Page 9 of Deadly Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #2)

Dawn crept through Olivia’s bedroom window, pale and wintry, casting thin fingers of light across her duvet.

She’d been awake for hours, watching shadows stretch and contract across her textured ceiling, trying to convince herself that every creak was just the house settling, every whisper of wind against the eaves just December’s bitter breath.

Her throat ached where rough hands had grabbed her. When she finally dragged herself to the mirror, purple bruises mapped the attack in vivid detail—thumbprints blooming dark against her skin. She gripped the edge of her vanity, suddenly light-headed.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the prayer catching in her bruised throat.

“Thank you for sending him.” Her hands trembled as she traced the edge of one bruise.

If Axel hadn’t been there, hadn’t moved so fast, with such contained violence .

.. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of what might have happened.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, wrapping her arms around herself as tremors worked their way through her body. Strange, how the human mind processed trauma. In the moment, she’d been clear-headed, almost calm. Now, in the safety of morning light, her body finally allowed itself to shake apart.

The gun safe in her home office held more than her grandfather’s old service weapon now.

She’d brought home the most sensitive client files last night, tucking them behind the heavy steel door with trembling fingers.

Not just the active cases, but the ones she’d flagged as potentially volatile.

Files on patients with military backgrounds, histories of violence, or connections that made her uneasy.

Overkill, maybe, but these people had trusted her with their darkest moments, their raw confessions.

She would die before betraying that trust.

Her phone buzzed making her jump.

Marisol: Schedule cleared for today. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? I can bring that honey lavender tea you like.

Olivia typed back a quick reassurance, guilt twisting in her stomach.

Her clients needed her, but she couldn’t counsel anyone like this.

Not when every shadow made her flinch, when her own anxiety thrummed so close to the surface.

She’d be worse than useless—she’d be dangerous, projecting her fears onto people who came to her for stability.

Standing before her closet, fingers trailing over sweaters, she forced herself to focus on the mundane task of getting dressed.

The black turtleneck would hide the worst of the bruising.

Professional, but not too formal for a meeting with .

.. what exactly was Knight Tactical? Security consultants?

Private military contractors? Their website was purposefully vague.

But she’d seen their aircraft coming and going from her office windows.

New-looking and pristine. Whatever they did, they made enough money to own a big chunk of an airport in a resort community.

And invest multiple millions in state-of-the-art transportation.

She had a feeling their clients were, what was the new term? “High net worth individuals.”

Not private therapists who lived in regular suburban houses and lived regular suburban lives.

The memory of Axel’s steady presence during the attack flickered through her mind, bringing unexpected warmth. She pushed the feeling aside. This wasn’t the time to get flustered over a man she barely knew, no matter how capable he’d proved.

Movement caught her eye through the kitchen window. Her side gate swung gently in the wind, wide open. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she froze, coffee mug halfway to her lips. She’d locked that gate. She distinctly remembered checking it twice before bed.

Her hand shook as she reached for her phone.

Should she call the police? Axel? But as she pressed closer to the window, she could see the pristine blanket of snow in her side yard—unmarked except for the delicate trails of birds and what looked like a rabbit.

No footprints. No sign of intrusion. Just the wind, she told herself, forcing her breathing to slow.

Just the wind catching a gate she must not have latched properly in her distraction.

Still, she double-checked every lock before leaving the house. Her gaze barely left the rearview mirror the entire way to the Hope Landing airport.

A private road wound through pine trees before opening onto Knight Tactical’s compound at the eastern edge of the airport complex.

Her grip tightened on her steering wheel at the sight of two massive aircraft hangars, their steel and glass faces gleaming in the morning sun.

A sleek corporate jet taxied past, its engines a distant purr.

Beyond it, a helicopter’s rotors caught the light, and what looked like a small fleet of aircraft—everything from private planes to what might have been military surplus—lined the tarmac.

Axel was waiting by her car before she even cut the engine, his tall frame casually leaned against one of the hangar’s support pillars. The morning sun caught the planes behind him, creating an oddly cinematic backdrop of gleaming aircraft and mountain views.

“Sleep okay?” he asked quietly as she approached, his eyes taking in her turtleneck with understanding. When she just shrugged, his mouth tightened briefly before he forced a lighter tone. “Ready to meet the team? Don’t worry, they only bite on Tuesdays.”

“It’s Tuesday,” she pointed out.

“Ah. Well then.” His grin was unexpected and warm. “Stay close.”

Inside, the space managed to feel both industrial and elegant—polished concrete floors, exposed steel beams, and state-of-the-art everything. The smell of jet fuel and coffee mingled in the air.

“Dr. Kane.” A man who could have been Axel’s brother stepped forward. “I’m Ronan Quinn.” His handshake was carefully modulated, his green eyes noting her injuries with quiet concern.

“Welcome to the circus,” rumbled a deep voice. “Deke Williams.” The huge man moved with surprising grace for his size, his dark skin gleaming with health, his smile infectious.

He jerked a huge thumb at the petite woman beside him. “Izzy Reyes. The woman’s magic with machinery.”

“Ignore him, he thinks he’s funny.” Izzy’s coverall sleeves were rolled up to show intricate tattoos, and grease smudges couldn’t hide her natural beauty. Her Spanish accent was slight but musical.

“She really is magic though,” Axel stage-whispered to Olivia. “Once saw her fix a helicopter with duct tape and spite.”

“That was one time!” Izzy protested.

The dark-haired beauty Axel introduced as Zara Khoury remained slightly apart, her olive complexion pale. Something about her dark eyes and careful movements suggested hidden depths.

“Hey, Dr. Kane. I’m Dr. Marshall. But call me Kenji.” His grin matched his slim, agile frame as he spun a tactical pen between his fingers.

Izzy groaned, rolling her eyes hard. “He just loves that Dr. Dr. stuff.”

“Of course, I do.” Kenji winked at Olivia. “Call it a perk of the job.”

“Ignore him,” Axel advised. “We all do.”

“You wound me, Reinhardt!”

“And that’s Griff Hawkins,” Axel finished. “Our resident ghost.”

Griff nodded from his position near a bank of monitors, his medium build and pleasant-but-forgettable features belied by an intensity that made her look twice.

Olivia looked around at the assembled team, feeling something shift inside her.

She’d come here determined to politely decline their help, to handle this on her own as she always did.

But watching them—Deke’s easy confidence, Izzy’s sharp intelligence, Zara’s quiet vigilance, Kenji’s quick mind behind the jokes, Griff’s watchful presence, and Ronan’s steady authority—she realized these weren’t just security professionals.

They were a seamless unit, each person’s strengths complementing the others’.

The kind of team that could protect dignitaries and defuse international crises without breaking a sweat.

And they were all focused on helping her.

Maybe, just this once, she didn’t have to be the strong one. Maybe accepting help from people this capable wasn’t weakness—it was wisdom.

If she could let down her guard. And let them in.