Page 1 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Not again.

Neck stiff from hours sitting across from therapy clients, Olivia Kane stood in her parking spot in front of her office building, key fob dangling from numb fingers.

The driver’s seat of her Range Rover was definitely not where she’d left it.

Just like last week, when her radio presets had mysteriously changed.

And the week before, when her rearview mirror had been adjusted.

“You’re being paranoid,” she muttered, forcing herself to unlock the door and slide behind the wheel. Maybe the high-tech vehicle’s systems were malfunctioning.

But her hands shook slightly as she hit the button to adjust the seat back to her position. The familiar leather suddenly felt foreign, contaminated by unknown hands.

She should report it. That’s what the police had said after the break-in at her condo last month.

“Report everything suspicious, Dr. Kane. Build a paper trail.” But they’d also made it clear they considered that incident solved—part of a string of professional burglaries targeting upscale neighborhoods. Nothing personal. Nothing connected .

Except ...

Her mind cataloged the “coincidences” of the past few months, professional training kicking in despite her resistance.

The re-routed flight. The house plants that kept getting moved, just slightly, like someone had brushed past them in the dark.

The coffee mug that had appeared on her desk one morning—similar to her favorite one, but not quite right.

And the rash of new client cancellations.

It happened, frequently, with the population she served.

But there’d been too many of them these past few months, even for her.

“Enough,” she said firmly, starting the engine. She had a full day of clients scheduled tomorrow, active duty and former military personnel who needed her focused and present, not jumping at shadows.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Marisol, her office manager:

First client for tomorrow cancelled. Said something came up. Want me to try rebooking?

Olivia frowned. Colonel Richards never cancelled. In three years of therapy, he’d maintained military precision with his appointments, often arriving exactly seven minutes early to settle himself before their sessions.

Something cold settled in her stomach. Last week, another long-term client had abruptly terminated therapy. The week before, two newer clients had cancelled standing appointments. At the time, it had seemed random. Normal client turnover.

But now ...

She cranked up the SUV’s heater against the December chill and pulled up her calendar on her phone, scanning the past few months.

The pattern emerged with awful clarity—a slow but steady exodus of military clients.

Not all at once, nothing dramatic enough to trigger alarm bells.

Just a gradual thinning of her special operations cases, her high-security clearance patients.

The ones who trusted her with their darkest secrets.

Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

“Dr. Kane.” The voice was male, professionally neutral. Computer generated? She couldn’t be sure. “Just checking that you received the message about Colonel Richards.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Someone concerned about your welfare.” A pause. “You should be more careful about locking your car doors. Anyone could get in.”

The line went dead.

Olivia clenched the steering wheel, heart pounding. For months she’d told herself she was being paranoid, that the stress of her practice was making her see threats where none existed. She dealt with trauma daily, after all. It would be natural to absorb some of that hypervigilance.

But this was different. She stared up at her darkened office building. She could call the police. But what would she tell them? That she’d gotten a weird call? That something felt wrong?

The building loomed silent and empty. Marisol had left early to pick up her daughter from dance class, planning to manage the office’s phone and email messages from home, and Olivia’s two office mates were at a conference in Sacramento for the week.

Even Hope Landing Car Rental on the ground floor was closed, their neon “Open” sign dark against the gathering night.

No. Better to handle this from home. At least there she had an alarm system and neighbors. Her condo complex felt safer somehow, less exposed than this isolated office park after hours.

She shifted her car into Drive, tires crunching through the fresh dusting of snow. As she pulled away, her gaze drifted to the familiar building—her sanctuary for the past three years, where she’d helped countless veterans find their way back to themselves. Tonight, though, it offered no comfort.

The drive home was peaceful, holiday lights twinkling along Pioneer Trail as she wound her way through the pines.

To her left, the valley was a snow-dusted dream, the lights from the small local airport gleaming in the cold air.

To her right, the mountains loomed, their snowy peaks ghostly in the gathering night.

Her condo complex was quiet when she pulled in, most of her neighbors still at work or already settled in for the evening. She loved this time of day, when the world felt softer somehow. More contemplative.

The light on her security system glowed green. Safety. She punched in her key code and stepped into her darkened entryway, already mentally planning her evening. Hot tea. Maybe a bath. Those case notes weren’t going to write themselves?—

Something crunched under her boot.

Olivia froze, hand still on the doorknob. Slowly, she shifted her weight and looked down.

A paperclip lay on her pristine hardwood floor, bent almost beyond recognition.

She never used paperclips.