Page 40 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Axel shifted in the passenger seat of the van, surveying the capital’s winter landscape. The Jefferson Memorial floated like a ghost through the pre-dawn murk, its marble dome stark against pewter clouds.

Zero four-hundred hours local time in DC.

The thermometer read thirty-five—warmer than Hope Landing’s current zero degrees—but the damp cold here cut deeper, aided by concrete and stone that radiated a bone-deep chill.

No comparison to home, where pristine snow sparkled under starlight and pine boughs bent with sugary drifts.

Here, everything was gray slush and dirty ice puddles, nature beaten into submission by the city’s relentless march.

The van’s interior lights cast harsh shadows across tense faces. In the back, Kenji triple-checked his tech, while Deke methodically arranged surveillance gear alongside Griff and Izzy and Zara, who was clearly feeling more herself again.

Margaret Voss sat rigid, staring at nothing, fingers drumming against her tactical vest.

And Olivia ...

Axel watched her in the rearview mirror as she reviewed Driscoll’s psychological profile again.

She’d pulled her thick red hair back severely, all business now, no trace of the woman who’d almost broken through his defenses in that midnight kitchen confrontation.

Her professional mask was firmly in place.

Somehow, that withdrawal hurt worse than her anger had.

Even though it was what he wanted. Go figure.

She looked up from her tablet. “Alright. Here’s my final review of Driscoll’s likely responses.

” Her voice carried that measured calm he recognized from her therapy sessions.

“When he discovers the evidence, his narcissistic tendencies will trigger an immediate persecution response. He’ll believe he’s being targeted. Singled out.”

“Which he is,” Kenji muttered, not looking up from his laptop.

“True, but his paranoia will make him predictable.” Olivia leaned forward, and the team instinctively shifted to listen. “He’ll follow established patterns: first attempting to destroy evidence, then call in his hired guns to get him out.”

Axel noted how intently the others focused on her words. In just days, she’d become more than their mission objective—she was an integral part of the team. The thought came with an uncomfortable mix of pride and regret.

“I need to be there.” Voss’s voice cut through the briefing, tight with something that made the hair on Axel’s neck rise. “Inside his office, not running backup. I know Driscoll. Plus, I owe James that much.”

The raw intensity in her tone set off warning bells. Axel filed it away—another variable to monitor in an operation already balanced on a knife’s edge.

“Margaret—” he started.

“Please.” The word carried too much weight for a simple request. “The man is responsible for my partner’s murder. And James’s. I need to see his face when his world implodes.”

Axel met Olivia’s eyes in the mirror, saw his own unease reflected there. But they were out of time for questions.

“Moving to position one.” Griff’s whisper crackled through their earpieces as he melted into the shadows, headed for his rooftop perch. The team had memorized the layouts, the timing, the blind spots. Now it just had to work.

“Command center active.” Kenji’s voice next, from the service vehicle they’d positioned in the delivery zone. “Cameras looping on my mark.”

Axel led Olivia and Voss through the pre-dawn gloom, counting steps between security cameras. The marble facade of Driscoll’s building loomed ahead, its windows dark except for the usual overnight security lighting.

Thirty feet to the service entrance. Twenty. Ten.

Olivia moved silently behind him, her breathing steady and controlled. His instincts screamed to push her back, to shield her—but that wasn’t his call anymore. She’d more than proven herself, handling this operation with a courage that put his emotional cowardice to shame.

“Now.” At Kenji’s signal, Axel picked the service door’s lock while Voss covered their six. The door clicked open just as approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor.

“Security.” Voss’s warning came with barely a breath.

Axel pulled both women into a maintenance closet. His back hit the wall, holding Olivia tight against him, Voss crowded in behind her. The space was barely large enough for one person, let alone three.

Olivia smelled like lavender and something else—vanilla maybe—subtle but consuming in the tight space.

The guard’s footsteps drew closer. Axel fought warring impulses. The tactical need to push Olivia behind him, away from danger, and the raw human desire to pull her closer, to protect her with his own body.

The footsteps paused. A beam of light swept under the door.

Olivia’s fingers gripped his vest, but her breathing remained steady. Not a victim needing rescue—a teammate holding position. The realization hit harder than any bullet.

Eternal seconds ticked by. Finally, the footsteps resumed, fading down the corridor. But they remained frozen, Axel hyperaware of every point of contact between them, of the war between duty and desire raging in his chest.

In the darkness, Axel could pretend the walls he’d built weren’t crumbling, that he wasn’t fighting a losing battle against everything this woman made him feel.

Olivia’s whispered prayer pierced the silence. “Lord, protect us. Guide our steps. Let justice be done.”

The simple faith in her words hit him like a physical blow.

He’d always thought of himself as a man of faith. And he was. But her heartfelt prayer made him realize that he was holding back. He prayed in thanks. Prayed for solace. But even with his Savior, he kept up a wall. Never asking for healing.

In case his prayer wasn’t granted.

So he lived with the PTSD attacks, rather than stoke any hope that the Lord would grant him a cure. The walls had kept him alive, kept him functioning. And kept him alone.

Now Olivia’s quiet strength made those walls feel like what they really were—weakness masquerading as armor.

The guard’s footsteps had long faded, but Axel remained frozen in revelation. All his careful barriers, his emotional distance, his tactical retreats—they weren’t keeping danger out. They were keeping the light at bay. Keeping out everything that made life worth the fighting.

Olivia shifted slightly, and he caught a glimpse of her face in the sliver of light under the door.

The peace there, even in this moment of danger, twisted something in his chest. She had what he’d lost—faith, openness, the courage to feel everything life threw at her.

The strength to be vulnerable and still fight on.

He wanted that. Wanted her in his life. At his side. The realization came with crushing clarity. He was pushing away something precious, something real, because he couldn’t figure out how to be both warrior and human. How to keep her safe while letting her in close enough to hurt him.

No tactical training had prepared him for this battlefield.

No amount of planning could protect his heart if he lowered his defenses.

And there, in that cramped maintenance closet with dawn creeping closer, Axel finally admitted the truth to himself.

He was terrified. Not of the mission, not of failure, but of everything this woman made him want to be.

“Clear to move,” Kenji’s voice crackled in their ears. “Take the stairs up one level.”

Axel keyed his mic. “Roger that.” He forced himself to focus. The mission. The objective. The familiar walls snapping back into place, even as they crumbled. “Moving to position two.”

But as they slipped out of the closet and down the dim corridor, he knew something fundamental had shifted. He just didn’t know how to move forward without everything falling apart.

Silently, they climbed the stairs to the next level where Bing Driscoll’s outer office waited in pre-dawn darkness.

“Movement.” Deke’s urgent whisper through the comms. “Someone just badged into the outer office.”

Axel had just put a hand on the steel door when his comlink activated.

“Hold up. “ Kenji’s voice tight with concern. “I’ve got a heat signature in Driscoll’s suite. That’s not possible. Driscoll’s not due for over an hour.”

“I’ve got a visual,” Zara added. “It’s not Driscoll. It’s a young woman, business attire. Not security. But she’s settling in at the desk like she belongs there. I can’t get a visual on her face, but she’s clearly some kind of office worker.”

Axel met Olivia’s eyes. All their carefully laid plans depended on precise timing, on Driscoll finding their planted evidence at exactly the right moment.

“We need to abort,” he said, reaching for her arm.

But Olivia shook her head. “We won’t get another chance. If we leave now?—”

A chair squeaked in the outer office, cutting through the silence.

And in that frozen moment, Axel faced an impossible choice: retreat and guarantee Olivia’s safety or trust her judgment and risk everything.