Page 40 of Lost Hope

“You’re doing that thing with your jaw. Same thing you did before every spelling bee.”

“Dad.” The familiar exasperation felt almost normal. “I’m not twelve anymore.”

“No.” His eyes softened. “You’re a federal agent being framed for murder. But we’re going to fix that.”

“Exactly.” Jack stepped forward, all professional courtesy. “That’s where we come in. Knight Tactical has access to intelligence channels that local law enforcement can’t touch.”

Christian cleared his throat. “Before we start—team, if you’ll join me?” He bowed his head without fanfare, the others immediately following suit. Maya felt her father’s surprised glance but closed her eyes, finding unexpected comfort in the familiar ritual.

“Lord, guide our steps and clear our minds. Protect those in harm’s way and lead us to truth. Amen.”

“Amen,” the team echoed quietly.

Ronan shifted his weight, carefully studying the tactical display on the wall. The simple prayer had lasted perhaps fifteen seconds, but Maya caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against his thigh.

Her father, ever observant, simply folded his hands and waited respectfully. A veteran cop’s instinct for reading the room.

From the look, he liked what he saw.

“We should begin with this,” Star said before exchanging a grim look with Ethan. “It’s not good. These people are doubling down on the fake evidence.”

The displays flickered, new images forming. Maya’s heart sank as more deepfake videos appeared—her, Ronan, and Axel supposedly meeting Marcus Sullivan at various times. Then security footage from the marina, showing Ronan and Axel rushing from Tom’s SUV, weapons clearly visible.

Ronan jabbed a finger at the monitor. “That never happened.”

“We know,” Star cut him off. “But there’s more. They found a handgun in a harbor trash can. Your prints were on it.”

“Prints aren’t hard to get,” Maya said. “We’re all in the system.”

Austin nodded. “And they’re easy enough to fake. Basic 3D printing tech could do it.”

“So we’re no better off than we were last night.” Ronan’s frustration was palpable.

“We need to work backward,” her father said, that familiar commanding tone making Maya’s spine straighten automatically. “Find Sullivan’s killer?—”

“And we find who’s framing us,” Maya finished. “I know how to investigate, Dad.”

“Baby girl, I’ve been doing this since?—”

“Since before I was born. I know.” She caught Christian trying to hide a smile. “But I’m not your rookie anymore.”

Her father’s expression softened. “No. You’re not.” He turned to the group. “So where do we start?”

Maya met Ronan’s eyes across the room. They needed a lead. Fast. Before anyone else died because of whatever Ronan’s friend had stumbled into.

Star pulled up thermal imaging from her father’s condo. “The team was top-tier. Four-man stack, synchronized breach tactics.”

Ronan turned to her dad. “How’d you give yourself time to leave clues and get out?”

“Planned it that way,” her father responded, pulling out his phone. “Set up a network of cheap wireless cameras at strategic points—coffee shops, convenience stores. Places people don’t look twice at some guy fiddling with his phone.” He swiped through several feeds. “Piggybacked off public Wi-Fi, nothing traceable. When their vehicles hit my first marker six blocks out, I had five minutes. More than enough time.”

Maya shook her head, remembering all the times she’d teased him about being paranoid. “Let me guess—you’ve had this setup for months?”

“Years.” He didn’t look apologetic. “Street cop’s version of a surveillance network. Sometimes the best tech is the stuff nobody thinks to look for.”

Christian and Ronan shot her identical looks. “Your dad’s no joke,” Ronan said, while Christian nodded his agreement.

Her dad folded his arms across his chest. “Old dogs have the best tricks, boys. What can I say?”

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