Page 7 of Fierce Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #3)

“Incoming!”

Deke pivoted in the snow, tracking the fluorescent disc as it cut through the crystalline mountain air. Twenty degrees felt like a beach day compared to some of the places he’d operated, but he had to admit—playing Ultimate Frisbee in tactical snow gear added a whole new level of challenge.

“Getting slow in your old age, Williams!” Christian’s taunt carried across the field, followed by a burst of laughter from Tactical Knight’s original crew.

Deke snagged the disc one-handed, his boots finding purchase in the packed snow. “That’s rich coming from a man who needed a heating pad after last week’s training run.”

“Low blow!” Christian clutched his chest in mock outrage, his breath clouding in the frigid air.

The familiar banter settled something in Deke’s chest, loosening the knot of tension he’d carried since last night’s disaster with DJ.

Out here, with snow crunching under his boots and his team’s laughter echoing off the hangar walls, he could almost forget the look in his son’s eyes when he’d slammed that door.

Almost.

He launched the disc toward Kenji, who was already sprinting toward their makeshift end zone. The throw curved perfectly through the crystal-clear air, right until Star—all five-foot-nothing of her—appeared out of nowhere and snatched it.

“That’s my girl!” Ethan whooped, earning an eye roll from his wife as she pivoted to launch the disc back toward the original crew’s side.

The game flowed like a well-oiled tactical op, minus the bullets and with significantly more trash talk.

These moments were rare—when the weight of what they did, the lives they protected, the missions that haunted their dreams, lifted just enough to let them breathe.

To remember they were more than their training. Their wounds. Their responsibilities.

An unbidden image of Jade Villanueva flickered through his mind—the tight set of her shoulders yesterday, the careful way she’d avoided his gaze. Something was wrong there. His instincts screamed it. But before he could follow that thought, Austin’s shout snapped him back to the present.

“Hey, Williams! You planning on joining us down here on Earth, or are you just admiring the view?”

The disc sailed high, catching a gust of wind that sent it spiraling toward the maintenance hangar. Deke tracked its arc, already calculating the intercept, when a phone’s sharp ring cut through the morning air.

Austin’s phone.

The game stuttered to a halt as Austin jogged to the sideline. His “Hey, babe” carried across the field, and Deke’s pulse kicked up. Lauren was due any day now. The entire team had been on edge, waiting for that call.

Austin’s spine straightened, his casual stance vanishing. “What’s wrong? Are you?—”

The words died as everyone froze, breaths held, disc forgotten in the snow. Deke watched his friend’s face, reading the micro-expressions like a tactical brief. They’d all been waiting for this moment, had contingency plans in place for when Baby Daggett decided to make an appearance.

The collective surge of adrenaline shifted from game-day competition to DEFCON 1.

Then Austin’s shoulders relaxed, and a small laugh escaped him. “An Asian salad? From Tailwinds?” He checked his watch. “At eight in the morning?”

The tension broke like ice in a spring thaw. Kenji raised his arms in a dramatic gesture. “False alarm, people. Stand down. Although ...” He shuddered. “I’d rather face an armed hostile than get between a pregnant woman and her cravings.”

“Amen to that,” Patrick muttered, while Star elbowed him with a pointed look.

Deke forced a grin, but the moment had already triggered something deeper. Karen’s cravings had been for chocolate milk and pickles. He’d been deployed for most of it, missing the midnight runs to the store, the doctor’s appointments, the moments that should have bound them together as a family.

Now DJ wouldn’t even look at him across the dinner table.

“Earth to Williams.” Ronan’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Deke shook it off, but the lightness from earlier had evaporated like breath in the winter air. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” Ronan said, but his eyes held understanding. They all carried their own versions of regret, their own what-ifs and should-haves.

“Game’s over anyway,” Austin called, already heading for the locker room. “Gotta make a salad run before my wife decides to send a tactical team after me.”

“Smart man,” Star called after him. “A happy wife means you might actually live to see that baby.”

The team started dispersing, their laughter and commentary fading into the crisp morning air as they trudged through the snow toward the hangar, leaving a trail of footprints and half-finished arguments about who actually won the abbreviated match.

But Deke lingered, watching his breath cloud and dissipate, each exhale carrying away a little more of the brief peace he’d found in the game.

He needed to fix things with DJ. Needed to figure out how to bridge the gulf between them before it became permanent. But first ...

First, he needed to understand what was going on with Jade Villanueva. His mind still caught on that flicker of worry about her. The weight of it sat wrong in his chest, like a mission brief with critical intel missing.

Deke wandered inside. The hangar hummed with its usual controlled chaos.

The massive space managed to feel both industrial and homey—state-of-the-art equipment sharing space with worn leather couches and a coffee station that rivaled most cafes.

The scent of gun oil and fresh coffee mixed with the sharp tang of winter air as the team shed layers of snow gear.

“I’m just saying,” Kenji announced to no one in particular, “if Lauren goes into actual labor during a match, I automatically get MVP status for the day we had to quit.”

“In your dreams,” Patrick called back, heading for the locker room. “You were getting crushed out there.”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Children,” Star cut in, rolling her eyes. “Don’t make me separate you.”

The familiar banter faded as Zara caught Deke’s eye, her expression shifting to something more focused. The former intelligence officer had a way of looking at people that made them feel like she knew every deep, dark secret they’d ever had.

“Hey, Deke?” She approached with that careful casualness that set off warning bells in his head. “Got a second?”

He stiffened slightly. “What’s up?”

“DJ’s tutor—what’s her name again?”

His heart stumbled. “Jade. Jade Villanueva. Why?”

Zara’s eyes narrowed. She’d caught something in his tone. “I was reviewing the community police and fire dispatch logs from last night?—”

“As one does at 3 a.m.,” Kenji interjected, passing by with a towel around his neck.

Zara ignored him. “There was a call about possible intruders at her condo. A neighbor reported suspicious sounds, but when patrol units arrived, they found nothing obvious.”

He replayed every detail from yesterday—the tension in Jade’s shoulders, the careful way she’d held herself, how her gaze had kept drifting to the door.

“I thought you might want to know,” Zara added softly. “In case you feel like checking on her.”

The suggestion was casual, but her eyes were too knowing. She’d seen something in his reaction, cataloged it away in that razor-sharp mind of hers.

“Thanks.” The word came out clipped, professional. Like this was just another piece of intel, not something that made his chest tight with an unfamiliar mix of worry and anger.

Zara nodded once and drifted away, but Deke barely noticed. His mind was already running scenarios, threat assessments, action plans. Someone had been in Jade’s home.

The team’s chatter washed over him, but he was already mentally mapping the quickest route to Andreassen-Canning’s offices.

He changed in the locker room and started out the door.

“Where you headed?” Ronan called after him.

Deke didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His team knew that look—the one that said someone had crossed a line, and now there would be consequences.