Page 23 of Lost Hope

Ronan’s curse was creative. “Forgot about that.”

“The what now?” Jack’s tone sharpened with interest.

“Had to find a way to get here from Yuma ASAP,” Ronan answered. Maya heard the defensive note in his voice, saw how his shoulders tensed for criticism. “Grabbed what I had available. A Lockheed Electra outfitted for cargo. Parked it at an airfield east of town. Should be good for a while.”

“You might want to let your employer know where it is,” Axel suggested helpfully.

“You mean former employer,” Ronan corrected grimly.

“That’s ... probably a good point.”

To Maya’s surprise, Jack and Austin exchanged knowing grins in the cockpit.

“Been there, done that,” Jack said easily. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

The tension in Ronan’s shoulders eased slightly. Something resembling a smile touched his eyes. “Right.”

“Though next time,” Austin added, “maybe go for something smaller than a Lockheed. Those things drink fuel like Christian drinks coffee.”

Another fragment of information about his brother. Maya watched Ronan file it away, saw how each casual mention simultaneously drew him in and pushed him back.

Axel’s next white-knuckled grab at the edge of his seat broke the moment. “Speaking of drinking, anyone else notice we’re flying through mountains? Can we maybe focus on that?”

“Be not afraid,” Maya quoted softly. “For I am with you.”

“Amen to that,” Jack called back.

Austin nodded, adding his own “Amen.”

Maya caught the flicker of something in Ronan’s expression—not quite discomfort, more like longing. A man who’d lost not just his career, but maybe his faith too.

“Relax,” Austin said to Axel. “Jack here’s the best pilot we’ve got. Though speaking of the best ...” He grinned. “You should see Christian on overwatch. Man can hit a target at fifteen hundred yards in high winds. Never seen anything like it.”

The almost-smile vanished from Ronan’s face.

How many conversations in the compound would end like this—casual mentions of Christian Murphy’s accomplishments leaving new bruises on old wounds?

Below them, the vast San Joaquin Valley stretched to the horizon, an endless patchwork of farmland shimmering in the summer heat. The megalopolis that was So Cal had disappeared behind them, leaving only scattered buildings and roads cutting through the agricultural expanse. Somewhere ahead, Christian Murphy’s world waited.

Maya watched Ronan’s reflection in the window, saw how his jaw set as a compound appeared in the distance. Whatever came next would test them both.

She just hoped they were strong enough to face it.

12

BETTER BROTHER

Knight Tactical’scompound came into view as they crested the mountain pass, anchoring one end of Hope Landing’s small commercial airport. The facility looked like something from a military recruitment video—four modern buildings arranged in tactical formation around a central courtyard. High-tech security systems were subtly integrated into the architecture, and two Sikorsky helicopters sat in precise alignment near the main structure. Everything about the operation screamed success, legitimacy, and the kind of operational excellence Ronan had once lived for.

Perfect. Just perfect.

He caught Maya studying him and forced his expression neutral. She was already dealing with enough without watching him process meeting his biological brother for the first time. A brother whose career he’d followed through news clips and mission citations, each achievement a reminder of what the only legitimate Murphy son could accomplish.

“Welcome to Hope Landing,” Austin called from the cockpit as they began their descent. The helicopter touched down smoothly on the pad, rotors slowing to a stop in the brightafternoon sun. “Christian and the team will meet up with you inside.”

Of course they would. Ronan had memorized enough about Christian Murphy to know he never did anything without precise tactical consideration. Including, apparently, meeting his stranger of a brother.

Once the engines had fully shut down, Jack released his harness. “I’ll take point,” he said easily, but Ronan caught the careful assessment in his gaze. “Agent Chen, if you’ll follow me. Quinn, Austin will?—”

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