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CHAIN OF COMMAND

Maya leaned against the conference room window, the morning sun warm on her back but doing nothing to ease the chill in her gut. Her father paced nearby, that familiar contained energy that had driven her crazy growing up. Now it was oddly comforting. He was here. He was safe. And watching him work the room—already directing traffic like he owned the place—almost made her smile.

Until she remembered that by now, every law enforcement agency in Southern California thought Lawrence Chen’s daughter was a traitor and a murderer. Her stomach twisted. Everything she’d worked for, destroyed in less than forty-eight hours.

“Stop it.” Her father’s voice, low enough for only her to hear. “I can see you spiraling.”

“I’m not?—”

“You’re doing that thing with your jaw. Same thing you did before every spelling bee.”

“Dad.” The familiar exasperation felt almost normal. “I’m not twelve anymore.”

“No.” His eyes softened. “You’re a federal agent being framed for murder. But we’re going to fix that.”

“Exactly.” Jack stepped forward, all professional courtesy. “That’s where we come in. Knight Tactical has access to intelligence channels that local law enforcement can’t touch.”

Christian cleared his throat. “Before we start—team, if you’ll join me?” He bowed his head without fanfare, the others immediately following suit. Maya felt her father’s surprised glance but closed her eyes, finding unexpected comfort in the familiar ritual.

“Lord, guide our steps and clear our minds. Protect those in harm’s way and lead us to truth. Amen.”

“Amen,” the team echoed quietly.

Ronan shifted his weight, carefully studying the tactical display on the wall. The simple prayer had lasted perhaps fifteen seconds, but Maya caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against his thigh.

Her father, ever observant, simply folded his hands and waited respectfully. A veteran cop’s instinct for reading the room.

From the look, he liked what he saw.

“We should begin with this,” Star said before exchanging a grim look with Ethan. “It’s not good. These people are doubling down on the fake evidence.”

The displays flickered, new images forming. Maya’s heart sank as more deepfake videos appeared—her, Ronan, and Axel supposedly meeting Marcus Sullivan at various times. Then security footage from the marina, showing Ronan and Axel rushing from Tom’s SUV, weapons clearly visible.

Ronan jabbed a finger at the monitor. “That never happened.”

“We know,” Star cut him off. “But there’s more. They found a handgun in a harbor trash can. Your prints were on it.”

“Prints aren’t hard to get,” Maya said. “We’re all in the system.”

Austin nodded. “And they’re easy enough to fake. Basic 3D printing tech could do it.”

“So we’re no better off than we were last night.” Ronan’s frustration was palpable.

“We need to work backward,” her father said, that familiar commanding tone making Maya’s spine straighten automatically. “Find Sullivan’s killer?—”

“And we find who’s framing us,” Maya finished. “I know how to investigate, Dad.”

“Baby girl, I’ve been doing this since?—”

“Since before I was born. I know.” She caught Christian trying to hide a smile. “But I’m not your rookie anymore.”

Her father’s expression softened. “No. You’re not.” He turned to the group. “So where do we start?”

Maya met Ronan’s eyes across the room. They needed a lead. Fast. Before anyone else died because of whatever Ronan’s friend had stumbled into.

Star pulled up thermal imaging from her father’s condo. “The team was top-tier. Four-man stack, synchronized breach tactics.”

Ronan turned to her dad. “How’d you give yourself time to leave clues and get out?”

“Planned it that way,” her father responded, pulling out his phone. “Set up a network of cheap wireless cameras at strategic points—coffee shops, convenience stores. Places people don’t look twice at some guy fiddling with his phone.” He swiped through several feeds. “Piggybacked off public Wi-Fi, nothing traceable. When their vehicles hit my first marker six blocks out, I had five minutes. More than enough time.”

Maya shook her head, remembering all the times she’d teased him about being paranoid. “Let me guess—you’ve had this setup for months?”

“Years.” He didn’t look apologetic. “Street cop’s version of a surveillance network. Sometimes the best tech is the stuff nobody thinks to look for.”

Christian and Ronan shot her identical looks. “Your dad’s no joke,” Ronan said, while Christian nodded his agreement.

Her dad folded his arms across his chest. “Old dogs have the best tricks, boys. What can I say?”

“Hold up.” Star studied the infrared footage. “There’s something ...” She enhanced a section, the ghostly thermal image sharpening. “See that signature around their comms? That’s not standard gear.”

