Page 26 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Back in Hope Landing, the pre-dawn shadows stretched across the snow-covered valley, turning the cabin’s great room into a study in grays and blues.

Olivia uncurled from the window seat, her body still operating on Swiss time despite yesterday’s grueling flight home.

The coffee Axel had silently delivered—her third cup already—did little to cut through the fog of jetlag.

Normally, she’d just be stirring, anticipating a first cup of coffee while she decided what to wear to church. Normally.

Today, she watched Izzy’s truck wind up the access road, fresh snow crunching under its heavy-duty tires.

Strange, how just forty-eight hours ago she’d been staring at palm trees against Alpine peaks.

Now she was back in the Sierra’s winter embrace, with questions that had followed them across an ocean, watching a woman she hadn’t even known a week ago arrive at a safe house, of all things, to help guard her.

The sound of Kenji’s keyboards provided familiar background noise.

He hadn’t stopped analyzing data since they’d landed.

Zara dozed on the couch, tablet still clutched to her chest, while Griffin maintained his vigilant watch from the kitchen doorway.

They all looked as exhausted as she felt, but none had complained.

Not even when their jet had been diverted twice due to weather.

The front door opened, bringing a blast of mountain air and Izzy’s characteristic energy. Snow dusted her short, dark hair, and circles shadowed her eyes, but her smile was bright. “I miss anything exciting?”

“Nada. Unless you count Kenji talking in his sleep about mission codenames,” Zara mumbled from the couch, not opening her eyes.

“That was one time,” Kenji protested. “And ‘Operation Snowflake’ is a perfectly reasonable suggestion.”

Olivia watched the team shift to accommodate Izzy’s return—Griff automatically moving to take her coat, Zara sitting up to make room on the couch, Kenji sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the counter without being asked.

The easy synchronization reminded her of her hospital days, when you learned to read your co-workers’ needs before they spoke.

“Chantal made you something,” Izzy said, pulling a slightly crumpled piece of paper from her bag and thrusting it at Olivia. “She says it’s the team fighting bad guys in the snow. Note the tactical unicorn providing air support.”

“Kid’s got good operational instincts,” Kenji deadpanned, earning a light punch from Izzy.

Olivia spread the wrinkled paper across her thigh. The sweet rendering, stick figures and globs of white glue and glitter, caught at her heart. “I love it.”

Izzy beamed. “She’s a pretty amazing kid.”

Olivia found herself smiling, even as her chest ached. These people had built real lives here—homes, families, roots in this mountain community. Yet they maintained that razor’s edge of professional capability she remembered from her emergency response days.

The balance seemed impossible, but they made it work.

She caught Axel watching her from his position near the surveillance setup. His expression suggested he read more in her face than she meant to show. That was happening more often as the days went on—moments of connection that went deeper than professional courtesy or tactical necessity.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” he said quietly, and she realized she’d been lost in thought, hands wrapped around the now-tepid mug. The small gesture of bringing her a fresh cup shouldn’t have made her pulse skip, but apparently jet lag was making her defenses as fuzzy as her mind.

They had work to do. A burner phone to analyze, a brother’s final message to decode, threats both known and shadowed to face. She needed to focus on that, not on the way Axel’s presence felt increasingly necessary to her equilibrium.

But as the team settled into their morning routine, she had to admit—what she wanted might be more complicated than just finding her place in their well-oiled machine.

From his position by the window, Griff shifted slightly. Olivia had noticed how the quietest team member always maintained sightlines to both exits and his teammates. If Axel had haunted depths, Griff was an ocean at midnight—fathomless, unknowable, yet somehow vital to the team’s ecosystem.

“Before we start,” Deke said, his deep voice carrying that particular gravity he got when switching to chaplain mode, “mind if we pray?”

The team’s immediate stillness spoke volumes. Even Kenji’s perpetual motion stilled as Deke bowed his head. “Lord, guide our hands and hearts as we seek truth. Protect those who protect others. And help us honor the sacrifice of those who’ve gone before. Amen.”

“Amen,” the team echoed softly.

Olivia noticed how Griff’s shoulders tensed slightly at the prayer, though his expression remained carefully neutral. Another piece of his puzzle, filed away for later consideration.

“I found something.” Zara’s voice cut through the morning quiet, her fingers stilling on the burner phone they’d retrieved from Switzerland. She pointed to barely visible digits on the phone. “This doesn’t make sense. Model number shows this hit the market eight months ago.”

“But James ...” Olivia couldn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. The implications hung heavy in the air.

“Someone’s been maintaining that safety deposit box,” Kenji said, already pulling up manufacturing data. “Accessing it. Recently. Without leaving any official trace.”

A shadow passed behind Griff’s eyes as he shifted position, angling for a better view of both the team and the snow-covered access road.

The movement was so subtle Olivia might have missed it if she hadn’t been studying the team’s dynamics.

They all had tells—Kenji’s nervous energy, Zara’s focused intensity, Deke’s contemplative stillness.

But Griff ... Griff moved like someone who’d learned to inhabit negative space.

Present yet apart.

Axel moved closer, his shoulder barely brushing hers as he studied the phone.

She’d started cataloging his protective behaviors—the way he positioned himself between her and potential threats, how his hand would drift to his weapon when uncertain variables entered their space.

As a therapist, she should be analyzing these patterns clinically, noting how they connected to his PTSD triggers .

Instead, she found herself leaning slightly into the contact, drawing comfort from his solid presence.

“We have options,” Ronan said, his tactical mind already working the problem. “We can wait for another incoming contact?—”

“Or we can dig into this phone,” Zara finished. “But we’d need your permission, Olivia. Given the connection to your brother ...”

James’s voice echoed in her memory—countless conversations where he’d pushed her to trust her instincts.

Trust your gut, Liv. Sometimes the book answer isn’t the right answer.

“Do it,” she said quietly. “Whatever you need to do.”

Zara pointed at an older-looking laptop. “I need that. It’s isolated from the internet. And our systems.”

Kenji slid it over. With one last look at Olivia, Zara connected the phone to the computer. The tiny screen blinked to life.

The team moved with practiced efficiency—Zara and Kenji tag-teaming the technical analysis while Griffin adjusted security positions to compensate for their divided attention. Even Izzy’s casual slouch contained purpose, her eyes tracking multiple screens.

“Encrypted,” Zara announced after several minutes. “But ... elegantly. Like it’s meant to be found by someone who knows what to look for.”

“James was always thorough,” Olivia said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. “He would have left a key. Something personal.”

She caught Axel watching her again, that particular intensity that made her skin tingle. He saw too much, this man who was supposed to be her patient. This man who kept finding ways past her carefully maintained boundaries.

“We’ll find it,” he said softly, and she wasn’t sure if he meant the encryption key or something larger. “Whatever message he left, we’ll figure it out. Then we’ll figure out who left his message on a phone that didn’t exist before he died.”

From his corner, Griff made a sound that might have been agreement or warning—with him, it was hard to tell. His ocean-deep silence held volumes of unspoken experience, histories of other messages found too late, other secrets better left buried.

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Because right now, she wasn’t sure which scared her more—what they might find on that phone, or the way Axel’s quiet confidence was becoming necessary to her peace of mind.

Or perhaps what terrified her most was how quickly this mismatched family of operatives had started feeling like home.