Page 37 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

The Pilatus knifed through another patch of mountain turbulence, its sophisticated avionics doing little to smooth out the Rockies’ winter thermals.

Axel forced his white-knuckled grip on the leather armrest to relax, fighting the cold sweat breaking out on his neck.

The jet’s luxury interior—all brushed chrome and cream leather—felt like it was closing in on him.

“Minor chop ahead,” Griff’s steady voice came over the intercom. “We’ll head up out of it.”

Minor. Right.

Axel drew in a careful breath, using the counted inhale-hold-exhale pattern that usually worked. Usually being any time he wasn’t trapped in a metal tube thousands of feet above jagged mountains, with nothing but memory and bitter failure for company.

The Colorado Springs operation should have given them something.

Instead, they’d spent fourteen hours executing a perfect infiltration of James’s storage facility, only to find dust-covered equipment and empty storage units.

Whatever prototype James had been working on, whatever evidence he might have had against Driscoll was long gone.

Another jolt rattled the jet’s frame. Axel’s vision tunneled briefly, memories of Afghanistan threatening to surface. He focused on the present: the soft hum of the Williams engines, the familiar faces of his team scattered throughout the cabin, all showing various shades of exhaustion and defeat.

“Coming up on the leading edge of this system,” Ronan announced. “Might get sporty for a few minutes.”

Sporty.

Axel almost laughed. At least if they crashed into a mountainside, they wouldn’t have to explain to Admiral Knight how they’d burned through a few bazillion gallons of jet fuel only to come up empty-handed.

The thought was bitter enough to ground him in the present, push back the memories trying to surface.

The plane banked slightly, its wingtip cutting through a cloud turned orange by the setting sun. Somewhere below, the Rockies stretched out like teeth, waiting. Just like their deadline, getting closer by the minute.

The jet leveled briefly, giving Axel’s stomach a moment’s peace. Three rows ahead, Izzy’s voice cut through the engine drone, soft but clear in the cabin’s acoustics.

“I know it’s scary, baby. Did you try the special flashlight I left you?

” A pause. “Under your pillow, remember? The purple one with the unicorns ...” Izzy pressed her phone closer to her ear, turning toward the window.

The motion caught the cabin lights, highlighting the shadows under her eyes from their thirty-hour op.

“No, sweetheart, there’s no such thing as shadow monsters. I promise.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Yes, I checked all the closets before I left. And behind the curtains, and under your bed. And then Abuelita checked again.”

Axel watched her free hand clench in her lap. He’d seen Izzy take down armed hostiles without flinching, but this—this was the kind of battle none of their training covered.

“Chantal, baby, put Abuelita on for a minute, okay?” A longer pause.

“Mom? Yeah, it’s bad tonight ... I know you checked, but she’s convinced something’s in there with her.

” Izzy’s professional demeanor slipped further.

“The child psychologist said this might happen, with me being gone so much ... No, Mom, please don’t cry. You’re doing everything you can.”

The plane hit another rough patch. Izzy steadied herself against the seat back, but her voice remained gentle.

“We knew single parenting would be hard ... Yes, even with you there ... I know, Mom. I know.” Another pause.

“Tell her Mommy’s helping people, just like always. Tell her I’ll be home soon. Te ama .”

She ended the call, staring at the dark phone screen for a long moment. When she looked up, catching Axel’s gaze, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Her class is doing their holiday concert next week,” she said quietly. “They’re singing ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas.’ Mom said Chantal refused to practice it.”

The words hung in the cabin air, heavy with all the sacrifices their work demanded. Not just from them, but from everyone who loved them.

The fuselage shuddered again, but Axel barely noticed. Some turbulence you couldn’t escape, no matter how high you flew.

The harsh blue glow of a phone screen caught Axel’s attention. Across the aisle, Deke’s massive frame was hunched over his device, thumbs jabbing at the screen with uncharacteristic force. In the dim cabin lighting, the former SEAL’s expression was pure thunder.

“Whoa, Karen,” Deke muttered, deleting and retyping whatever response he was composing. The phone buzzed again immediately. “You think I don’t know that?”

Another angry buzz. Deke’s jaw clenched. He glanced up, caught Axel watching, and tried to smooth his features. It didn’t work. After years of fieldwork together, Axel could read his friend too well.

“DJ?” Axel asked quietly.

“Who else?” Deke’s laugh was sandpaper-rough.

“Karen says he’s smoking weed in his room.

Skipping track practice. Told his guidance counselor he’s not applying to colleges next year because the whole system is rigged.

” He rubbed his face hard. “She wants me to ‘do something about it’ during Christmas break. Like a couple weeks of forced family time is gonna fix fifteen years of—” He cut himself off, shoulders tight.

The phone buzzed again. Deke read the message and something vulnerable crossed his face. “Now the kid’s saying he doesn’t want to come for Christmas at all. Karen’s pushing it, but ...” He trailed off, staring at the screen like it might offer better answers.

