Page 69 of Deadly Hope
Axel thought through their exit strategy. No way they’d get out of the building without Driscoll, or his security detail,seeing them. “We’re not going to make it out of the building. Kenji? Zara? We need a hideout on this floor.”
“You’ve got two minutes, max,” Deke cut in. “He’s already in the elevator.”
They raced out of the office, Axel taking a final sweep of the space. Everything looked exactly as it had—except for their carefully placed breadcrumbs. He eased the door shut behind them and they sprinted across the large suite and across the hall.
“He’s in the lobby,” Zara hissed. “The office next door is empty. Electronic lock is inactive. Go.”
“Copy that.” Axel motioned to Voss and Olivia to move.
He prayed, hard, that the door was indeed unlocked.
The keypad was, thankfully, blank. He eased his sidearm out of its holster and opened the door. Silence.
He ushered Olivia and the Agency woman inside.
“I’m coming to you,” Deke announced over comms. “You’re gonna need the extra backup.”
“Copy that.” Axel cracked the door just before Deke appeared at the door to the stairs.
How such a big man could move so quietly, he’d never know. An instant later, Deke was inside, too.
Axel pressed against the wall of the darkened adjacent office, Olivia and Voss beside him, Deke positioned himself on the other side of the doorway. Through the thin partition, they could hear Driscoll approaching his door. The distinctive beep of his security system disengaging.
Through the crack in the door, Axel watched Driscoll enter his office. For several long moments, there was only the sound of methodical movement.
Axel felt Olivia’s slight tension beside him. This was the moment they’d planned for—Driscoll discovering their carefully orchestrated scene.
Then, “Someone’s been in here!” Driscoll’s voice hadtaken on the edge they’d been counting on. The first seeds of paranoia taking root.
“Psychology can be the deadliest weapon in the arsenal,” Olivia whispered. “You just have to know exactly where to aim.”
40
From their positionin the darkened office across the hall, Olivia shuddered, her throat tight. James’s murderer was less than twenty feet away.
Deke pulled up the surveillance feed on his tablet and passed it to Olivia.
The changes in Driscoll’s appearance were striking. The Armani suit—likely tailored three months ago based on their intel—hung loose across his shoulders. His collar gaped where his neck had thinned.
Olivia’s hands wanted to shake. This man, this monster who’d ordered her brother’s death, looked so ... ordinary. Almost fragile.
Her brother’s voice echoed in her memory.“Sometimes the most dangerous people look the most normal, Liv.”She’d give anything to tell James he was right.
“He’s lost at least twenty pounds since those personnel photos.” She gripped the tablet harder, channeling everything into analysis. “Classic stress response, but this severe?”
“That’s not good?” Axel’s voice was low beside her. She caught his subtle shift closer—support without coddling.
“It’s telling.” From the feed, she watched Driscoll pause and look around his office, his fingers compulsively adjusting his tie. One-two-three tugs, pause, repeat. “That’s new. A control ritual—he’s trying to self-regulate.” Just like James used to tap his fingers when stressed. The parallel made bile rise in her throat.
Through their carefully placed cameras, she studied his eyes as he started to panic. There was something frantic in their movement, something raw that made her pulse quicken. Not from fear—from anticipation. After tonight, he’d answer for everything. Every life he’d destroyed. Every family he’d torn apart.
They watched in tense silence as he froze, staring at his desk.
Olivia held her breath as she catalogued every movement he made, every micro-expression, with the precision James had taught her. The same attention to detail that had made him such a good investigator. That had ultimately gotten him killed.
But instead of the careful, paranoid search they’d anticipated, Driscoll exploded into motion. He rifled through papers. Yanked drawers open. Found the USB, and hurled it across the room with a wordless snarl. The violence of it made her flinch—not from fear, but recognition. She’d seen this kind of rage before, in suspects about to break.
“That’s not right,” she said sharply, shoving down memories of other interrogations, other cases. “His profile suggested secretive paranoia, not?—”
