Page 68 of Lost Hope

“He’s right,” Griffin said, knuckles white around his coffee cup. “I’m all for it.”

Christian shook his head. “Think this through, guys. If we grab McClelland, Pantone knows instantly. Best case, theyscatter. Worst case, they eliminate loose ends and take their operation underground.”

“More bodies,” Austin agreed. “We need something concrete linking the VA samples to Pantone without tipping our hand.”

Griffin slammed his cup down, coffee sloshing. “How?”

The raw pain in the man’s voice filled the room. Ronan pushed off the wall, ignoring his shoulder’s protest, and crossed to his friend. He placed a hand on Griffin’s shoulder, steady pressure grounding him. “We’ll get them. The right way. So it sticks. So they can’t wiggle out on technicalities.” He held Griffin’s gaze until some of the fury ebbed. “Tank and Tom Benson deserve a conviction that holds up in court. So do all those vets who ‘disappeared.’”

The room went quiet, watching the exchange. Even his mom’s perfect composure softened slightly.

He felt Maya’s gaze on him as he steadied Griffin, and when he looked up, their eyes met. Something in her expression had changed—less wariness, more ... what? Understanding? Respect? The intensity of her dark eyes made him want to look away and hold her gaze at the same time. He was used to people seeing the soldier, the commander, the man of action. But Maya saw deeper, and that unsettled him in ways he wasn’t ready to examine.

He forced his attention back to Griff, to the mission, to anything but the way Maya’s presence filled his awareness even from across the room.

Jack’s expression tightened. “We need to be careful here. Pantone could be operating independently. One corrupt executive doesn’t necessarily implicate all of Sentinel Security.”

“Agreed.” Ronan straightened, shoulder protesting. “Which means we need to tackle this from two angles. First, is Pantone a lone operator, or is Sentinel involved? Second ...” He metGriffin’s haunted eyes. “What’s worth killing for? What are they doing with those samples that requires eliminating witnesses?”

The questions landed heavy in the pre-dawn quiet.

Zara’s hands stilled above her keyboard. “I think I know,” she breathed. “Biological passports. They’ve got everything they need—DNA, fingerprints, complete medical histories, military credentials ...”

“Z’s right. Perfect foundation for foolproof forgeries,” Kenji added. “The kind that would pass any biometric verification system.”

Lawrence frowned. “But fake IDs are a dime a dozen. Even good ones. Give me an hour and I could get you ten of them. Why go to these lengths?”

The answer punched Ronan in the gut. “Because they’re not building street-level forgeries. They’re creating military credentials. The kind that get you past nuclear facility checkpoints. Biological screening. Classified installations.”

The room went dead silent.

“Two teams,” Jack said finally. “We split this. One group investigates Pantone, the other gets proof of what that lab is really producing.”

Ronan nodded. “Zara, Star, Ethan—you’re our best bet for tracing Pantone’s digital footprint.”

“But you’ll need a techie to run the VA op,” Star pointed out. “I say Ethan and Zara work the Pantone angle here. I’ll go with the team.”

“Belay that,” Ethan spoke up. “I’ll go. You and Zara have a better handle on the new AI protocols. I got this.”

Star kissed her husband on the cheek before addressing the group. “See? He’s learning. Instead of an order, he makes it a compliment. Smooth move, Mr. Hernandez. Very smooth.”

The cyber-security operative grinned hard. “Sometimes you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

It was a good move. Ronan had to admit, he would have flat ordered his wife to stay back. He could learn a thing or two from these domesticated warriors.

“Good plan,” Jack agreed. “The rest of us hit the lab.”

“Not you.” Jack’s voice was firm. “That arm needs time.”

“I’m going.” Ronan kept his voice level, but his hands clenched. They weren’t sidelining him. Not for this.

To his surprise, Maya spoke up. “He goes.” Her tone brooked no argument. “But you stay in the van,” she added, fixing Ronan with a look that somehow managed to be both commanding and concerned. “That’s non-negotiable.”

Ronan held her gaze, fighting a smile. “Deal.” Behind his back, his fingers crossed—an automatic gesture he hadn’t used since childhood. But something in Maya’s eyes said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He’d worry about that later. Right now, they had work to do. And less than five hours to plan for it.

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