Page 86 of Lost Hope

The admiral stood at the head of the conference table, outwardly composed but Ronan could read the devastation in the slight slump of his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes. Watching his mentor maintain his professional demeanor while his wife was missing hit Ronan harder than he’d expected. This was exactly why he’d kept relationships at arm’s length all these years—the terrifying vulnerability of having someone to lose.

Jack stood with his core unit—Austin, Christian, and Dale—near the main display screen. Dale’s wife, FBI Special Agent Tamra, was already coordinating with European authorities. Even Jack’s brother Chase was there, still in his Hope Landing FD uniform. Their grim expressions matched the gravity of the situation. Ronan caught Maya watching him with carefulconcern and forced himself straighter. He couldn’t afford to let fever or emotion compromise him now, not when the admiral needed them operating at peak efficiency.

“Seely and Patrick are standing by,” Jack reported. “Can be in the air from their locations in thirty if we need them.”

The admiral managed a slight smile. “Let’s hope we don’t need to interrupt their vacations just yet.”

Ronan’s own team filled the other side of the room. Deke had just finished leading a quiet prayer, his steady presence a counterpoint to the tension. Not how Ronan would have spent the time, but who was he to comment? Deke’s words certainly calmed Griff, at least. Handguns lined up on the table in front of her, Izzy methodically worked her way down the row, inspecting and cleaning. Zara hunched over laptops with Star and Ethan, while Kenji divided his attention between monitoring Ronan’s condition and conferring with Jack. Axel paced near the window, radiating contained fury.

His mom’s hand rested on the admiral’s shoulder, her usual elegant poise masking her worry for him and his wife. Beside her, Maya’s dad studied the timeline they’d constructed on the wall, his detective’s mind clearly working the puzzle from every angle.

Even Mike and Kate, the retired vets they’d recently rescued, had insisted on joining in. “I know Russian operations,” Mike had said simply. “If that’s where this leads ...”

Maya stood close enough that Ronan caught her quick, assessing glance. Close enough to catch him if his strength failed—which it wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not with this much at stake.

“Last contact was zero nine hundred local,” Christian reported. “The charter office confirmed Mrs. Knight’s departure from the Port of Naples, heading for Capri. Scheduled to meet her daughters for lunch at La Fontelina.”

“Never made it to the restaurant,” Jack added, his usual easy manner stripped away. “Girls waited two hours before raising the alarm.”

“And no sign of the boat? Why is there no sign of that boat?” The admiral’s voice remained controlled, professional, but Victoria’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

Still typing, Zara shook her head. “Harbor cameras show departure, heading southeast toward Capri. After that, nothing. Like the boat just ... vanished. The skipper, too.”

“If they find the boat at all, it’ll be floating face down in the Med,” Christian muttered.

The secure line’s harsh buzz cut through the room.

Everyone stilled.

Zara nodded at the admiral. “Ready to trace. Go ahead, sir.”

The admiral grabbed his phone. “Speak.”

A digitally altered voice filled the room. “Your wife is quite comfortable, John. For now.”

Ronan watched the man’s face freeze, decades of military control masking everything except a slight whitening around his mouth.

“Prove it,” the admiral said flatly.

“Arrangements can be made. But first—Knight Tactical stands down. All operations cease immediately.” A pause. “Especially concerning recent events regarding the Veteran’s Administration.”

Jack’s team exchanged sharp looks with Ronan’s people.

“You’re asking me to trust my wife’s safety to an anonymous voice,” Knight said.

“Trust isn’t required. Compliance is. We want three of your companions.” The voice sharpened. “Ronan Quinn. Maya Chen. Axel Reinhardt. Surrender them so we can remit them to federal authorities, and we’ll release Mrs. Knight.”

The room went deadly quiet. Ronan fought a wave of dizziness, felt Maya’s steadying hand brush his back. Across the room, Axel had gone completely still.

“Video proof,” Knight demanded. “Now.”

The main screen flickered. The man’s wife appeared, gray hair in disarray, swaying slightly in a straight-backed chair, but otherwise not in obvious distress. Standard waterfront backdrop behind her, could be anywhere. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, narcotics, probably, but there was still calculation in them.

“Tell the girls I love them,” she managed, voice steady despite the slur. “And John—about that Annapolis toast … it was the right?—”

The feed cut abruptly.

“Two hours,” the voice returned, “to begin arrangements for their surrender.”

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