Page 87 of Lost Hope

The line went dead. Zara shook her head—no trace. Izzy swore softly.

“Wait.” Knight’s voice cut through the stunned silence. “Play it back. That last thing she said.”

Zara reversed the feed. Minerva’s face filled the screen again, managing to look composed despite her situation.

The admiral went absolutely still. Something flashed across his face—recognition, then rage, instantly controlled.

“Sir?” Jack asked quietly.

“Thirty years ago. Only four of us in the room.” Knight’s voice was carefully neutral. “A specific speech about power and shadows. About never needing to hide your strength.”

Victoria touched his arm. “John?”

The admiral blinked hard, his face going slack with shock. “Richardson. She’s telling us Buck Richardson is behind this.”

“Hope Landing ground, this is Mooney Three One One Echo. Requesting clearance to land on runway zero niner. Anybodyhome?” The bland announcement came over the speaker connected to Hope Landing’s tiny control tower. Unmanned, at this hour.

Ethan’s voice was clipped: “Incoming aircraft requesting clearance to land. Private Cirrus Vision Jet.” He turned away from his keyboard, blinking in surprise. “It’s Buck Richardson’s plane, sir.”

“Right on cue,” the admiral said softly. Ronan heard decades of friendship turned to ash in those three words.

Jack growled. “No way that’s a coincidence.”

Fury flashed through Knight’s eyes. “Roger that, son. The man always did try way too hard. It’ll be the death of him.”

Clearly, he meant that literally.

The room swayed dangerously, but Ronan locked his knees, gripping the edge of the table. Maya’s hand settled firmly against his back, steadying him while appearing to simply stand close. He caught Kenji’s sharp look and forced himself straighter, knowing the medic would bench him in a heartbeat if he showed weakness now.

Knight strode to the console next to Ethan and punched the send button. “Hello, Buck. Your timing is impeccable, as always. Come on in.” He stepped away from the transmitter. “All right, people. Game on.” He paused, giving each of them a piercing look. “Whatever the man has planned, we play along.”

Jack shot to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“Tactical thoughts, sir?” Christian asked.

“We’ll wing this one. One thing you can count on with Buck Richardson. He never fails to telegraph his punches. If you see a verbal opening, go for it. The rest of us will follow. And under no circumstances do we clue him in that we know. Everyone copy?”

“Sir. Yes, sir,” they answered in near-unison.

“Meeting adjourned,” Knight ordered. “Jack and Austin, escort Richardson up. The rest of you have one hour to give me options.”

Maya kept her hand against Ronan’s back as the room cleared, her touch light enough to seem casual but firm enough to help him stay upright. In the hallway, he leaned briefly against the wall, letting the cool surface draw some heat from his fevered skin.

“You’re burning up,” she whispered, and he heard the familiar edge of exasperation in her voice. The one that said she thought he was being an idiot but would back his play anyway. “But if you pass out during the op ...”

“I won’t.” He pushed off the wall, fighting to keep his stride steady as they headed for the tactical room. They both knew what was coming next—Richardson would arrive playing concerned friend, and they’d need every operator in place for what would follow.

Maya’s muttered “stubborn idiot” told him exactly what she thought of his assurances, but she’d play along. For now. It would have to be enough.

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Maya was already readingRichardson’s body language as he swept into the tactical room. Seven years in Homicide had taught her to catalog the subtle tells—the too-precise timing of his concerned expression, the calculated urgency in his stride, the way his eyes flickered over tactical displays before settling on the admiral.

“John.” He gripped the admiral’s shoulder. “What do you need? Sentinel resources are at your disposal. Sky’s the limit.”

Through the surveillance feeds, Maya watched Jack’s team silently securing positions around the building’s perimeter. On her tactical display, Star’s fingers flew across keys, manufacturing the appearance of desperate search patterns.

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