Page 6 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

“Police,” a voice called out from just outside the suite. “Dr. Kane?”

“In here.” Axel opened the door.

Two men entered. Detective Draeger leaned against her bookshelf, his weathered face creased with genuine concern.

She’d seen him around Hope Landing enough to know his reputation—thorough, compassionate, old-school police work.

The kind of cop who still walked Main Street on Friday nights greeting shopkeepers by name.

“Dr. Kane?” Draeger looked between her and Axel. “Want to tell us what happened here?”

His partner, Officer Trujillo, photographed the broken window, his movements careful around the scattered glass. Despite his imposing size, the younger officer had always struck her as gentle—she’d seen him coaching Little League at Memorial Park, patient with even the clumsiest players.

She caught Axel’s slight shift in posture—barely perceptible, but she’d learned to read clients’ micro-expressions. He was listening intently, cataloging every detail .

“Someone broke in,” she began, keeping her voice professional. “When I confronted him, he grabbed me?—”

“Anything missing?” The older officer gestured at the scattered papers.

“I’ll need to do a complete inventory.” She forced herself to breathe steadily, remembering the text message about Colonel Richards. The way her client files had been thinning for months. “But there have been other incidents?—”

“Other break-ins?” The younger officer perked up.

“My condo. Twice, at least. Items moved in my office. Nothing taken, though. And other things. My car being tampered with. Nothing serious,” she hurried to add. “A suspicious vehicle?—”

“But no items stolen?” The older officer’s tone carried that subtle dismissal she’d heard too often. “No direct threats?”

She saw Axel’s jaw tighten, saw something dangerous wake in his expression. He’d gone completely still—the kind of stillness that preceded action.

“The car tampering,” he said, voice deceptively casual. “What exactly happened?”

“Nothing mechanical. It’s all been inside. Seat adjustments. Radio settings changed. Nothing stolen, just ... altered.” She met his eyes, saw him processing this with tactical precision.

“And in your condo?” Axel asked. “You said they moved things around there too?”

“In my office. Small things moved. A box on the shelf from my brother. Coins rearranged. And they left … a paperclip.”

The officers both blinked, waiting.

Yeah, it sounded … lame. But in light of the attack, it all took on a more sinister look.

“I thought I was being paranoid until?— ”

“Until today,” Axel finished, his tone carrying a weight the officers missed entirely.

“Look, Dr. Kane,” the older officer sighed, “without evidence of forced entry or serious threats, this is probably just an angry client?—”

“He wasn’t a client,” she insisted. “I got a great look at him today, believe me.”

“So someone connected to a client. Or a junkie who figured you’d have drugs around.”

“The guy I just fought off was no junkie.” Axel’s voice had shifted, carrying that quiet authority that made both officers straighten instinctively. “Dude was trained in close-quarters combat.”

The younger officer tilted his head. “You military?”

“Knight Tactical,” Axel said shortly. Something passed between him and the older officer—some unspoken understanding about classified operations and need-to-know bases.

“We’ll need to file a report,” the older officer said carefully.

“But so far, we don’t have any evidence that this attack is connected to those other things.

” The man had the grace to look abashed.

He cleared his throat. “I’d suggest we get detectives on this ASAP, but given the .

.. circumstances ... you might want to handle this internally. ”

Olivia opened her mouth to protest—this was her office, her life being systematically invaded—but Axel’s hand brushed her arm. A warning? A promise?

“I’ll make some calls,” he said, and she heard the steel beneath his professional tone. “Dr. Kane won’t be handling this alone anymore.”

The officers left, their report already half-written in their minds. But Axel stayed, his presence solid and reassuring as she finally voiced what she’d been afraid to admit.

“Someone’s been watching me,” she said softly. “For months. Learning my routines, my security, my clients ... ”

His expression hardened. “Tell me everything. From the beginning. Every detail you noticed, every instinct you ignored.” His voice dropped. “Because if someone’s been targeting you this systematically, it’s not about a crazed attacker. It’s about something much bigger.”

Axel paced the length of her office, each movement controlled but radiating tension. His tactical assessment hadn’t stopped since the police left—checking sightlines, calculating angles, processing her story with military precision.

“The car tampering started when?” He kept his voice neutral, but she caught the underlying current of anger.

“Three months ago.” Olivia sank into her chair, exhaustion finally seeping in.

“Around the same time my military clients started drifting away. Then the weird stuff started. Small things first: items moved on my desk, client files rearranged. Until now, it was all so subtle I thought I was imagining things.”

He met her gaze, and something shifted in his expression—a decision being made. “You have somewhere else you can stay tonight?”

“My condo?—”

“Has probably been compromised for months.” His bluntness should have frightened her. Instead, it was almost relieving—finally, someone taking her concerns seriously. “Pack what you need. I’m calling in my team to sweep both locations.”

“I have clients tomorrow?—”

“No, you don’t.” His tone brooked no argument. “Not until we figure out what’s really going on here. Why they’ve been watching you, what they’re looking for in these files.”

She looked around her destroyed sanctuary—the violated space that had once felt so safe. “Do you think they knew about our appointment today? ”

Something dangerous flickered in his expression. “If they did, they picked a really stupid time to attack you.” He moved closer, voice dropping. “Unless they wanted to make sure I intervened. The question is—why?”

Olivia had no response. Her brain, along with the rest of her body, seemed like it had simply switched off.

He studied her. “You’re managing the shock well.”

“So are you.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Too personal, too observant.

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition or wariness or … interest? But his voice stayed carefully neutral. “Occupational requirement.”

A loaded silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken observations. She was acutely aware of how this reversed their intended roles—him assessing her condition, her trying not to analyze his responses. The irony might have been funny if her heart would stop racing every time he moved closer.

Her training screamed that this attraction was textbook transference—adrenaline and gratitude tangled with physical awareness. His protective instincts probably triggered similar responses. Simple biochemistry.

It felt like anything but simple.

“We should—” she started, just as he said, “About the session?—”

They both stopped. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, and for a moment she glimpsed the man beneath the operative—someone who could laugh at the absurdity of their situation.

Then reality crashed back in. They weren’t therapist and patient anymore. But they weren’t exactly rescuer and victim either.

They were something much more complicated. And much more dangerous .

“About rescheduling—” Olivia began, but Axel was already shaking his head.

“We both know that’s not happening.” He leaned against her desk, careful not to disturb the files she’d reorganized. “Professional ethics aside, I just assaulted someone in your office.”

“You stopped an attack,” she corrected automatically. Therapist mode, even now.

“Same difference, legally speaking.” His mouth quirked. “Pretty sure APA guidelines don’t cover ‘therapist and patient engage in joint combat operations.’”

That startled a laugh out of her, then she sobered. “You’re right. The therapeutic relationship would be compromised.” She didn’t add: Already is compromised. “I can refer you to several excellent colleagues?—”

“Let’s hold that thought until we figure out what just happened here.” His tone shifted, subtle but clear. “Because either I’m being paranoid?—”

“Or the timing isn’t coincidental.” She finished his thought, mind racing. “My appointment with you was the only new variable today.”

Their eyes met in shared understanding. The air between them crackled with unspoken possibilities, none of them good.

In one afternoon, her careful professional boundaries had been shattered as thoroughly as her window. The safe space she’d created for healing had become a crime scene. And this man, who was supposed to be her patient, had instead become ... what? Ally? Protector? Something else entirely?