Page 74 of Lost Hope

But right now, they had bigger problems. An admiral to brief. A conspiracy to unravel. And somewhere in the gathering darkness, a former military official named Pantone who was selling out his own country, one stolen identity at a time.

The plane banked, giving Maya her first real overview of Hope Landing in the daylight. The valley spread out below them like something from a postcard—dense pine forests parting to reveal a small town nestled between two gleaming lakes. Lake Bigler’s vast expanse stretched to the north, while tiny Reed Lake sparkled to the south.

“Density altitude’s a beast in this heat,” Jack announced from the cockpit. “Going to need every foot of runway.”

Maya watched as they descended, the details of the town emerging from the landscape. So different from San Diego’s sprawling concrete and endless coastline, boxed in by desert on three sides. Here, everything was green and wild and alive, the mountains rising protective walls around the valley.

She hadn’t even had time to explore since arriving. Hadn’t walked the neat downtown streets or hiked the trails she could see threading through the forest. Hadn’t done anything but chase leads and dodge bullets.

The thought sobered her. Once this was over—assuming they survived it—there’d be no going back. Even if they cleared her name, she knew how federal agencies worked. They didn’t forgive trouble-makers, didn’t forget agents who made waves. Her career with NCIS was effectively over before it had really begun.

The plane touched down with a gentle bump, Jack compensating for the tricky altitude with practiced ease. Maya stared out at the forested valley, surprised by how little the thought of leaving NCIS bothered her. She could talk it through with Dale Bosch, get his perspective, but she already knew. Sometimes doors closed so others could open.

Unbidden, her mind painted a picture: a life here, in this mountain sanctuary. Morning runs around the lake, evenings watching sunset paint the peaks. A small house in the woods. A certain former Special Forces commander with storm-gray eyes and a rare, transformative smile ...

She shut that thought down hard. Whatever spark had been growing between them was dead. Ronan had made his feelings clear with his cold shoulder act. No point dreaming about impossible things.

“Maya?” Christian’s voice broke through her reverie. “We’re here.”

She unbuckled, gathering her gear with deliberate focus. Dreams of what might have been would have to wait.

Still, as they deplaned under the late afternoon light, the air heavy with pine and summer heat, Maya couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she’d found something here. Not just a case to solve or a wrong to right, but a place that called to her soul.

Whether it called to anyone else’s remained to be seen.

36

FAMILIAR GROUND

Ronan strodeinto Knight Tactical’s ops center, deliberately taking a position at the far end of the conference table. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, late afternoon sun painted the valley in gold, a breathtaking view. He barely noticed.

His team filtered in behind him—Axel claiming the chair to his right, Kenji and Deke settling in across from them. The easy familiarity they’d developed over years of missions felt like a lifeline now. How many more times would they gather like this?

Once this op was over, they’d scatter. Back to their lives. Their homes. Their families. All the things he’d never managed to build.

Christian was already there with Ethan and Star, the three of them hunched over multiple screens. Jack and Austin disappeared to take a few hours with their families—something about their kids’ soccer tournament. Must be nice, having somewhere to go, someone waiting. Someone who mattered more than the next mission.

Zara and Izzy occupied their usual corner, heads bent over laptops. Griff lounged against the wall, his usual sardonic expression in place. “Nice of you to join us, boss.”

The nickname hit harder than usual. Once this was over ... what? Back to ferrying questionable cargo in a beaten-up plane? Starting over somewhere new? Alone?

Christian glanced up, his expression unreadable. Whatever tentative understanding they’d reached as brothers felt fragile in the fluorescent lights of the ops center. Another relationship he’d probably manage to screw up, given time.

Maya entered last, taking a seat near the door. The physical distance between them felt like miles. Good. That’s what he wanted.

Maybe if he reminded himself enough, he’d come to believe it.

A massive screen flickered to life, revealing Admiral Knight on what appeared to be his yacht’s bridge. Even at zero one hundred Mediterranean time, the man radiated energy that put Ronan’s exhausted team to shame. Behind him, moonlight silvered the calm waters, the night sky perfectly clear in that way unique to the Italian coast.

Ronan fought back another yawn. After thirty-six hours with no real sleep, the admiral’s alertness felt like a personal attack. Around the table, his team wasn’t faring much better. Even Christian had given up pretense, his third coffee of the hour going cold beside his laptop. But the admiral looked ready to take on the world, his intense focus a reminder of how he’d earned that fourth star.

“I’ve been trying to contact Buck Richardson since Jack clued me in on your latest intel. He’s gone dark,” Knight began without preamble, the time difference clearly irrelevant to his concerns. The tension in his face stood out sharply in the bridge’s low lighting. “I can’t find anyone that’s heard from him since yesterday morning ...”

“That tracks with the timeline we’re seeing, sir.” Zara studied her monitor. “All Sentinel’s secure channels went quiet after Maya’s infiltration.”

Star leaned forward, her usual energy subdued. “We’re seeing systematic shutdowns across their network, Admiral. Like they’re?—”

“They’re purging systems,” Maya added. “Standard procedure after?—”

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