“I remember when he used to wear my old BUD/S shirt to bed.” Deke’s voice was so low Axel almost missed it. “Wouldn’t take the dumb thing off, even when it was falling apart. Now he won’t even take my calls.”

The plane’s turbulence felt distant compared to watching one of the steadiest men he knew fighting for composure. Deke had walked into firefights with less tension in his frame.

“Two weeks,” Deke said finally, clicking his phone off. “If he even shows up.” He leaned back, eyes closed. “Some battles you can’t win with tactical planning, right?”

Axel had no answer for that. Sometimes there was nothing to say.

The heavy silence following Deke’s confession was broken by a cheerful whistle from the cockpit. Even through the intercom, Ronan’s good mood felt jarring against the cabin’s somber atmosphere.

“Weather’s clearing ahead,” Ronan announced. “Should have us on the ground in forty-five.”

Kenji, sprawled in the rear jump seat with his tablet, made a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl. “At least someone’s having a good night.” His usual Zen demeanor had evaporated somewhere over Utah, replaced by an edge Axel rarely saw in their tactical specialist.

“Lakers blow another fourth quarter lead?” Voss asked, trying for light conversation.

“Don’t.” Kenji’s response was sharp enough to make Olivia flinch in the seat ahead of him. He caught himself, exhaled slowly. “Sorry. Just ... not tonight.”

The apology hung awkward in the air.

On any other night, the team would be trading barbs, planning their next group dinner, debating whatever sport was in season. Tonight, the easy rhythm that made them so effective in the field felt off-key, discordant.

From the cockpit, Ronan’s whistling continued—some pop song Maya probably had on repeat. The sound grated against Axel’s nerves like steel wool.

“Somebody please tell him to shut up,” Kenji muttered, jamming his earbuds in.

“Let him have this one,” Izzy said softly, still looking out her window. “At least one of us should get to go home happy.”

Griff’s voice came over the intercom, professional as always but with an undertone of concern. “Starting our descent in thirty minutes. Might want to buckle up—wind shear’s still active.”

As if on cue, the plane lurched. No one complained this time. Maybe they were all too tired to care, or maybe the turbulence outside just matched what they were feeling inside.

He noted how Olivia had quietly switched seats earlier to sit closer to Voss. They’d all seen the change in Voss too—subtle cracks in her professional facade, moments where the CIA analyst gave way to something more human.

It wasn’t definitive proof of the woman’s alliance, but it was a start. A whisper from the Lord that Axel wanted to take to heart.

“Incoming from Zara.” Griff’s voice crackled over the intercom, followed by their handler’s tense tone cutting through the cabin’s silence.

“They moved up the hearing a day,” she said without preamble. “Driscoll’s lawyers pushed for an expedited timeline. We’ve got forty-eight hours before the committee votes on his confirmation.”

The news landed like a gut punch. Deke swore softly. Kenji’s tablet slipped from his fingers.

“That’s impossible,” Olivia said. “The evidence review alone should take weeks.”

“Should,” Zara agreed grimly. “But money talks, and Driscoll’s got Congress’s ear. Every lead we had is growing cold. Without concrete proof linking him to James’s investigations ...”

The unspoken truth hung heavy in the cabin. Three years of searching, and they were no closer to proving Driscoll’s corruption than the day James died. Olivia slumped in her seat, the defeat in her posture painful to witness.

“I’ve been over everything a hundred times,” she said quietly. “If James left clues, I can’t find them. Maybe ... maybe we were wrong. Maybe there was nothing to find.”

“You know what’s interesting?” Voss’s voice cut through the hopeless silence. “Driscoll records everything. Paranoid about being misquoted by the press. Has cameras and mics in every office, every meeting room.”

“We know,” Kenji said. “Man documents his whole life. What’s your point?”

Voss leaned forward. “James spent years running ops against guys like Driscoll. He knew how they thought, how paranoid they were about protecting themselves.”

The energy in the cabin shifted subtly. Axel could almost see the idea taking shape, spreading from person to person like a current.

Olivia sat up suddenly, her eyes wide. She turned to Voss, then Axel. “What if we’re chasing the wrong thing? What if there is no evidence?”

“Then we’re sunk.” Axel didn’t mean to put it so bluntly, but there it was.

“I don’t think so.” Olivia didn’t seem deterred.

A slow smile spread across Margaret Voss’s face. “We don’t need evidence. We just need Driscoll to believe we have it.”

Right. Of course . Axel did a mental face palm.

“We dangle the bait and watch how he reacts,” he finished, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with a plan taking shape.

“Right?” Olivia’s eyes sparkled, her entire form infused with new purpose.

For the first time in hours, hope flickered in the cabin. They had less than forty-eight hours to make Driscoll believe they had the proof to destroy him—and wait for him to come after them.

The jet’s landing gear deployed with a heavy thunk. Below, Hope Landing’s lights spread out like a constellation.

Game on.