Page 41 of Lost Hope

“Hold up.” Star studied the infrared footage. “There’s something ...” She enhanced a section, the ghostly thermal image sharpening. “See that signature around their comms? That’s not standard gear.”

Christian was already moving closer to the screen, tension visible in his shoulders. “Can you isolate that heat pattern?”

Star attacked the keyboard. A distinctive thermal signature filled the screen—a unique radiation pattern around the operators’ communication equipment.

“Well look at that.” Christian exchanged a look with Jack. “That’s a modified Knight Industries XR-7 setup. Custom job.”

“You’re sure?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah.” His brother’s jaw tightened. “Sentinel’s the only outfit running that config. They modify the thermal dispersal to?—”

“To minimize detection by opposing force IR,” Axel finished, earning surprised looks. “What? I keep up.”

Maya watched the interplay, noting how her father had positioned himself—unconsciously or not—between her and the screen. Some habits die hard.

“Sentinel’s good,” Axel added quietly.

She wrinkled her nose. “So a rival personal protection firm is trying to kidnap my father? That literally makes zero sense.”

Ronan’s features softened. “It does if they want to get to you.”

“Something bigger is at play here,” Christian mused. “Sentinel Security’s on the level. Like us. And they don’t do wetwork unless?—”

“Unless someone with serious pull is calling the shots,” Jack finished, reaching for his phone. “I think it’s time we interrupt the admiral’s vacation.” He pulled out his phone. “Sentinel Security’s owner Buck Richardson and the admiral go way back. All the way to Annapolis.”

“The admiral?” her dad asked.

“Admiral Knight. Our founder.” Christian’s voice held equal parts respect and affection. “He and Richardson have been friendly rivals for decades. Navy, private sector, you name it.”

The wall screen flickered to life, revealing a man at the helm of a huge motor yacht. Sun glinted off silver hair and the kind of deeply tanned face that spoke of a lifetime at sea. But Maya caught the sharp intelligence behind his grandfatherly smile—this was a man who’d commanded carrier groups and sat in rooms where nations’ fates were decided.

“Jack! Christian!” The admiral adjusted his course with practiced ease. “To what do I owe the—hold on.” He peered at the screen. “Why do you all look like someone kicked over a hornet’s nest?”

“We’ve got a bit of a situation brewing here, sir. It involves Sentinel Security.” Jack made quick introductions.

“Buck Richardson’s outfit?” The admiral’s jovial expression sharpened to laser focus. He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Give me the rundown.”

As Jack explained, Maya watched the admiral’s face. Decades of command experience showed in how quickly he processed the information, asking precise questions that cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well now.” He grinned suddenly, looking like a kid offered an unexpected treat. “This beats shuffleboard.” Another furtiveglance behind him. “Minerva insisted on two weeks in the Med. I’m going stark raving mad here, but don’t you dare?—”

“John?” A woman’s voice called from off-screen. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just checking the weather, dear!” He turned back, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me make some calls. I owe Buck a call anyway. Gotta catch up on the grandkids. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can shake loose from?—”

“Are you working?” The voice was closer now.

“Gotta go!” The admiral’s hasty wink was the last thing they saw before the screen went dark.

“Well,” Chen said into the silence. “That was ...”

“The admiral,” Christian finished with a fond smile. “Give him an hour. He’ll have intel that would take us weeks to dig up.”

Maya caught Ronan fighting a grin. Even her father looked impressed, which was saying something.

“So,” Christian continued, “while the admiral works his magic, let’s break down what else we know.”

“Right.” Ethan pulled up multiple screens, intelligence flowing across them. “We’ve got three major events in the past thirty-six hours—Marcus Sullivan’s death, Tom Benson’s murder, and the attempt on Captain Chen.”

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