Page 39 of Declan's Hope

8

I’m looking forward to Saturday night.

It was just a few words, but Declan had read over them several times throughout the day. Hope had sent it while he’d been in the shower that morning. Then once he’d gotten out, dressed, and seen it, it had been too late to call her back—she would have already been at work—so he’d just texted back, me too.

A smile caught him unawares as he pulled his truck into the employee parking lot behind the Elite Protection Agency’s one-story office building. Maybe he could surprise her by waiting on her after she got out of school in a couple of hours. He hadn’t looked forward to anything so much in a long time, and would rather show her how much in person.

The smile felt strange to him. He hadn’t had a lot of them lately—none, really. But after last night, he’d found himself smiling at the oddest times—mainly when he thought about Hope. How he’d finally had her in his arms like he’d craved for almost a year, and over the prospect of their first official date.

He turned off his truck and adjusted his eye patch, running his fingers over the fabric. He’d managed to get an appointment earlier that morning with the ocularist the colonel had arranged for him to see after being discharged from the hospital. The man had been after him to get to his office ever since, but Declan hadn’t seen the need in it.

Now things were different.

Arranging to get his new eye fitted had been the first step in reclaiming his life. But it had been a damned odd, clammy, cold sensation when the man had filled his socket with alginate—the stuff used to make dental impressions. It would be worth the fleeting discomfort after his final fitting for his prosthesis at the end of the week.

It was time.

Last night had been a turning point for him—of sorts. He’d already been teetering on the fence about getting off his ass thanks to Mercy. His sister had even thrown Kara into the mix by putting her on the phone the last time they’d talked. Nothing beat having a nine-year-old tell you, "Uncle Declan, you’re being a baby." Of course she’d followed up that verbal head slap with an, "I love you."

But she’d been right.

He stared at the long, low building housing the EPA. And having Hope witness how low he’d sunk…

He shook himself out of those thoughts and opened his door. He needed to face the people inside that building—some of the people he cared most about in the world—people he’d neglected. It was just another step. Then he frowned as he jumped down from his truck and slammed the door.

"Whose are those?" A couple of unfamiliar vehicles sat parked among those belonging to the team. Clients didn’t park back here. So who did the two cars belong to? He raised a brow at the plain, black, SUV.

Standard government issue.

Interesting.

The other?

"Nice," he murmured, slowly walking along the long, low body of the dark blue 1967 Plymouth Satellite convertible parked beside Solace’s cream Volvo sedan. He ran a hand over the top of the driver’s side door where the window had been left down, then bent over it to get a better look inside the beige interior. Personally, he’d have gone with a manual transmission. But whoever had restored it had done a hell of a job.

He sent his speculative gaze toward the back door.

So, who were these strangers?

Declan pressed his fingers hard into the vinyl on the inside door panel, then relaxed his grip, pushed himself away, and headed to the entrance. Hopefully his palm ID still worked. He went to the door and hesitantly placed his left hand on the metal plate beside it. A low beep sounded and green light flashed.

At least that meant he still had a job.

Maybe.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, pulling the heavy door open and stepping inside to the sound of multiple raised voices coming from the conference room down the hall.

"…and killing our operative hadn’t been part of the equation. So your team screwed up our—"

"Do you think I give a fuck about your operation," the colonel shouted over whoever the other man was. His boss seldom raised his voice. So whoever they had in the conference room had royally pissed him off. "I’ll take saving the life of a child over anything the DEA needs any day."

DEA.

Definitely standard government issue.

"Can I help you?" Declan pulled his focus to a younger man—a menacing, hulking blonde-haired, blue-eyed younger man, almost as tall as him. The man’s expression cleared, a look of surprised recognition crossing his features. "You’re Declan."

"And you are?"

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