Page 82 of Lost Hope

“Of what?” Ronan challenged. “Risk? Complexity? Because I’ve seen her tactical assessments. She thinks faster on her feet than half our team.”

Christian straightened, his expression hardening. “We were hoping you’d tell her.”

“I’m not ...” Ronan ran a hand through his hair. “Look, she’s not exactly interested in my opinions right now.”

“Wonder why.” Christian folded his arms across his chest. “You’re the one who brought her to the party. It’s your job to handle this.”

“She’s not a situation to be handled. She’s a highly qualified agent who?—”

“Who you’re not thinking clearly about,” the admiral interrupted quietly.

Ronan fell silent. Three sets of knowing eyes watched him, waiting. “We need her on this. And she’s earned it.”

“You sure about that?” Jack’s tone was careful. “This isn’t exactly standard law enforcement.”

“She’s NCIS.” Ronan fought to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “We could use federal oversight, chain of custody for evidence collection. She knows the case inside out.” And she deserved this. She’d more than earned her place on the team, whether he liked it or not.

“It’s going to be a hot insertion,” Christian said quietly. “Underground fortress, armed hostiles?—”

“You think I don’t know that?” The edge in his voice surprised even him. He drew a deep breath. “Look, she’s qualified. More than qualified. And this isn’t about ...” He trailed off.

“About what?” His mother’s voice from the doorway made him close his eyes briefly. Of course she’d show up now. “About you trying to protect a woman you have feelings for? Or about you finally figuring out you can’t?”

He turned to find her watching him with knowing eyes.

“Actually,” Ronan met his mother’s gaze, “I was about to say it isn’t about what makes me comfortable. It’s about doingthe job right. And loyalty to a team member who’s proven themselves.”

Something shifted in his mother’s expression—pride, maybe, or recognition.

“You were twelve,” she said softly, “when that editor told me the Middle East was ‘no place for a woman reporter.’ Remember what you said?”

He did. The memory hit him like a physical thing—his mother’s determined face, so like Maya’s when she took on a challenge. His own righteous fury at anyone trying to limit her.

“I said it was stupid,” he answered. “That you were smarter than him anyway.”

“And now?”

Ronan looked at the mission plans spread across the counter, thought about Maya’s quick tactical mind, her steady hands, her unwavering courage. Everything in him screamed to keep her safe, protected, away from danger.

But that wasn’t who she was. And it wasn’t who he was, either.

“Now I’m saying she’s part of this operation.” His voice strengthened with conviction. “Not because we need federal oversight, though we do. Not because she’s qualified, though she is.” He met each pair of eyes in turn. “Because she’s earned it. Because it’s right.”

“Even though it scares you to death?” his mom asked quietly.

“Especially because of that.” Ronan’s laugh held no humor. “Trying to protect people by controlling their choices—that’s not protection. That’s fear winning.”

“Well,” his mother’s smile was approving, “look who finally grew up.”

“Does this mean,” Maya’s voice from the doorway made them all turn, “you’re done being an overprotective jerk?”

She stood there in tactical gear, chin lifted in that familiar challenging angle. His heart contracted painfully, but he forced himself to really look at her—not as someone to protect, but as the capable agent she was.

“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I’m working on it.”

Something softened in her expression. “Good enough.” She moved to study the schematics. “What’s our infiltration route?”

Then he stepped up beside her, pointing to the water access tunnel. “Here’s what we know ...”

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