Page 7 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Axel righted the fallen armchair, noting the quality leather, the deliberate positioning. Even amid the chaos his tactical mind couldn’t help appreciating the arrangement. Clear sightlines, multiple exit routes, no one’s back to the door.

“Nice setup,” he commented, adjusting a throw pillow while cataloging potential vulnerabilities.

“You noticed that?” She gathered scattered papers, and he caught the worry in her voice—concern for her patients’ privacy that surpassed even her own safety. That spoke volumes.

“Trained to. Though I’m guessing your reasons were different than mine.” He watched her movements, the way she maintained composure even with her office in shambles. The composed professional masking the woman who’d just taken down an armed intruder. Both sides of her fascinated him.

“Trauma-informed design.” Her voice stayed steady, clinical, but he caught the slight tremor in her hands. “Patients need to feel safe to heal. ”

“And now?” He kept his tone gentle, knowing the weight of that question.

She paused over an ornate wooden box, vulnerability flickering across her face. “Now I’m wondering if I made it too accessible. Too many entry points, too exposed?—”

“Hey.” He crossed to her desk, careful to telegraph his movements.

The last thing she needed was another threat, even perceived.

“Don’t do that. Building a bunker won’t help your patients.

” God knew he understood the impulse though.

After Tank’s death, he’d fortified everything—his home, the hangar, his heart.

“Speaking from experience?”

Her direct hit surprised a smile out of him. Most civilians tiptoed around his obvious hypervigilance. “What, you mean my tactical assessment of your throw pillow placement didn’t seem totally normal?”

Her laugh caught him off guard—bright, genuine, transforming her face. Something in his chest tightened. “Well, most of my patients don’t calculate blast radius relative to the couch.”

“Their loss. Good cover, that couch.” He bent to retrieve a fallen photo, using the moment to steady himself.

This woman was supposed to be his therapist, dammit.

Instead, he’d found himself admiring her technique as she dropped an armed intruder.

“Though your book selection could use some updating. That DSM is at least two editions old.”

“You know DSM editions?” The raised eyebrow was both professional assessment and personal challenge.

“Did my homework before coming.” Before chickening out of therapy, he didn’t add. “Know your terrain, right?”

Her office told a story—degrees on the wall speaking to competence, but the small touches—the throw pillows, the carefully positioned chairs—those spoke to compassion. To understanding. Both qualities he’d seen in action during the attack.

“I gotta say, your technique with that shoulder lock was impressive.” He hadn’t expected that from a therapist, though he should have. Everything about her defied easy categorization.

“A big brother. Plus a very motivated self-defense instructor after ... after James.”

His eyes found the photo—her with a man who had to be her brother, both grinning in climbing gear.

The same warm smile she’d shown earlier, before violence invaded her sanctuary.

He found himself wanting to restore that sense of safety, not just as a security professional, but as a man who recognized something kindred in her strength and vulnerability.

None of which he had any business feeling. She was meant to be his therapist. Now she was a potential client. Both roles demanded professional distance.

But watching her rebuild her composure, seeing how she prioritized her patients’ wellbeing even now—he couldn’t help admiring her resilience. Her heart.

Tank would have liked her, he realized suddenly. Would have recognized her warrior spirit beneath the healer’s touch.

Those thoughts were dangerous territory. Better to focus on security assessments and tactical plans. Those, at least, he understood.

“Noticed you didn’t freeze,” he observed, still processing how smoothly she’d moved during the attack. Her reaction time, her focus—not typical civilian responses. “Most civilians would have.”

“Most civilians haven’t spent years dealing with people in crisis. Or had a Special Forces brother who insisted on worst-case scenario training.”

The casual mention of her brother’s Special Forces background clicked several pieces into place. Her composure, her situational awareness, the way she’d anticipated her attacker’s moves. But there was more to it—an innate strength that had nothing to do with training.

“You know,” he admitted, surprising himself, “when I came here today, I was going to tell you I didn’t need therapy.”

“And now?”

He chose his words carefully, aware of how much weight they carried. “Now I’m thinking there are different kinds of help. Different ways of seeing things clearly.” The admission cost him, but something about her made honesty feel less dangerous.

“Seems we’re both reassessing some things.”

Their eyes met, and Axel felt the air charge with unspoken possibilities. Professional lines blurred dangerously. He needed to focus on the tactical situation, not the way her presence affected him.

“Let Knight Tactical help.” He maintained his distance, recognizing her need for space. “We have resources, experience with this kind of situation. And unlike the police, we understand the unique considerations involved.”

She paused over a patient file, protective even now. “Meaning?”

“Meaning we respect professional confidentiality. Whatever investigations we do, whatever security measures we implement—it all happens on your terms.” He met her gaze directly, letting her see his sincerity. “Your patients’ privacy stays protected. Non-negotiable.”

“You seem very certain about that.”

“Because I understand what’s at stake.” He gestured to her credentials, the carefully created environment.

“You’ve built something important here. A safe space.

We want to help you protect it, not compromise it.

” He thought of his own team, how many of them could have benefited from someone like her, if they’d ever let their guards down enough to try.

She considered his words, clearly thinking of her patients. “And Knight Tactical would respect those boundaries?”

“Absolutely. We play by your rules.” He allowed himself a slight smile. “Believe it or not, we do understand the importance of maintaining professional trust.”

He watched her internal struggle, recognizing the battle between training and instinct. The professional trying to maintain boundaries versus the woman who’d just faced danger at his side. He knew that battle too well.

“I’ll consider a consultation. Tomorrow.”

“I can have a team?—”

“Tomorrow,” she repeated firmly, and he recognized the need for space, for processing. “I need to think this through when my hands aren’t still shaking.”

He nodded, respecting her boundaries while fighting his own instinct to protect. “First thing? I’d feel better knowing you have proper security in place.”

“I’ll be fine tonight. Despite recent evidence to the contrary, I actually can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” The admiration in his voice was unprofessional, but honest. He’d seen her in action, after all.

Didn’t mean he’d be leaving her unguarded, whatever she thought.

“Tomorrow then.” He moved toward the door, warring with himself before adding, “I’m walking you to your car.”

“I’m parked right below, I’ll be?—”

“Not negotiable.” He kept his tone gentle but firm, needing her to understand. “After what just happened, humor me.”

The walk down was silent, charged with things neither of them could afford to acknowledge. He checked her car thoroughly—old habits—before stepping back.

“Drive safe,” he said quietly. “And Olivia?” Her name felt right on his tongue, even though it shouldn’t. “Lock up carefully tonight.”

“I will.” She hesitated before adding, “And ... thank you. For today.”

“Just doing my job.” The lie tasted bitter. Nothing about his reaction to her was just business.

He watched until her car disappeared around the corner, then did another perimeter check before heading to his SUV.

Tomorrow they’d establish professional boundaries.

Tomorrow he’d remember all the reasons he shouldn’t notice how her eyes changed color in different lights, or how naturally they’d moved together during the attack.

Tonight, he’d do what he did best—secure the area, protect his charge, and absolutely not think about how right it had felt to fight at her side.