Page 65 of Deadly Hope
She watched him pace the kitchen, all coiled energy and defensive pride, and couldn’t help the thought that flashed through her mind. For someone who claimed such deep faith, he certainly seemed resistant to accepting help—Divine or otherwise.
And just as quickly, the judgment in that thought made her cheeks burn with shame. Who was she to question another person’s spiritual journey?
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice cooling to clinical courtesy, “I should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”
As if.
Tomorrow they’d either succeed in trapping Driscoll or ... Her go-bag sat packed in her room, a constant reminder of the other possibility. Running. Leaving behind her practice, her patients, the life she’d built here. The thought of abandoning her community made her chest tight.
“Goodnight.” She turned to leave, keeping her movements measured and calm, though her heart raced with hurt and worry and that creeping fear of what tomorrow might bring.
“Olivia—” He started to say something, then stopped himself. “Yeah. Goodnight.”
She felt him watching as she left, but neither of them said anything else. Sometimes walls were easier than bridges, professional courtesy safer than whatever had almost happened in that vulnerable moment before his anger.
She’d pray about it later. Right now, she needed to focus on tomorrow’s mission. On justice for James. On survival.
Everything else—including the hollow ache in her chest—would have to wait.
38
Axel shiftedin the passenger seat of the van, surveying the capital’s winter landscape. The Jefferson Memorial floated like a ghost through the pre-dawn murk, its marble dome stark against pewter clouds.
Zero four-hundred hours local time in DC.
The thermometer read thirty-five—warmer than Hope Landing’s current zero degrees—but the damp cold here cut deeper, aided by concrete and stone that radiated a bone-deep chill. No comparison to home, where pristine snow sparkled under starlight and pine boughs bent with sugary drifts. Here, everything was gray slush and dirty ice puddles, nature beaten into submission by the city’s relentless march.
The van’s interior lights cast harsh shadows across tense faces. In the back, Kenji triple-checked his tech, while Deke methodically arranged surveillance gear alongside Griff and Izzy and Zara, who was clearly feeling more herself again.
Margaret Voss sat rigid, staring at nothing, fingers drumming against her tactical vest.
And Olivia ...
Axel watched her in the rearview mirror as she reviewedDriscoll’s psychological profile again. She’d pulled her thick red hair back severely, all business now, no trace of the woman who’d almost broken through his defenses in that midnight kitchen confrontation. Her professional mask was firmly in place. Somehow, that withdrawal hurt worse than her anger had.
Even though it was what he wanted. Go figure.
She looked up from her tablet. “Alright. Here’s my final review of Driscoll’s likely responses.” Her voice carried that measured calm he recognized from her therapy sessions. “When he discovers the evidence, his narcissistic tendencies will trigger an immediate persecution response. He’ll believe he’s being targeted. Singled out.”
“Which he is,” Kenji muttered, not looking up from his laptop.
“True, but his paranoia will make him predictable.” Olivia leaned forward, and the team instinctively shifted to listen. “He’ll follow established patterns: first attempting to destroy evidence, then call in his hired guns to get him out.”
Axel noted how intently the others focused on her words. In just days, she’d become more than their mission objective—she was an integral part of the team. The thought came with an uncomfortable mix of pride and regret.
“I need to be there.” Voss’s voice cut through the briefing, tight with something that made the hair on Axel’s neck rise. “Inside his office, not running backup. I know Driscoll. Plus, I owe James that much.”
The raw intensity in her tone set off warning bells. Axel filed it away—another variable to monitor in an operation already balanced on a knife’s edge.
“Margaret—” he started.
“Please.” The word carried too much weight for a simple request. “The man is responsible for my partner’s murder.And James’s. I need to see his face when his world implodes.”
Axel met Olivia’s eyes in the mirror, saw his own unease reflected there. But they were out of time for questions.
“Moving to position one.” Griff’s whisper crackled through their earpieces as he melted into the shadows, headed for his rooftop perch. The team had memorized the layouts, the timing, the blind spots. Now it just had to work.
“Command center active.” Kenji’s voice next, from the service vehicle they’d positioned in the delivery zone. “Cameras looping on my mark.”
