Page 31 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)
Axel leaned against the back wall of the community center auditorium, systematically cataloging angles and exits.
Main doors: Deke positioned as greeter. Fire exit stage left: Ronan playing janitor.
Emergency exit rear right: Zara in facility security uniform, looking bored and authentic.
Near the front: Kenji had infiltrated a group of doctors.
The mayor’s introduction dragged on, giving Axel time for another sweep.
Two hundred seats, maybe a hundred and sixty filled.
Afternoon sun through high windows—good visibility, bad reflections for potential snipers.
No upper level. Simple stage with podium, blue curtain backdrop.
A nice, classic setup, with manageable sightlines.
Then Olivia strode onto the stage, and his professional assessment stuttered.
She owned the room instantly—confident stride, shoulders back, warm smile that somehow reached every person there.
Her charcoal suit was perfectly tailored, professional armor that still managed to .
.. He forced his thoughts back to tactical awareness.
Wow, she was good at this. The audience leaned forward as one when she began speaking, drawn in by that perfect blend of authority and approachability.
He tracked his team’s positions by habit while she outlined the session’s goals. Deke giving his “just another good ol’ boy” grin to late arrivals. Zara radiating bored competence. Kenji taking actual notes. The overachiever.
The crowd was exactly what you’d expect. Medical professionals in scrubs or off-duty casual, community mental health workers, students with laptops, concerned citizens. Except?—
The woman in the fourth row caught his attention mid-movement.
Something about the way she shifted her chair.
Just slightly. Just enough to clear her sightlines to both main exits.
Her slacks and jacket were perfectly unremarkable, her expression attentive but not overly so.
But her situational awareness radiated like a beacon.
Odd, especially for a middle-aged woman trying really hard to look like a concerned community member.
He watched her catalogue the room with microscopic eye movements, the kind of spatial awareness that came from serious field training. She maintained what appeared to be a relaxed posture, but her weight was distributed for quick movement.
Axel’s hand twitched toward his concealed weapon. Not a threat. Not yet. But definitely someone who knew how to be one.
The woman was good, he’d give her that. To anyone else, she’d look like just another middle-aged professional taking notes and nodding at appropriate moments. But Axel hadn’t spent fifteen years in special operations without learning to spot his own kind.
There—the way she tracked the teenage kid who got up for water, maintaining visual contact until he cleared her personal space. The slight adjustment of her chair when a large man sat directly behind her. The practiced sweep of her hand through her hair that let her check her six.
Zara caught his eye from her post, a minute nod confirming she’d clocked the woman too. They’d worked together long enough that he could read her assessment. Military background, probably specialized, current status unknown.
On stage, Olivia was discussing trauma responses, her voice confident and engaging. But he caught the slight hitch in her delivery, the barely perceptible pause when her gaze landed on the woman. Recognition flickered across her face before her professional mask slipped back into place.
The woman’s reaction was equally telling. No surprise, no acknowledgment—just that same studied attention. But her posture shifted subtly, becoming more focused. Like a predator scenting prey.
Axel did another visual sweep, this time looking for what he might have missed. The woman’s hands drew his attention as she wrote. Familiar callouses on her right index finger and thumb. Not from a pen.
He pressed his radio mic twice—their silent signal for elevated awareness. Around the room, his team acknowledged with subtle gestures. Kenji stretched casually, locking eyes with him. Ronan positioned his cleaning cart closer to Olivia’s side of the stage.
The woman noticed every single movement.
This wasn’t random. This was reconnaissance.
Olivia’s voice took on a slight edge as she transitioned to discussing grief counseling techniques. If Axel hadn’t spent the last week studying her every micro-expression, he might have missed it. But there it was again—she’d seen this woman before.
The woman leaned forward, her attention sharpening.
Her notebook hadn’t moved in several minutes, pen hovering above an unfinished word.
Everything about her screamed “gathering intel” now that Axel was looking for it.
The carefully positioned bag at her feet.
The way she’d chosen a seat that gave her coverage from multiple angles while maintaining clear paths to three exits.
He did the math. Middle-aged but fit, short practical haircut, business casual that could hide body armor. The kind of woman who could disappear into any crowd. The kind of woman intelligence agencies loved to recruit.
Zara was already moving, a slow patrol that would take her past the woman’s row. As she passed, the woman shifted in her seat, and Axel’s breath caught.
Her blazer pulled just slightly against her ribs. Most wouldn’t have noticed. But Axel saw the telltale bulge at her waist, the way the fabric draped around a concealed holster.
Their mystery observer was armed.
And she’d chosen her seat with a perfect line of sight to Olivia.