Page 94 of Lost Hope

She shifted her weight, noting how Richardson’s security team had subtly tightened their formation. The man on the mezzanine had disappeared—not a good sign. Through the crowd’s excited chatter, she caught the admiral’s barely audible inhale. He’d noticed too.

Any second now.

“Actually,” she projected her voice to carry across the lobby, playing up her role as the difficult starlet, “I think we should do the confrontation scene right here.” She stepped closer toRichardson, watching his pupils dilate. “You know, the one about betrayal?”

Richardson’s phone finally lit up with a message. Maya watched the blood drain from his face as he read it.

“No,” he said softly, all pretense of the charming producer vanishing. “No, that’s not possible.”

The tourists, sensing something had shifted but not understanding what, began to back away. The security guard by the door touched his earpiece, frowning.

Through the thinning crowd, Maya caught a glimpse of Griff at the bar, casually wiping a glass like he’d worked there all his life. He met her eyes for a fraction of a second, and his characteristic half-smile appeared. Behind him, Jack materialized from the service corridor, still in maintenance coveralls, flashing the OK sign while pretending to check his phone.

If Griff and Jack were here, looking this pleased with themselves, it could only mean one thing: they’d found Minerva. She was safe.

Mission accomplished. The most important part, anyway.

The admiral’s transformation was subtle. The tension in his shoulders, coiled tight for days, eased by mere millimeters. But it was his eyes that gave him away to Maya. Behind that stern professional mask, they sparked with a fierce joy that made him look twenty years younger. For just a heartbeat, she glimpsed the young officer who’d first fallen in love decades ago.

Holding her gaze, he tapped his wrist twice. Ronan and Axel tensed imperceptibly on either side of her. They’d been waiting hours for this signal. Maya pressed the hidden catch in her restraints. Next to her, she heard the faint clicks as Ronan and Axel did the same, their restraints dropping to the tile.

Fully in control now, the admiral straightened, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty: “Minerva’s safe, Richardson. It’s over.”

The sound Richardson made was barely human—a strangled mix of rage and despair that made the nearest tourists flinch back in alarm. His carefully manicured hands curled into claws, and she saw the moment his control shattered completely.

47

CHECKMATE

Ronan feltthe first explosion before he heard it—a deep vibration that rippled through his bones. The fever that had been simmering all day peaked suddenly, making the room tilt. He locked his knees, refusing to go down.

No way. Not now.

Another explosion above. Then another. The sprinkler system activated. The sudden cold water made him shiver. Emergency lights began to strobe, transforming the lobby into a fractured nightmare of red and white pulses. Each flash sent daggers through his skull.

Through fevered eyes, he saw Richardson’s face twist into something triumphant and horrible. Maya moved—a blur of purpose through his wavering vision—but Richardson was faster than any of them expected. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Maya, spinning her around and pressing a gun to her temple.

“Nobody moves!” Richardson’s voice carried over the chaos of the panicking crowd. “I’ll kill her. You know I will.”

Ronan’s muscles screamed to launch forward, to do something, anything—but the fever had other plans. The room spun. He caught himself against a marble column. Water raninto his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was sweat or from the sprinklers.

“Let her go, Buck.” The admiral’s voice cut through the chaos, steady and commanding despite everything. “There’s nowhere left to run.”

Richardson’s laugh was hollow. “There’s always a way out, John. You taught me that.” He started backing toward the service corridor, dragging Maya with him. “Anyone follows, she dies.”

Maya’s eyes met Ronan’s across the lobby. There was no fear in them—only calculation. He recognized that look. She was planning something.

Don’t, he wanted to shout. Too dangerous. But the fever had stolen his voice.

Richardson reached the corridor entrance. In that moment, Maya moved—dropping her weight suddenly, twisting inside Richardson’s grip. Her elbow shot up, catching him under the chin. The gun flew from his grip.

She rolled clear as Richardson stumbled backward.

“No!” Richardson’s hand went to his jacket pocket, emerging with something small and metallic. A pill case.

The admiral was moving before anyone else could react. His shoulder caught Richardson in the midsection, driving him back into the wall. The pill case skittered across the floor, out of reach. Before Richardson could recover, the admiral’s fist connected with his jaw in a punch that seemed to carry thirty years of betrayal behind it.

Richardson went down hard.

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