Page 8 of Fierce Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #3)

The winter light filtering through Andreassen-Canning’s floor-to-ceiling windows cast long shadows across Jade’s desk.

She’d been staring at her laptop screen for twenty minutes, her untouched coffee growing cold beside her keyboard.

Around her, the office hummed with morning activity—phones ringing softly, the whoosh of the elevator doors, someone laughing in the break room over fresh coffee and bagels.

All so normal. So safe.

Such a lie.

Her hands trembled slightly as she opened a private browsing window. The irony wasn’t lost on her—using her work computer to dig into her past, when her whole life here was built on burying it. But she had to know. Had to rule out the possibility that someone from her father’s world had found her.

The familiar forums loaded, dark corners of the internet where her father’s old associates still lurked.

She hadn’t visited these sites in twelve years, but muscle memory took over as she navigated through them.

Amazing how something could feel so foreign and so familiar at once, like speaking a language she’d sworn to forget.

She typed “Marlowe” into a search bar, then “Ren M.” Her heart thundered as results populated the screen. Most were dead ends—casual mentions, old conversations. But some ... some were recent.

A cold knot formed in her stomach as she realized how easily someone could connect the dots. She’d been careful with her name change, had chosen Hope Landing specifically because it was off the grid. But one slip, one wrong person recognizing her, or catching a stray mention on social media ...

“Never leave a trail, baby girl.” Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, smooth as honey and twice as sticky. “And if you do, make sure it leads somewhere else.”

She remembered watching him forge documents at their kitchen table, his hands steady as he created new identities out of thin air. Remembered how he’d quiz her on their cover stories, drilling her until the lies felt more real than truth.

“Everyone’s got an angle,” he’d say, dark eyes intense.

Much as she wanted to discount his wisdom, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Not everyone had an angle. But some folks did.

She clicked through another forum, scanning usernames she hadn’t seen in over a decade. Some were still active, still running their games, still?—

“Morning, Jade!”

She jumped, quickly blanking the screen. Arjun from payroll stood in her doorway, coffee mug in hand, eyebrows raised at her reaction.

“Everything okay?”

Jade forced her features into something resembling normalcy. “Fine! Just ... clients putting the wrong info in the wrong spreadsheet columns. You know how it is.”

“Right ...” He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t look like he really wanted to know either. He backed away. “I feel you. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She managed a smile that felt like plastic stretched too thin.

As his footsteps faded, she exhaled slowly, trying to steady her pulse. She was being paranoid. Maybe she’d attracted a stalker. Or an angry former client. There were lots of explanations that didn’t involve her past.

But as she reopened the web page the forums still displayed like an accusation, and she couldn’t shake the whisper of doubt. Because if someone from the past had found her, everything she’d built here was about to crumble.

And she wasn’t sure she could survive losing it all again.

A soft knock made her flinch. Linda from the tax department leaned against the doorframe, a stack of files tucked against her hip.

“Those first quarter projections ready?” Linda asked, then frowned. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Jade toggled back to an open spreadsheet, forcing her face into pleasant neutrality. “Just fighting with Excel,” she lied smoothly. Amazing how the old skills never quite disappeared—the ability to fabricate reality on the spot, to make fiction sound like truth. “Give me an hour?”

“Sure, no rush.” Linda lingered, maternal concern crossing her features. “You know, you’ve been off lately. If you need to talk?—”

“I’m fine,” Jade cut in, perhaps too quickly. She softened her tone. “Really. Just a busy morning.”

Linda nodded, unconvinced, but retreated. The moment she was gone, Jade slumped in her chair, her heart still hammering against her ribs. She needed to get it together. Needed to?—

“Ms. Villanueva?”

Becca’s voice crackled through her desk phone’s intercom.

She punched the button to respond. “Yes?”

“There’s a Mr. Williams here to see you.” Ever the professional, Becca’s tone betrayed none of the intense curiosity Jade knew her friend must be feeling.

The bottom dropped out of Jade’s stomach. She glanced at her computer screen—now showing a safely bland Excel spreadsheet—then at her reflection in the window. She looked pale and rattled.

“Ms. Villanueva?” Becca’s voice deepened with the promise of a coming interrogation. “Should I send him up?”

