Page 79 of Lost Hope

As if she needed to walk her father through the way she’d let herself get played by another emotionally unavailable man with a hero complex. “Nope.”

She heard him inhale sharply and immediately regretted the harsh response. It wasn’t his fault her mother had left them both. Just like it wasn’t his fault Maya had apparently inherited his terrible taste in partners.

“Maya—”

“I’m sorry.” She finally turned to face him, saw the hurt in his eyes that he tried to hide. “That wasn’t fair. I’m just ...”

“Angry?” His smile was gentle. “I remember that feeling.”

“I thought ...” She slammed another punch into the bag, her voice tight. “I thought we were building something. Something real. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re many things, sweetheart. An idiot isn’t one of them.”

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe she hadn’t completely misread everything. But the memory of Ronan’s cold dismissal, the way he wouldn’t even look at her anymore, made her jaw clench.

“I need to shower.” She unwrapped her hands with sharp, angry movements. “Got a briefing to prep for.”

Her father stepped aside, letting her pass, but his quiet words followed her: “Sometimes people push away what they want most because they’re afraid of losing it.”

“Yeah?” She paused at the door. “Well, mission accomplished there.”

The hallway offered no escape from her thoughts. Every corner held some memory—Ronan’s laughter during their late-night strategy session, the brush of his shoulder against hers as they reviewed intel, that moment in the van when she’d thought ...

“Maya!”

She turned to find Zara hurrying toward her, tablet in hand, excitement radiating from every movement.

Zara grabbed her arm. “We cracked it. The medical records, the money trail, everything. Conference room, now. Everyone’s assembling.”

Maya glanced down at her workout clothes, then at her new friend’s urgent expression. “Five minutes?”

As she hurried toward her room, she pushed everything else aside. She was good at that—compartmentalizing, focusing on the mission. It’s what made her excellent at her job.

It’s also what made her terrible at relationships.

39

DEEPER PATTERNS

The conference roomhummed with tension as Maya slipped into one of the few remaining seats—unfortunately, right next to Ronan. She forced herself to focus on Zara and Ethan, who were practically vibrating with nervous energy as they pulled up multiple screens of data.

“We found it,” Zara announced. “The biological passports aren’t just being collected—they’re being sold. And we can prove who’s buying.”

Star nodded, highlighting a series of transactions. “These transfers all route through Cyprus shell companies, but look at the encryption signature.”

“Krechet Strategic,” Ronan said, leaning forward. Maya caught his slight wince—his shoulder was bothering him again, not that he’d admit it. “They’re not even trying to hide it.”

Maya shifted in her seat, hyperaware of his proximity. “For those of us who don’t speak alphabet soup?”

“Russian military intelligence front,” Ronan explained, his voice sliding into that focused tactical tone she’d grown to ... appreciate professionally. “They pose as independent contractors, but they’re Kremlin muscle. Run by Mikhail Yastrebov—ex-FSB colonel with ties to Putin’s inner circle.”

“The biomarkers, the genetic profiles, the medical histories,” Ethan added, pulling up more data. “They’re not just stealing identities—they’re buying complete biological passports.”

The implications hit Maya like a physical blow. Her years with the LAPD had taught her to follow evidence trails, but this ... this was bigger than anything she’d imagined. She felt Ronan tense beside her, knew he’d reached the same conclusion.

“So we’ve got proof,” she said, the words tasting like ash. “The Russians are?—”

“Buying murdered veterans’ identities to insert deep cover operatives,” Ronan finished, their old synchronization betraying them both.

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