Page 22 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Forty-eight hours after the snowstorm, the elegant Italian city, Lugano, struck Olivia as almost offensively beautiful.

The December morning sparkled with contradictions—palm trees swaying against snow-capped Alps, Italian architecture bleeding into Swiss precision, Mediterranean warmth battling mountain chill.

Her jet-lagged brain struggled to process the fairy-tale setting while maintaining operational awareness, a phrase she’d picked up from two days of intensive prep with the team.

“Visual on northwest corner,” Griff’s voice murmured through her earpiece. “Clear lines on main approach and both exits.”

“Copy that,” Axel responded softly beside her, his hand barely touching her elbow as they strolled past shops displaying watches worth more than her condo. He wore his tactical expertise as comfortably as his tailored suit, projecting wealthy American tourist vibes while scanning for threats.

“Heading into position three,” Ronan reported, his voice accompanied by the distant echo of the bank’s marble lobby. He and Zara had gone ahead, establishing themselves as clients discussing investment opportunities.

“Juventus is going to crush Inter Milan this weekend,” Kenji announced with convincing enthusiasm, maintaining their tourist cover as he walked on her other side. “The odds are crazy good. You really should consider?—”

“Nobody cares about your betting habits, honey,” Olivia replied, playing her role while her stomach churned. She kept her designer sunglasses in place, grateful they hid her darting eyes. Every passing car, every shadow between buildings set her nerves humming.

“Izzy here. Jet’s fueled and ready. Weather’s holding clear to Vienna. We can be wheels up in a hot second.”

Olivia forced herself to breathe normally.

The team had considered every angle, planned for every contingency.

Still, her mind circled the same questions: Why bring her all this way?

If someone wanted her dead, they’d had plenty of chances back home.

No, this was something else. This was James’s game, his final message, and someone wanted her to find it.

The bank’s limestone facade rose ahead, elegant and imposing. Through her earpiece, she heard Griff adjusting position on whatever perch he’d found overlooking the street. Axel’s hand steadied her as they approached the magnificent bronze doors.

“Ready?” he asked quietly.

She managed a small nod, reminding herself that she wasn’t alone anymore. Whatever waited inside that safety deposit box, she had an entire team of professionals watching her back.

Even so, her pulse hammered as they stepped into the bank’s shadowed interior.

The contrast between bright Alpine sunlight and the bank’s hushed interior momentarily disoriented her. Her heels clicked against marble flooring that probably predated both World Wars. Old money whispered from every mahogany panel, every brass fixture.

A guard stationed behind a curved desk lifted his eyes to assess them. Axel stepped forward smoothly, presenting their documentation. “ Guten Morgen . Dr. Olivia Kane, here to access her box.”

The guard’s eyes flicked to his screen. Olivia forced her breathing to remain steady as she removed her sunglasses, tucking them into her new Prada bag. James had assured access, but what if something had changed? What if?—

“ Biometrische Kontrolle, bitte ,” the guard indicated a discrete panel seamlessly integrated into the historic woodwork. State-of-the-art security masked by old-world elegance.

Olivia placed her right hand on the scanner, remembering Kenji’s briefing. Swiss banks had implemented these systems in stages. James must have added her prints to the database before ... before everything. The panel hummed. Three seconds. Five. Her heartbeat counted each moment until?—

Green light.

“ Einen Moment, bitte .” The guard lifted his phone.

Within thirty seconds, a woman appeared—silver hair swept into an immaculate chignon, charcoal suit perfectly tailored. “ Frau Doktor Kane? I am Frau Weber. Please, follow me.”

Axel would have to remain in the lobby with Kenji. They’d prepared her for this part. She caught his slight nod as she followed the older woman through the first security door.

“Your identification, please?” Frau Weber’s English carried barely a trace of accent. She examined Olivia’s passport and banking documents with meticulous care.

They passed through three more security checkpoints, each one staffed by well-muscled guards trying hard to look decorative rather than deadly.

