Page 39 of Lost Hope

Axel groaned, lifting his head off the pillow. “Time?”

“Early. Go back to sleep.”

But his friend was already sitting up, reading Ronan’s mood with a decade of practice. “You’re thinking too loud.”

“Yeah.” He needed to get over himself. And get out of Hope Landing. As soon as this manhunt ended. “Gonna hit the gym. Need to move.”

Mostly, he needed to stop thinking about Maya Chen, about her father’s suspicious glares, about all the ways this could go sideways. Needed to focus on finding Marcus’s killer before anyone else died because of his mistakes.

Blankets rustled and Axel sighed deeply. “Roger that. I’ll meet you down there.”

Ronan slipped into the quiet hallway, his boots silent on the plush material. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee pulled him forward, probably some fancy single-origin roast knowing Christian’s operation. No standard military sludge here atKnight Tactical. They probably had a professional barista on staff.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had nothing to do with last night’s poor sleep. Too many people here. Too many eyes watching, judging. Axel was solid—his friend was as committed to finding Tank’s killers as he was, to uncovering whatever shadow players had ordered the hit. But Knight Tactical ...

Anger flared, hot and sudden. Anger for Marcus, executed in his own home. For Maya’s partner Tom, caught in the crossfire of something he never saw coming. And yeah, if he was honest, anger at Christian Murphy and his perfectly ordered world.

Irrational? Absolutely. His half-brother only knew what the Navy and Ronan himself had allowed him to know—that Ronan was a screw-up who’d earned his General Discharge. Christian had no idea that Ronan had fallen on his sword to protect a teammate.

Hard to fault Christian for looking down on him when he didn’t know the truth. And never would.

The coffee scent grew stronger, drawing him straight into the modern kitchen. He needed space, air, distance from all these people with their assumptions and their order and their ... rightness. But first, caffeine. And a good, hard workout.

The French roast’s rich aroma curled around him as he leaned against the railing, steam rising from the matte black mug like morning fog. Two stories below, the hangar sprawled in industrial vastness, all gleaming equipment and precision-placed gear. His stomach clenched as he spotted movement in the gym area.

So much for a solitary workout.

Jack’s lithe frame was easy to spot, along with a massive guy who had to be the one Knight Tactical partner he hadn’t yet met:Patrick Olivetti and—of course—Christian. Perfect. The coffee’s warmth turned bitter on his tongue.

Jack’s wave and shouted invitation echoed off the metal walls. Ronan hesitated, but then Lawrence Chen emerged from the shadows of the weight room, calling up something about young guys getting soft. Christian’s answering smirk was all it took. Ronan was down the stairs before he’d even set down his coffee.

The next thirty minutes were a blur of sweat and controlled violence. Chen might be thirty years their senior, and half Ronan’s size, but he moved like a far younger man, all economy and precision. Christian had the technical perfection you’d expect, but Ronan ... Ronan had something else. That raw edge that had made him a state wrestling champion, that animal instinct that kept him alive in places where rules didn’t exist.

He could feel Axel watching from the sidelines, heard his friend telling Christian, “Best fighter I’ve ever seen, bar none.”

Pride surged through Ronan’s chest—until Christian’s voice cut through his concentration. “Raw talent only gets you so far without discipline.”

That split-second of distraction was all Chen needed. The mat slammed hard against Ronan’s back, driving the air from his lungs. Above him, Christian’s expression shifted to something that looked a whole lot like disappointment.

“Mad skills,” his half-brother said quietly. “But you don’t have the head game to keep up. Not yet.”

The words burned worse than the takedown. Ronan’s jaw clenched as he watched them walk away, already planning how quickly he could wrap this mission and get clear of Hope Landing, of Knight Tactical, of Christian’s perfectly ordered world.

Then Maya’s face appeared above him, hands on hips, head shaking slowly. She turned without a word, following the others.

Ronan groaned, letting his head fall back against the mat. It was going to be that kind of day.

20

CHAIN OF COMMAND

Maya leanedagainst the conference room window, the morning sun warm on her back but doing nothing to ease the chill in her gut. Her father paced nearby, that familiar contained energy that had driven her crazy growing up. Now it was oddly comforting. He was here. He was safe. And watching him work the room—already directing traffic like he owned the place—almost made her smile.

Until she remembered that by now, every law enforcement agency in Southern California thought Lawrence Chen’s daughter was a traitor and a murderer. Her stomach twisted. Everything she’d worked for, destroyed in less than forty-eight hours.

“Stop it.” Her father’s voice, low enough for only her to hear. “I can see you spiraling.”

“I’m not?—”

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