Page 16 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Olivia hadn’t slept well in Knight Tactical’s guest quarters, despite the comfortable bed and state-of-the-art security system.

Every creak and footstep had jolted her awake—Axel doing a midnight perimeter check, Ronan heading to the gym at an ungodly hour, Deke’s heavy tread as he checked the monitors.

Their presence down the hall should have been reassuring.

Instead, it had only emphasized how much her life had changed in twenty-four hours.

Now, in the harsh light of morning, she traced her fingertips along the mahogany surface of her desk, transported to this temporary office in Knight Tactical’s administrative wing.

The same desk. Her desk. Izzy had insisted on bringing it here, claiming clients needed familiar touchstones.

The smooth wood felt both comforting and wrong, like seeing a favorite sweater on a stranger.

The angel figurine from James smiled warmly, it’s sweet face offering a little breath of calm and hope.

She’d showered and dressed in the adjoining bathroom, grateful she kept spare clothes in her car for emergencies.

Professional armor—tailored blazer, crisp blouse, pearls.

But she couldn’t shake the awareness that Axel was somewhere in this building, probably in the hangar she could see from her new window.

A very different view from her old office’s mountain panorama.

The late morning sun caught the crystal paperweight her next client, former Master Sergeant Ben Prado, had given her last Christmas—a thank you for the hard work, he’d said, though they both knew it was more a marker of trust earned.

She adjusted it a fraction of an inch, aligning it with her laptop’s edge.

They’d done their best with the space. She had to give Axel and his team that.

Her reading lamp cast its usual warm glow in the corner.

Her favorite Rothko print dominated one wall, while her collection of smaller pieces created the familiar gallery effect clients would recognize.

Even her “safe space” corner was recreated, down to the precise arrangement of pillows she used for EMDR sessions.

A small smile tugged at her lips when she spotted Izzy’s addition—a tiny Zen garden, its sand already bearing evidence of nervous raking.

Next to it, Deke had somehow managed to disguise his high-tech security monitors as art installations.

They blended seamlessly with her aesthetic, which was both impressive and slightly unnerving.

But it was stone-faced Griff’s contribution that had caught her off guard.

Her credentials and diplomas hung in perfect formation—the exact same spacing, angle, and height as her old office.

The precision spoke volumes about how many times he must have sat in her office, cataloging details while they worked through his own battles.

Olivia straightened her already-straight pencil holder, a tell she thought she’d conquered years ago.

In ten minutes, Ben would arrive, precisely five minutes early as always, for his session.

Ex-special ops, three tours in locations he still couldn’t name, though his hands always twitched when he didn’t specify.

Hypervigilant but controlled—the kind of man who managed his PTSD through rigid routine and absolute order.

Eight months of work had finally cracked the surface. Last session, he’d actually started talking about “the incident,” though his knuckles had gone white around the arms of his chair. They’d built trust molecule by molecule. If he wasn’t too thrown off by the change in venue, today might be?—

Her phone buzzed. The message made her smile.

Marisol: First day in Fort Knox! How’s the new digs?

Marisol: More importantly, how’s the view? And by that, you KNOW what I’m talking about.

Laughing now, she responded.

Working on settling in. It’s...different.

Marisol: Different good? Different bad? Different like that tall drink of water guarding your door?

Olivia: MARI.

Marisol: What? A girl can’t worry about her bestie’s security?

Marisol: BTW, got all your clients confirmed for the week. Will double-text everyone day-of.

Olivia: You’re the best Please stay safe.

Marisol: Me? I’m not the one with the hot bodyguard detail...

Olivia: He’s a CLIENT!

Marisol: Not *technically*...

Olivia: Pushing?

Marisol: A little Just saying...

Olivia:

Marisol: That’s not a no...

Olivia set her phone down, ignoring the last message, but couldn’t quite suppress a smile. Trust Marisol to try normalizing all this with inappropriate flirting. Her gaze drifted to the clock. 10:05. Her smile faded.

Ben was late.

Ben Prado was never late.

She pulled up his file on her tablet, though she hardly needed to. The man had elevated punctuality to an art form, arriving precisely five minutes early to every session for eight months. And yet … no text. No call.

She texted Marisol, but her friend quickly replied that there were no new messages on the main office line.

The waiting room beyond her door remained emptily pristine.

Something was wrong.

