Page 34 of Lost Hope

“Two still on us,” Axel reported, twisted around in his seat. “Gaining.”

“Warehouse district coming up,” Star said. “Cut through the loading yard at Fuller Marine. Security gate’s disabled.”

Austin didn’t hesitate, taking them through a gap barely wider than the SUV. Metal scraped metal as they squeezed past abandoned shipping containers.

“They’re boxing us in,” Ronan warned, voice tight. “Classic tactical containment.”

“Not for long.” Austin’s smile was fierce in the rearview mirror. He yanked the wheel hard, sending them through a shower of sparks as they scraped between two buildings. “Star, we need that safe house location now.”

“Uploading coordinates. Apartment complex two klicks to your west. Underground garage access. Security systems are already looped.”

The pursuit vehicles matched them turn for turn, their drivers showing the kind of skill that only came from professional training. Austin wove through a construction site, sending barricades flying. Maya’s knuckles went white on the handle as they burst through a chain-link fence.

“They’re not even trying to disable us,” Axel noted, tension in his voice. “Just keeping pace.”

As if his words triggered something, the pursuit vehicles suddenly dropped back. No dramatic moves, no last-ditch efforts. They simply ... withdrew.

“Christian, report,” Jack barked through comms.

“Same here. They just broke off. Clean.”

“That’s not normal,” Maya said, the hair on her neck rising.

“We’ll take the win,” Austin replied, but his expression was wary. “Star, local LEOs?”

“Three units converging. Two minutes out.”

Austin guided them into a twenty-four-hour grocery parking lot, killing the lights. They watched two patrol cars scream past, sirens wailing.

“Loading dock behind the store,” Star directed. “Delivery trucks provide cover. Wait three minutes, then take surface streets to the safe house. They’re looking for vehicles in motion.”

Maya held her breath as a third patrol car crawled past their position. The delivery trucks screened them perfectly – just another dark SUV making a late-night grocery run.

Maya’s world narrowed to flashing lights, squealing tires, and the pulse pounding in her ears. Ten minutes that felt like hours until Star finally announced, “Clear. No pursuit vehicles within ten blocks.”

The garage door rolled shut behind them with a final-sounding clang. Maya stumbled out of the SUV, legs shaking. Her father was gone. They’d been too late.

“Maya.” Ronan’s hand settled on her shoulder, steady and warm. “We’ll find him.”

She turned, meeting his eyes in the dim garage lighting. “They knew we were coming. They were waiting for us.”

“Good.” His voice was steel. “Because they just showed their hand.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Now we show ours.”

Maya drew a deep breath, straightening her spine. He was right. This wasn’t over.

Frozen to her core, she did the only thing she could: pray to her Lord and Savior.

17

HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT

One a.m.in Culver City hit Ronan like a fist to the gut. His body remembered this hour, even if three years of civilian life had softened his edges. The witching hour, they’d called it in spec ops. When fatigue made you stupid. Made you slow. Made you dead.

The stale taste of too many energy drinks coated his tongue as he braced one shoulder against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the safe house, using the cold glass to keep himself alert. Below, Los Angeles sprawled like a circuit board gone wrong, all scattered lights and dark spaces where anything could hide. The city that never slept was lying—everything slept eventually. Everything except people running for their lives.

Behind him, Knight Tactical’s team fought their own battles with exhaustion. Ethan worked his laptop, but his usual steady rhythm had developed hitches. The familiar scents of gun oil and coffee drifted from across the room where Christian cleaned his weapons for the third time, the repetitive motion as much about staying awake as maintenance. Austin’s perimeter checks had grown more frequent—a veteran’s response to fatigue-dulled senses. Jack, the guy with twin babies at home, flat out gave in, stretching out on the floor, eyes closed, snoring softly.

Only Maya seemed immune, her nervous energy carrying her back and forth across the modern space like a caged tiger. But Ronan caught the slight tremor in her hands, the way she blinked too hard, too often. The crash would come soon. He just hoped they found her father before it did.

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