Page 81 of Lost Hope

“Talk?” she finished, hating how hopeful she sounded. Professional. She was supposed to be keeping this professional.

Something flickered in his eyes—pain? regret?—before that wall came down again. “About the mission parameters,” he said stiffly. “We should coordinate our approach to Pantone.”

Of course. The mission. Because that’s all this was now.

“Right.” She squared her shoulders. “The mission. Send me your tactical outline when it’s ready, Commander.”

She walked out before he could respond, her steps measured, her spine straight. Behind her, she heard him exhale sharply, heard the soft thud of his fist hitting the conference table.

Good. Let him hurt too.

40

CHAIN OF COMMAND

Ronan knewit was an ambush the moment he walked into the kitchen. The admiral leaned against the counter, Christian lounged by the coffeemaker, and Jack blocked the doorway. Three military men, all wearing identical expressions that spoke of news—and something else.

“We found Pantone,” the admiral said without preamble. “He’s holed up in a converted Nike missile site in the Marin Headlands.”

Ronan paused halfway to the coffee pot. “A missile site.”

“Some tech billionaire turned it into a safe house,” Christian explained. “Underground bunkers, secret passageways, the whole nine yards.”

“You’re kidding.” Ronan reached for a mug. “What’s next—sharks with laser beams?”

Knight’s mouth twitched. “According to our intel, the renovation kept most of the original Cold War infrastructure. Multiple levels, blast doors, emergency power systems. Added some modern amenities—luxury living quarters, state-of-the-art security.”

“And a secret tunnel to the bay,” Christian added. “Because apparently that’s a thing now.”

“Wheels up in thirty,” Jack said. “Ethan’s getting us detailed schematics, Austin and Izzy are prepping the Pilatus and the Eurocopter.”

Ronan sipped his coffee, waiting.

The three men exchanged looks.

“About the team composition,” the admiral began carefully. “Given the nature of the operation?—”

“Maya needs to be there.” The words were out before Ronan could second-guess them. His grip tightened on the mug as three sets of eyebrows rose in perfect synchronization.

Yeah, he was surprised, too. He might hate the idea of her being in danger. Might not even be able to live with the consequences, but thinking about her being sidelined to make him feel better flat broke him.

The three men exchanged looks.

“She’s not going.” Knight didn’t waste time with preliminaries.

“This isn’t an NCIS operation,” Jack added. “We’re going in hot against mercenaries in an underground fortress.”

“She’s a qualified federal agent?—”

“Who’s never done a black ops insertion,” Christian cut in. “This isn’t a criticism, little brother. It’s operational reality.”

Ronan set his mug down carefully. “With all due respect, she’s proven herself more than capable?—”

“In controlled situations,” the admiral said. “With backup. With clear rules of engagement.”

“She handled herself fine at the clinic.”

“That was different,” Jack said. “This is a whole other level of?—”

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