The final door opened into a softly lit room lined with safety deposit boxes.

Classical music played at just the right volume to ensure private conversations remained private.

“Box 2247,” Frau Weber stated, inserting her master key. “Your key, please?”

Olivia’s fingers trembled as she removed James’s key from her bag and slipped it into the second keyhole. The mechanism engaged with a whisper of well-maintained tumblers.

Small victories.

“I will give you privacy,” Frau Weber said, stepping back precisely three meters and turning her back. “Please take all the time you need.”

Olivia stared at the open drawer, her heart thundering in her ears. Whatever James had left here, after three years of silence, was about to change everything. Again.

The private viewing room felt like a confessional, all polished wood and soft lighting.

A single table occupied the center, angled for privacy from the main corridor.

Olivia pulled out the steel case. The safety deposit box itself was smaller than she’d expected—like everything else about this mission, expectations versus reality kept shifting.

Inside: a manila envelope, thick but not bulging, and a basic burner phone that looked almost apologetically ordinary against the vault’s old-world elegance. No note. No explanation. No, Hey, Sis, sorry to drag you into this deep, dark mess …

Just two plain items that had somehow warranted a transcontinental flight and a full tactical escort.

Olivia transferred both items to her designer tote, careful to maintain the bag’s casual slouch. The envelope slid between her laptop and makeup case, the phone tucked into an interior pocket. Simple. Clean. Professional.

Too simple ?

She closed the drawer with a soft click. “All done,” she called out to Frau Weber, and left the room, quickly retracing her steps through the security zones. The first two checkpoints passed without incident. Her pulse had almost returned to normal when?—

“ Fr?ulein! Fr?ulein, aufhalten! ”

Sharp heels clicked rapidly against marble.

Olivia’s breath caught. Through the bulletproof glass ahead, she could see Axel tense, his casual pose shifting microscopically toward action.

Ronan, lounging by a currency exchange desk, straightened.

But the security doors had already sealed behind her, leaving her trapped in the intermediate zone.

Guards on both sides shifted, hands drifting toward weapons. The clicking heels grew closer.

“ Frau Doktor Kane!”

She turned. The bank manager—another woman, with steel-rimmed glasses and a severe bun—hurried toward her, arm extended. “You dropped this, no?” She opened her palm to reveal a small bronze compass, worn smooth from years of handling.

She had. The gift was from her first client, Marcus, after she’d helped him navigate his divorce.

“You’re my north star,” he’d said, pressing it into her hand. She’d carried it with her ever since.

“Thank you,” Olivia managed, willing her voice steady as she accepted it.

The manager smiled. “Your lucky charm, perhaps?”

Squeezing the notion tight, Olivia could only nod. The woman had no idea.

The guard at the final checkpoint buzzed her through. Axel met her at the threshold, his hand finding her elbow with precise casual pressure. They were already moving toward the exit when she heard the inner door click shut again, a sound that followed her into the bright Lugano morning.

Axel’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, the gesture both protective and perfectly in character for their cover. “You’re okay. You’re good,” he murmured, then touched his ear slightly to activate his comlink. “Package is secure. Who’s ready for pizza?”

Olivia leaned into him, letting tourists and bankers see just another wealthy tourist couple strolling Lugano’s cobblestone streets. Inside, her heart still raced, the compass burning in her pocket like a reminder of how close they’d come to ... to what, exactly?

“Clear on the south,” Griff reported. “Moving to secondary.”

They meandered through Old Town’s winding alleys, taking the scenic route that Kenji had mapped.

The scent of fresh-baked focaccia grew stronger as they approached Via Catedral .

The pizzeria’s faded awning and weathered tables looked exactly like a hundred other family restaurants—except Axel had assured her this one had a reinforced back room and a clear view of three separate escape routes.

“ Un taboo per cinque,” Axel told the elderly woman at the counter.

Seriously? The man had untold depths. “Italian, too?” she couldn’t help asking.

