Page 21 of Lost Hope

But when he turned back, Maya was already typing into the secure contact form on Knight Tactical’s government portal.

“She moved fast while you were brooding,” Axel said. “Already reaching out to them.”

Ronan stared at the computer screen, remembering those long nights flying questionable cargo across borders. He’dthought that was rock bottom. Now he was facing both Maya’s independent streak and having to work with Christian Murphy.

“You know what the worst part is?” he said finally.

“That you’re being a dramatic child about working with your brother?”

“Half-brother. And no.” Ronan checked his weapon, an old habit when stressed. “The worst part is you’re actually excited about this.”

“Did you know they have their own tactical training facility in Dubai?”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, partner.” Axel grinned, then tensed as footsteps approached. “Now let’s get our fed out of here before her login attracts the wrong kind of attention. Or before those cops decide to check the library.”

Ronan’s phone vibrated. He checked the display, jaw tightening. “It’s him. My b—” He caught himself. “It’s Murphy.”

“So answer it. Duh.” Axel kept watch on the entrance.

Ronan connected. “Murphy.”

“Status?” Christian’s voice was pure operator.

“Mobile. Three-man element. One minor injury.”

“Threat assessment?”

“Multiple hostiles. Professional. Agency-grade gear and training.”

A pause. “Golden State Bank building. It’s five clicks from your present position. Be there at thirteen hundred.”

“What, we making a withdrawal?”

“You’re getting on a helo.” The line went dead.

Ronan stared at his phone. No questions about why his half-brother, a virtual stranger, suddenly needed an extraction. Just coordinates and a timeline, delivered in the clipped cadence of a SEAL commander.

“Well?” Maya asked.

“We’ve got a ride.” Ronan checked his watch. Four hours to make it across town without getting caught by local LEOs or whoever had sent that tactical team. And then ... he’d have to face Christian Murphy.

He’d fought his way out of hot zones on three continents, survived two helicopter crashes, and spent a couple years now flying rust buckets for operators who made cartels look legitimate. But somehow, this felt worse.

What had he gotten himself into?

11

AIR SUPPORT

Twenty storiesabove downtown San Diego, Maya Chen tried not to feel like a target. The August sun beat down mercilessly on the bank building’s roof, offering no shelter, no place to hide. Though she knew they were alone up here, every shadow, every glint of sunlight off surrounding windows made her pulse jump.

Since answering Commander Phillips’s dispatch last night, she’d broken every rule she believed in. Now, standing exposed on this rooftop just before 1 p.m., she waited for what felt like judgment.

Rules had been her armor since police academy. Training at Quantico only cemented her love of procedure. Follow protocol. Maintain the chain of command. Trust the system.

Those rules had gotten her partner killed.

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