real question, wasn’t it? How well had they really known Marcus Sullivan? And what secrets had he taken to his grave?

9

FIGHT OR FLIGHT

Maya pulledher borrowed jacket tighter as she walked away from the garage apartment, her mind churning through facts like case evidence. Her initial certainty about Ronan and Axel’s guilt had crumbled with each passing hour. Their handling of Marcus’s death scene replayed in her mind—the raw grief in Axel’s prayer, the way Ronan’s hands had shaken before he’d forced them still.

Killers didn’t react like that.

And they’d had multiple chances to eliminate her. Instead, Ronan had handed back her weapon—a move that still baffled her. Murderers didn’t arm potential witnesses. Their tactical movements were too clean, too professional. The way they cleared rooms, maintained sight lines, communicated without words—that kind of training ran bone-deep.

No, whatever was happening here, Ronan and Axel weren’t the killers. Which left her with a dead partner, no resources, and a desperate need for help.

The apartment complex sprawled around her, a maze of identical beige buildings showing their age. Half-empty parking spaces held a collection of well-worn Hondas and ancient pickup trucks. The morning air hung heavy with marine layer,not yet burned off by San Diego’s familiar sun. The gray light gave everything a film noir quality that matched her situation perfectly.

Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been a federal agent. Now her partner was dead, and she was somehow a suspect. The absurdity of it made her want to laugh, but she was afraid if she started, she might not stop.

In movies, this would be where the hero appeared. Maya scanned the empty courtyard, the silent windows. Nothing moved except a stray paper bag tumbling across cracked concrete. No dramatic music swelled. No cavalry charged in. No broad-shouldered former SEAL appeared to watch her six.

“Please, Lord. Is this the way forward?” she whispered. The words disappeared into the fog.

She pressed her fingers against her temples. Think. No ID. No credit cards. No phone. But across the street, the sprawling bulk of Plaza Del Mar Mall loomed against the brightening sky. The once-proud shopping center had seen better days. Half the store signs had been removed from its faux stone exterior, leaving ghostly rectangles of unfaded stucco. Only the county library branch and a scattered handful of mom-and-pop shops still advertised their presence. The kind of place that had once hummed with teenagers and holiday shoppers, now clinging to life with discount stores and government offices.

But it had computers. And if her rental car account from Andrea’s wedding was still active, with her credit card data on file ... It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was something. Better than admitting she’d made a mistake walking out. Better than going back and seeing the knowing look in Ronan’s eyes.

Anyone good enough to stage two murders would track her eventually, but she’d be long gone by then. The sun was finally starting to break through, burning away the marine layer. Time to move.

But something made her pause before crossing the street.

The man at the coffee shop window. Dressed casually, in chinos and a rumpled button down, he was reading a paper like any other bro on a coffee break, but his posture was wrong—too alert, too controlled. Another by the dry cleaner’s, phone in hand but never looking at the screen. They moved like professionals, checking corners, maintaining distance.

Not Ronan and Axel. These men were different. Hunting.

Maya’s throat tightened. Through the mall’s grimy glass doors, she could see the library branch’s familiar blue sign hanging above a first-floor storefront. What choice did she have?

Ten minutes. That’s all it would take to run back. She could picture Ronan’s face—no judgment, just that careful assessment as he adjusted plans to include her again. Axel would probably make some smart comment about women changing their minds, trying to break the tension. They’d be angry, but they’d take her back. Protect her.

The thought made her jaw clench. She didn’t need protection. She was a federal agent, trained and capable. Even if right now her heart was hammering against her ribs and her palms were slick with sweat.

But these men hunting her ... they moved like Ronan did. Like people trained to eliminate threats. And she was alone, armed with two rounds and borrowed clothes.

She took one step back toward the apartment. Then another. Then forced herself to stop.

No way she’d make it back to their hiding place before these men caught her.

It would have to be the mall. The empty corridors and abandoned shops would give her plenty of cover to lose a tail. She’d worked enough undercover ops to know how to use a building’s layout against pursuers. Get inside, lose them in themaze of service corridors and empty retail spaces, then double back to the library. One step at a time. Just like tracking a suspect, only now she was the one being hunted.

She squared her shoulders and started walking. Time to see if seven years of LAPD experience could outmaneuver whatever professionals were on her tail.

Maya pushed through the mall’s heavy glass doors, hit by the familiar mix of stale popcorn, cleaning products, and decay that seemed universal to dying malls. Her footsteps echoed off dated terracotta tiles. Most of the first-floor storefronts were dark, their security gates permanently drawn. A lonely kiosk seller scrolled through his phone, not even bothering to look up.

---