He shook his head and leaned close. “Zara helped me out,” he murmured, so close his warm breath brushed her ear, sending shivers down her neck.

The woman nodded, leading them through to the private room where Ronan and Zara already waited. Kenji slipped in moments later, followed by Griff, who’d somehow acquired a tourist map and gelato cone.

Olivia placed her bag on the table. The envelope felt heavier now, weighted with possibility. She pulled out both items, laying them beside a half-empty basket of bread.

“No way the battery’s got any charge left.” Zara fit a plug into a white charging cord and handed it to Olivia. “I’ve got universal tips if this one doesn’t fit.”

With shaking hands, Olivia fit the cord into the phone’s charger. Axel grabbed the plug end, leaning down to fit it into the empty wall socket next to his leg.

The little device trilled to life with a happy chirp. Silence reigned as the phone booted up.

Axel leaned closer, studying the gray screen. “Anything?”

Biting her lip, Olivia quickly scrolled through the menus and shook her head. “All blank.”

“I’ll run diagnostics after we get back to the safe house,” Zara said. “Could be a message hidden layer’s deep. For now, just let it charge.”

Ronan pointed at the envelope. “We should probably take a look at that.”

Olivia nodded, fighting the urge to fling the thing across the room. Was she sure she wanted to know what her brother had left her?

The envelope’s seal broke with a soft tear.

She found a stack of documents inside, some official-looking, others handwritten.

The top page bore a header she’d never seen before: “Operation Cerberus.” Below it, names, dates, account numbers—and a single photograph of James standing beside a stocky, balding man clearly a decade or so older than James.

The timestamp showed three years ago. A month before James died.

“No way,” Zara breathed, leaning forward. “That’s Bing Driscoll.”

“Who?” Olivia asked, but Axel had gone completely still, his face draining of color. He stared at the photo like he’d seen a ghost .

“Bing Driscoll,” Ronan repeated, eyes on the restaurant’s front windows. “CIA deep cover operative. The kind of guy other spies whisper about.”

“He’s not a good dude,” Axel said, voice raw. “I worked under him once when I was on loan to Team Six.”

“I remember,” Ronan said quietly.

Axel swallowed hard, eyes glued to the menu in his hand. “It was classified above top secret. A joint CIA-Navy SEAL mission that went sideways in the South China Sea. On egress, we lost ... we lost the entire team.” His hands trembled slightly. “Helo went down. I was supposed to be on it, too.”

“What happened?” Kenji asked quietly.

“Food poisoning. Of all the stupid things. Got pulled from the mission last minute. They went down in bad weather. No survivors.” Axel’s jaw clenched.

Olivia could see him struggling to maintain his composure. She clenched her hands, wanting to help, but knowing there was nothing she could do to ease the tide of emotions.

Axel continued. “The investigation got shut down in a minute, but word got out. You know how it is. It wasn’t bad weather. And Driscoll was running point on something we weren’t cleared to know about.”

Griff had gone stone-still. “So the job gets done, but the team doesn’t survive.”

The implications hung heavy in the air. She studied Axel’s face, seeing the shadows of old ghosts dancing behind his eyes. Survivor’s guilt was something she understood all too well, even more so since James’s death.

“Well,” Griff said grimly, “if Olivia’s brother found proof …”

“Or if someone like Driscoll thought he did …” Axel clamped his mouth shut on the rest of his sentence.

They all stared at the photograph, at James’s face frozen in that moment three years ago, his half-smile revealing nothing of what he might have known.

Around them, the pizzeria hummed with what she imagined to be a normal Saturday afternoon chaos—waiters weaving between tables with steaming plates, children shrieking with laughter at the gelato counter, the old ceiling fans clicking in steady rhythm above.

But at their corner table, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressed down on them like a physical thing, creating a bubble of silence that separated them from the cheerful family restaurant’s warmth and light.

At her elbow, the burner phone sat silent, waiting.