Page 56 of Lost Hope

“He’s right.” The words hurt coming out, but Maya forced herself to continue. “I can blend in with the shopping crowd on Abbot Kinney. You two?—”

“No.” Ronan stepped toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body, smell the salt on his skin. “Maya?—”

“You’re painting a target on her if she stays with us,” Christian growled, getting in Ronan’s face. “But alone? She’s just another tourist.”

Maya touched Ronan’s arm, felt the tension thrumming through his muscles. “He’s right. I’ve got this.”

The conflict in Ronan’s eyes made her chest tighten. She wanted to say something more, something to ease that look. But another drone buzzed closer, and their time was up.

She watched her teammates disappear in opposite directions, Ronan’s reluctance visible in every line of his body until he vanished into the crowd.Focus. Move.Eyes alert for the drone, she slipped out of the alley and joined a cluster of women leaving a wine bar, mimicking their loose-limbed strut and carefree laughter.

Her phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number: Chess masters moved inside. King’s gambit in play.

Had to be Griffin Hawkins. She’d have to ask him later how he’d gotten this number—the phone was brand new, supplied by Knight Tactical less than forty-eight hours ago. Then again, this was Ghost. He probably had the number before she did.

The chess masters moving inside—that had to mean the players had left their usual outdoor tables. Thanks to her father’s drill-sergeant training, she could hold her own at achess board. A king’s gambit was an aggressive opening move, sacrificing a pawn to gain position.

Message received. You want me to make an obvious move to draw attention.

She forced herself not to tense as two men in tactical pants and too-new tourist shirts passed by. Feds. FBI. NCIS. Did it really matter?

The women she’d joined turned into a boutique. Maya kept walking, every sense straining. Another buzz: Knight to queen’s bishop 4. Clock running.

A knight’s move—an indirect approach. Queen’s bishop meant the left side of the playing field. Maya counted the cross streets. Four blocks left would put her behind the famous shopping street’s main stores.

She slipped into the next alley, pressing her back against sun-warmed brick as an LAPD cruiser crawled past. The smell of coffee from the hipster café next door mingled with rotting sweetness from nearby dumpsters. Sweat trickled down her neck, but she didn’t dare move to wipe it away.

Her gaze caught on a barista clearing tables outside the café. The servers wore shirts with chess pieces printed on them, part of some brand identity.Of course. Chess masters moved inside—he’s literally telling me which café.

Her phone buzzed again: Rook takes pawn. Service entrance clear.

A direct assault on an exposed piece—Griffin was warning her the service entrance would only be clear momentarily.

The café’s back door was still propped open from the barista’s trash run. Maya counted to three, then moved. But as she reached for the handle, a new sound froze her in place—the distinctive scrape of uniform shoes on asphalt.

Christian’s voice crackled in her earpiece. “Creating a distraction near Muscle Beach. Local talent’s about to getrowdy.” In the distance, she heard raised voices, the sound of an impromptu strength competition drawing crowds.

But her attention was locked on the shadow moving at the far end of the alley. The figure stepped forward?—

“Hold up, ma’am.” A female officer moved into view, hand on her holstered weapon. “I need to see some ID.”

Her heart thundered, but Maya let her shoulders slump in fake relief. “Oh wonderful! An actual officer. Some creep’s been following me since Pacific Avenue.” She fumbled in her purse, hands shaking—not entirely an act. “I ducked back here to call my boyfriend ...”

Ronan’s voice, tight with tension, came through her earpiece. “I’ve got two operatives in sight. One in a pink golf shirt. The other’s wearing striped board shorts and a white tee. They haven’t spotted me yet, but probably just a matter of time.”

“I got you,” Christian responded.

The officer studied Maya’s offered ID—a quick Knight Tactical creation that would hold up to basic scrutiny. “There have been some incidents in the area. Maybe you should?—”

A crash of weights hitting concrete echoed from Muscle Beach, followed by angry shouts. The officer’s radio crackled to life. “All units, disturbance at Muscle Beach recreation area ...”

Maya watched indecision war on the woman’s face.

Come on, Christian. Make it good.

“Dispatch, I’ve got a civilian complaint to check ...” The officer keyed her radio, then turned back to Maya. “Ma’am, I suggest you move to a more public?—”

The radio erupted again. “Officers needed, situation escalating?—”

---