Deke Williams. Here. Now.

Why? Was this about DJ?

“I’ll come down,” she managed, already standing. Her legs felt unsteady as she smoothed her pencil skirt, checked her reflection one more time in the window. The woman staring back looked caught between fight and flight.

The elevator ride to the lobby felt endless. Her mind raced through possibilities. Had someone seen her researching her past? Had she tripped a surveillance algorithm? Had?—

The doors opened, and there he was.

Deke’s broad shoulders and tactical-casual attire stood out among the suits and ties populating the lobby. He turned at the sound of the elevator. His expression made her pulse skip. Concern. Determination. And something else she couldn’t quite name.

“Mr. Williams.” She kept her voice steady, professional. “This is unexpected.”

His dark eyes tracked over her face, missing nothing. “Got a minute?”

Becca and Lindsay pretended not to watch them. Several other employees lingered nearby, poorly disguising their interest in the former SEAL’s presence.

“Of course.” Jade gestured toward a small conference room off the lobby. “This way.”

She felt his presence behind her like a physical weight as she led him to the room. The space was meant for client meetings—all glass walls and modern furnishings. Not ideal for whatever conversation was about to happen.

Deke closed the door behind them, and suddenly the room felt too small, too exposed. He didn’t sit. Neither did she.

“I heard about last night,” he said quietly.

Three words. That’s all it took for her carefully constructed composure to crack.

“What?” She fought to keep her voice level.

“The police call to your condo.” His jaw tightened. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Jade’s mind raced. Of course he’d found out. He probably had contacts throughout local law enforcement. She forced her shoulders to relax, aiming for casual dismissal.

“It was nothing. Mrs. Leland next door thought she heard something. She tends to be ... overcautious.”

“Overcautious enough to call 911?” His voice remained quiet, but intensity radiated from him like heat. “Come on, Jade. What’s really happening?”

She shifted, too aware of the glass walls, of curious glances from passing coworkers. “Really, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“That why you look like you haven’t slept? Why you’re jumping at shadows?”

Her pulse spiked. Was she that transparent? “I appreciate your concern, but?—”

“My team can help.” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Whatever’s going on, whoever’s bothering you—we can handle it. Quietly.”

Part of her wanted to accept, to let someone else carry this weight. To feel safe. But the rest of her knew better. Knight Tactical meant investigations. Background checks. Questions she couldn’t answer.

“Thank you,” she said carefully. “But it’s probably just a disgruntled client. Corporate accounting isn’t always exciting, but sometimes people get upset about their tax bills.” The lie tasted bitter, but she pushed on. “I’m handling it.”

Deke’s jaw clenched. She watched the muscle tick there, watched him wrestle with frustration. “You shouldn’t have to handle it alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Another lie. “I have good neighbors, security cameras. The police are aware now.”

He shifted closer, and suddenly she could smell his aftershave, something clean and masculine that made her pulse skip for entirely different reasons. His hand came up, touching her arm with surprising gentleness.

“Let me help,” he said softly. “Please.”

The warmth of his touch burned through her sleeve. She stepped back carefully, maintaining her professional smile even as something in her chest ached.

“I’m okay,” she insisted. “Really.”

He studied her for a long moment, and she felt stripped bare under that gaze. As if he could see straight through her carefully constructed facade to the terrified girl underneath. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Alright.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card. “But if anything else happens—anything at all—you call me. Day or night. Promise?”

She took the card, careful not to let their fingers brush. “I promise.”

Another easy lie, but this one hurt more than the others.

He gave her one last searching look, frustration rolling off him in waves. Then he turned and strode out, his movements controlled but tense. Through the glass walls, she watched him cross the lobby. Becca and Lindsay definitely stared this time.

Jade’s fingers trembled as she looked down at his card. Simple black text on white cardstock. A phone number.

A promise of safety she couldn’t afford to accept.

She sank into one of the conference room chairs, the weight of what she’d just done settling over her like a shroud. She’d pushed away help—real help—because she was too afraid of her past coming to light.

But what if she was wrong? What if she’d just sent away the one person who could protect her?

Her father’s voice whispered in her memory: Trust no one.

But for the first time in twelve years, she wondered if that lesson might get her killed.