Page 22 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)
Dawn light filtered through Knight Tactical’s polarized windows, casting the tech center in that peculiar blue glow Zara had come to associate with early-morning investigations.
She’d dressed and headed down the hallway at five, needing solitude to process the intel Harrison had offered before the day’s inevitable complications.
Her fingers moved deftly across the holographic interface, sorting satellite imagery of the three suspect locations.
Each motion sent tiny sparks of pain through her wrists—yesterday’s beach volleyball extracting its price despite Kenji’s carefully calibrated des.
The lake party seemed a distant memory now, its carefree moments eclipsed by the gravity of what her source had shared.
“You started without me.”
Finn’s voice carried from the doorway. She didn’t turn, having recognized his footsteps before he spoke.
“Coffee’s fresh,” she replied, gesturing vaguely toward the station in the corner where Griffin’s imported blend awaited. Another of Knight Tactical’s small luxuries that had once seemed frivolous but now represented a sliver of normalcy in their abnormal lives.
Finn poured himself a cup in one of the specialized ceramic mugs designed to minimize heat signatures—practical paranoia elevated to an art form at Knight Tactical.
Or as she and Maya called it, “Boys and their toys.” Though, truth be told, Izzy the master mechanic was the most enthusiastic gadget hoarder of them all.
Finn took a long sip of java. “Find anything new?”
“Definitely.” Zara expanded the holographic display, revealing intricate data patterns surrounding the former Phoenix safehouse Harrison had steered her toward.
“Power consumption spiked at 0200, consistent with serious heavy-duty computing operations. Matches exactly with increased cooling system activation at the Portland data hub.”
She shifted to the third display. “Vancouver financial movements occurred within the same fifteen-minute window, using shell companies previously connected to Cipher’s network in Budapest.”
“Three simultaneous activations,” Finn observed, setting his coffee down and studying the pattern. “Classic distraction technique.”
She lifted a silent prayer, thanking her Savior that Finn was focusing on the evidence now, not her private source.
Finn’s expression sharpened. “Cipher’s utilizing an agency safehouse? That’s … interesting.”
“Right? According to my source, it’s already compromised.”
“Your source?” Finn’s eyebrow raised slightly. “Someone inside the agency?”
His implicit question about her intelligence source hung in the air, but she had no intention of revealing her connection to Harrison.
“I’m just saying it’s pretty convenient,” he noted after a moment.
“The evidence is compelling.”
“I’m not questioning the evidence. I’m questioning the source’s motivation for providing it.”
Zara moved to respond but winced as pain shot through her shoulder, the movement catching Finn’s attention despite her attempt to mask it.
“The barometric pressure’s dropping,” he observed casually.
The subtle acknowledgment of her physical discomfort without directly referencing her condition was precisely calibrated—offering awareness without pity. She found herself unexpectedly grateful for the balance.
“CIA safehouse security is legendary, even for dead facilities,” she redirected, bringing up the building schematics. “If Cipher breached them, he’d leave digital traces.”
“I’ll check for vulnerability signatures,” Finn offered, moving to an adjacent workstation rather than directly across from her.
As the morning progressed, Zara’s body protested with increasing intensity.
Each movement brought fresh reminders of her body’s limitations, a reality she refused to acknowledge openly but couldn’t entirely ignore.
When Finn stepped away briefly to consult with Deke about satellite positioning, she quickly retrieved medication from her carefully concealed case.
She swallowed the pill dry, almost a year of practice making the movement efficient. Not efficient enough to escape Finn’s notice as he returned, though his only acknowledgment was moving her coffee cup closer, reducing the extension required to reach it.
“Okay,” he said, shifting smoothly back to operational planning.
“We’ve got three potential entry points.
Main entrance would be most obvious—likely monitored but offering the cleanest approach.
Kitchen service entrance would have fewer electronic traps but potentially more human surveillance since it’s a natural blind spot.
Then there are the roof access points—minimal surveillance but physically demanding, especially with your current joint inflammation. ”
Finn’s assessment hit the mark, balancing operational reality with an understated acknowledgment of her physical limitations. What struck Zara wasn’t just his analysis, but the way he integrated her condition into the assessment without making it the defining factor.
“The kitchen entrance offers our best tactical advantage,” she decided, weighing each option against her internal metrics.
“Copy that. I’ll prep the necessary countermeasures. When do you want to move?”
“Ronan can get us there in under two hours. Let’s hit it this afternoon, during peak business hours. Maximum civilian presence in the area will provide better cover. I’ll gather the crew. Time for a briefing.”
She attempted to stand, intending to retrieve building schematics from the adjacent workstation, but a sharp pain lanced through her hip. She caught herself against the desk, the momentary vulnerability impossible to disguise.
Finn moved as if to assist but stopped himself, recognizing her need for independence. Instead, he simply transferred the necessary files to her station, the support offered without requiring acknowledgment.
“You should consider having Kenji handle the field component,” he suggested carefully. “He has the technical expertise for the electronic override.”
The suggestion—however tactfully framed—struck a nerve. “I’m field-capable.”
“I’m not questioning your capabilities,” Finn replied evenly. “I’m suggesting mission optimization based on current team resources.”
“Noted,” she said coolly, ending the discussion.
They continued working through the endless maze of security protocols, identifying access methods, contingency plans, and viable escape routes. As many as possible.
As she prepared the final briefing materials for the team, her phone buzzed with an incoming message. She glanced down, expecting an update from Griff or additional intelligence from her source.
Instead, the text stopped her breath.
Izzy: We’re here for you, Z. Lupus doesn’t change anything—except maybe who gets to do the heavy lifting from now on. We got you.
Blood pounded in her ears as the implications crystallized. Her diagnosis—her carefully guarded secret shared only with Kenji, and now Finn—had somehow been exposed to the entire team.
The phone trembled in her grip, a betrayal of the shock reverberating through her system. A year of compartmentalization, of careful management, of ensuring her condition never became a factor in how others perceived her capabilities—undone in an instant.
And she knew exactly by whom.
“Zara? What is it?”
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t formulate a response as the walls she’d built around her identity crumbled.
Her phone buzzed again. Multiple times.
Ronan:Command decision. Mission proceeds as planned with you as lead. Medical status is a tactical consideration, not a disqualification. That’s final.
Maya:Z, nothing changes. Not how we see you, not your role, not your value to this team. Call me if you need to talk. Or don’t. Either way, I‘ll bring coffee in 10.
Axel:So you have lupus. I have an irrational fear of butterflies. We’ve all got our things. Your thing just happens to make you even more impressive. P.S. I have theories about who leaked this. First suspect rhymes with “Benji.”
The messages blurred as unexpected emotion welled in her eyes. The professional mask she’d perfected over years in intelligence work—the poised, controlled operative who never revealed weakness—fractured under the weight of being known .
Her friends, she’d handle.
Finn, she wanted to kill.