Page 25 of Lost Hope

“And actual hot water,” Angie said with a pointed look at their rumpled state.

“Sounds great.” Ronan kept his own voice even. “Appreciate the extraction.”

He and Christian faced each other, two strangers, neither sure what came next. Ronan had a couple inches on his older brother, but that was about all he could claim in the plus column. Where Ronan’s build spoke of endless ground ops and basic military gyms, Christian had the lean, precise muscle of someone with access to elite training facilities. His clothes probably cost more than Ronan’s monthly rent. Even his bearing screamed success—relaxed confidence instead of Ronan’s perpetual combat-ready tension. Looking at Christian Murphy was like seeing an optimized version of himself, one that hadn’t screwed up every opportunity that came his way.

Maya stepped forward. “Thank you all for offering your help. I know this is an unusual situation?—”

“Of course,” Christian said, his attention shifting to her with practiced diplomacy. “Knight Tactical specializes in unusual situations.” He glanced at Ronan, a dry note entering his voice. “Though my little brother seems to have dropped you in a particularly complex one. Let’s see if we can’t get you out.”

Something in his tone made Ronan look closer. There was steel under that casual manner, and genuine concern. This wasn’t just professional courtesy.

“Tehran,” Christian said suddenly, his eyes finding Ronan’s. “That extraction you ran for the Resistance. Four civilians, zero casualties, middle of a riot. That was solid work.”

The words hit Ronan like a punch to the solar plexus. Tehran.

His mouth went dry, pulse hammering in his throat. That op wasn’t even in his official record—he’d made sure of that. Thedetails were buried under three layers of classified reports and enough redacted documents to choke an admiral. The fact that Christian knew about it, had been watching him ... Something warm and unwanted unfurled in his chest. Pride. Recognition. He crushed it immediately, angry at himself for caring what this stranger thought, brother or not.

“We keep tabs on operations in that region,” the man said simply. “That was some of the cleanest work I’ve seen. Even by SEAL standards.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. How long had Christian been watching? Why hadn’t he reached out before? Ronan pushed the questions away. He wasn’t here for family reunion time.

Twenty minutes later, Ronan stood in the guest suite’s bathroom, staring at his reflection while steam filled the space. Behind him, Axel was already monopolizing the enormous shower, making obscene noises of pleasure.

“Sweet summer sunshine, this shower has sixteen jets. SIXTEEN! I’m never leaving. Tell Christian I live here now,” Axel called out, turning off the water. He emerged from the vast enclosure, wrapping a bath towel the size of New York around his hips. “It’s all yours.”

Axel cleared his throat. “Earth to Quinn. You gonna stand there doing your brooding supermodel pose all day, or are you gonna check this baby out? Because I gotta tell you, my man, you’re a little ripe for that meeting.”

Ronan didn’t answer. He’d come here prepared—or thought he had. Ready to face the successful brother, the golden boy who had everything he’d never had a chance to hold. He’d steeled himself for envy, for bitterness, for the awkward dance of strangers who shared blood but not history.

What he hadn’t prepared for was the man’s quiet competence, so reminiscent of the best commanders Ronan hadserved under. The respect the other Knight Tactical operatives showed him wasn’t forced—they genuinely trusted him.

Most unsettling of all were the glimpses of the brother he might have had. The dry humor. The straightforward praise about Tehran. The way he’d noticed Ronan’s tension and cleared the room without making it obvious.

The kicker wasn’t that Christian had everything Ronan didn’t—it was that he was exactly the kind of man Ronan would want to serve with. To trust. To call brother.

The realization hit harder than any resentment could.

He braced his hands on the sink, letting his head drop. He’d come here for Maya’s sake, expecting to hate asking his stranger of a brother for help. Now he was facing a truth he never expected: He didn’t just want Christian’s help with Maya’s situation.

He wanted his respect.

And that made him more vulnerable than he’d been since the day they stripped his rank.

“Seriously, dude,” Axel said softer now, catching his mood. “The water’s fine. And we’ve got work to do.”

Ronan straightened, squaring his shoulders. Right. Focus on the mission. Deal with everything else later.

If later ever came.

13

FAMILY FORCES

Maya stoodat the guest room window, working her fingers through hair that still dripped on the shoulders of her borrowed tactical gear. The clothes fit perfectly—of course they did. Everything about Knight Tactical’s setup screamed precision and deep pockets, from the spa-worthy shampoo to the rack of color-coordinated workout wear. Like some fantasy boutique hotel where retired operators dropped platinum cards instead of brass shell casings.

In another world, she’d have time to actually appreciate the amenities. Right now, she needed to get this mess sorted. So far, it looked like she was in the right place to get that done. Knight Tactical had resources that made her NCIS clearance look pathetic. Between their connections and her knowledge of internal procedures, they could tear through the fabricated evidence, trace those deepfake images and videos, and get her world righted again. A day or two of their help and she’d be back at headquarters, hunting down Marcus Sullivan’s real killers. The ones who’d murdered Tom.

But first, she’d have to get Ronan Quinn to stand down.

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