Her phone buzzed again, an unknown number. Olivia hesitated, then answered.

“Dr. Kane?” The voice was female, tight with barely controlled panic. “I’m so sorry to call—I know I shouldn’t—I’m Eileen Prado. Benjamin’s wife.”

Olivia sat straighter, therapist mode engaging even as her stomach tightened. “Eileen. What’s wrong?”

“I just got back from Chicago. The conference ended early, so I thought—” A shaky breath. “The house is empty.”

“Empty?”

“Like, empty-empty. His clothes, his medals—you know how he keeps them in that special case? His laptop, too. Everything’s just ... gone.” Eileen’s voice cracked. “He was doing better. During our couple’s session you said he was doing better.”

Olivia’s mind raced through her last session with him. Ben, finally discussing the incident, his hands white-knuckled but voice steady. The breakthrough they’d been working toward for months. And now .. .

“Eileen , I’m going to help, but I need your permission to involve my security team. They can check the house, maybe find something that would?—”

“Yes, anything. Please. I’ll text you our address. Just ... find him.”

The line went dead. Seconds later, her phone pinged with the Prados’ address.

Her finger hovered over her phone. Professional boundaries blurred with client safety in her mind, but Eileen’s permission made the decision easier.

Olivia: Client missing. House cleared out. Need eyes on site.

Axel: Address?

Olivia: Coming with you.

Axel: Not advisable.

Olivia: Not negotiable.

Axel: 5 minutes. Front entrance.

She grabbed her coat, already knowing she’d have to cancel her next client. The Prados lived fifteen minutes away. Plenty of time to get there, assess the situation, and return for her 11:00 appointment.

But as she hurried down the hall, past Deke’s carefully disguised security measures and Izzy’s thoughtful touches, a cold certainty settled in her gut. This wasn’t a simple disappearance. Ben, with his OCD tendencies and careful routines, would never just vanish.

Unless he had to.

Axel’s black SUV pulled up to the Prado residence—a modest colonial with meticulous landscaping. Everything in its place, her client’s influence visible in the measured symmetry of the planted beds.

“Stay behind us,” Axel murmured, but Olivia was already moving toward the front door. Eileen Prado stood there, still in her travel clothes, looking small against the white doorframe.

“I haven’t touched anything,” the woman said. “Once I realized ... I just sat in my car and called you.”

Ronan did a quick sweep of the perimeter while Zara spoke quietly with Eileen. Olivia followed Axel inside, her therapist’s eye cataloging details: no sign of struggle, no displaced furniture. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that came from calculation, not chaos.

The study hit her hardest. She knew this room from Ben’s descriptions—the exact placement of his medal case, the precise angle of his desk, and the photographs of his unit arranged by date of service. All gone. Even the walls were bare, though slightly darker squares marked where frames had hung.

“Professional job,” Ronan said from the doorway. “No forced entry, no trash left behind. Someone knew what they were doing.”

Zara appeared with Eileen’s permission to access their home security. “System was disabled at 2:47 a.m. No footage.”

Olivia thought of their last session, of Ben finally speaking about “the incident.” He’d never hinted that he was in any kind of danger. Not currently. But what had he been about to reveal?

Her eyes locked on the empty medal case bracket on the wall. Eight months of trust building, of careful progress ...

“Olivia.” Axel’s voice pulled her back. “We need to know exactly what he told you in your last session.”

She met his gaze, understanding the implications. This wasn’t just a missing person case anymore. This was something else entirely.

“I’ll need to speak with my ethics board,” she said carefully. “About breaking confidentiality under these circumstances. But I can tell you, we haven’t discussed anything suggesting he was in current danger.”

Zara looked up from her tablet. “You might want to make that call soon. Someone just tried to access your client files remotely.”

Olivia’s head snapped up. “My files are triple encrypted.”

“And someone’s working very hard to change that,” Zara said, fingers flying across her tablet. “They’re good. As in professional good.”

“Like the house,” Ronan added grimly.

Axel’s hand went to his earpiece. “Deke, full lockdown on Olivia’s system. Now.” He turned to her. “We need to go. Ronan, stay with Mrs. Prado. Zara?—”

“Already tracing the attempt,” Zara said, not looking up. “They’re bouncing through servers in ... interesting places.”

Eileen stepped forward. “What aren’t you telling me about my husband?”