Christian was already moving closer to the screen, tension visible in his shoulders. “Can you isolate that heat pattern?”

Star attacked the keyboard. A distinctive thermal signature filled the screen—a unique radiation pattern around the operators’ communication equipment.

“Well look at that.” Christian exchanged a look with Jack. “That’s a modified Knight Industries XR-7 setup. Custom job.”

“You’re sure?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah.” His brother’s jaw tightened. “Sentinel’s the only outfit running that config. They modify the thermal dispersal to?—”

“To minimize detection by opposing force IR,” Axel finished, earning surprised looks. “What? I keep up.”

Maya watched the interplay, noting how her father had positioned himself—unconsciously or not—between her and the screen. Some habits die hard.

“Sentinel’s good,” Axel added quietly.

She wrinkled her nose. “So a rival personal protection firm is trying to kidnap my father? That literally makes zero sense.”

Ronan’s features softened. “It does if they want to get to you.”

“Something bigger is at play here,” Christian mused. “Sentinel Security’s on the level. Like us. And they don’t do wetwork unless?—”

“Unless someone with serious pull is calling the shots,” Jack finished, reaching for his phone. “I think it’s time we interrupt the admiral’s vacation.” He pulled out his phone. “Sentinel Security’s owner Buck Richardson and the admiral go way back. All the way to Annapolis.”

“The admiral?” her dad asked.

“Admiral Knight. Our founder.” Christian’s voice held equal parts respect and affection. “He and Richardson have been friendly rivals for decades. Navy, private sector, you name it.”

The wall screen flickered to life, revealing a man at the helm of a huge motor yacht. Sun glinted off silver hair and the kind of deeply tanned face that spoke of a lifetime at sea. But Maya caught the sharp intelligence behind his grandfatherly smile—this was a man who’d commanded carrier groups and sat in rooms where nations’ fates were decided.

“Jack! Christian!” The admiral adjusted his course with practiced ease. “To what do I owe the—hold on.” He peered at the screen. “Why do you all look like someone kicked over a hornet’s nest?”

“We’ve got a bit of a situation brewing here, sir. It involves Sentinel Security.” Jack made quick introductions.

“Buck Richardson’s outfit?” The admiral’s jovial expression sharpened to laser focus. He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Give me the rundown.”

As Jack explained, Maya watched the admiral’s face. Decades of command experience showed in how quickly he processed the information, asking precise questions that cut straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well now.” He grinned suddenly, looking like a kid offered an unexpected treat. “This beats shuffleboard.” Another furtive glance behind him. “Minerva insisted on two weeks in the Med. I’m going stark raving mad here, but don’t you dare?—”

“John?” A woman’s voice called from off-screen. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just checking the weather, dear!” He turned back, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me make some calls. I owe Buck a call anyway. Gotta catch up on the grandkids. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can shake loose from?—”

“Are you working?” The voice was closer now.

“Gotta go!” The admiral’s hasty wink was the last thing they saw before the screen went dark.

“Well,” Chen said into the silence. “That was ...”

“The admiral,” Christian finished with a fond smile. “Give him an hour. He’ll have intel that would take us weeks to dig up.”

Maya caught Ronan fighting a grin. Even her father looked impressed, which was saying something.

“So,” Christian continued, “while the admiral works his magic, let’s break down what else we know.”

“Right.” Ethan pulled up multiple screens, intelligence flowing across them. “We’ve got three major events in the past thirty-six hours—Marcus Sullivan’s death, Tom Benson’s murder, and the attempt on Captain Chen.”

Maya felt her father shift beside her, that familiar protective energy radiating off him. She forced herself to focus on the data, not the raw ache of Tom’s loss.

“Tank—Marcus,” Ronan corrected himself, “was targeted first. Professional hit, made to look like a suicide.” His voice held barely controlled anger. “Right after he accessed restricted files.”

“Which means they were watching him,” Chen observed. “Probably watching you too.”

“And Agent Benson?” Christian asked carefully, his eyes on Maya.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Christian answered before Ronan could.

Her father’s expression darkened. “The question is, what did Sullivan know that was worth all this?”

The screens flickered, Admiral Knight’s face appearing suddenly. He wasn’t smiling now.

“You’ll want to hear this,” he said grimly. “Richardson just called me back. This goes deeper than we thought.”