Page 26 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

“This is it?”

Finn craned his neck toward the windshield, staring at the sagging cabin in front of them. “Are you serious?”

Zara’s teammates had nothing but rave reviews—astonishment, really—for Christian Murphy’s legendary safehouses. Clearly, none of them had holed up in this place. The weathered cabin at the end of the sketchy dirt road looked like it had been abandoned.

A hundred years ago.

Peeling paint, a sagging front porch with missing boards, cobweb-draped windows—the perfect picture of rural neglect nestled among towering ponderosa pines just outside Flagstaff.

He cut the engine of the nondescript sedan they’d acquired through one of his old contacts, letting silence settle around them like the fine layer of dust coating the vehicle.

Zara grinned. “Just wait. That’s Christian’s specialty—weaponized appearance on the outside. Luxury on the inside.”

After confirming they hadn’t been followed—a painstaking process involving multiple route changes, a vehicle swap, and two hours of additional driving—they approached the cabin cautiously.

Zara located the hidden security panel camouflaged as peeling bark on a nearby tree trunk.

The biometric scanner was virtually invisible until activated by the precise sequence of pressure points she pressed.

A soft click, barely audible, signaled their clearance. The scanner glowed momentarily green before fading back to perfect camouflage. The cabin door opened silently.

“I go.” Glock in hand, Finn moved past her, heading gingerly up the sagging steps, bracing himself to fall through a stair. Or meet up with a rattlesnake.

Stepping inside, he couldn’t suppress a small gasp of surprise.

Zara was right.

The interior bore no resemblance whatsoever to the decrepit exterior.

Sleek, modern surfaces gleamed under recessed lighting.

A spacious open-concept design featured state-of-the-art appliances in the kitchen area, luxurious but functional furniture in the living space, and cutting-edge security monitors discreetly embedded in what appeared to be abstract art pieces.

“Unbelievable,” he breathed, turning slowly to take in the full scope of the transformation. “This is ... incredible.”

“Christian never does anything halfway,” Zara observed with the casual familiarity of someone accustomed to such accommodations, securing the door behind them.

He pointed at the dust-streaked windows.

“SpectraVeil,” she announced proudly.

“That really exists?”

She grinned. “Apparently.”

He drifted closer. He’d heard about the tech.

Actually, he had every detail of the proposed tech implanted in his brain from the journal article he’d scanned.

Adaptive Light Refraction (ALR) technology purported to transform windows into hyper-realistic, dynamic projections of an expected interior environment—such as an abandoned cabin or empty warehouse —when viewed from outside, while allowing crystal-clear visibility from within.

He’d been skeptical. And clearly wrong.

Forcing himself to turn away from the window, he shook his head. “Knight Tactical operates on a whole ‘nother level.”

Zara shrugged, but he could tell his observation pleased her.

Which pleased him way more than he wanted to admit.

The safehouse was impeccably appointed—not with flashy luxuries but with the precise comforts that operatives on the run would appreciate most. Temperature-regulated to perfection. Lighting designed to minimize eye strain. Furniture that supported proper posture.

Zara moved to one wall, pressing her palm against an apparently solid surface. A panel slid open silently, revealing an impressive array of weapons and gear—all perfectly organized, cleaned, and ready for immediate use.

“Impressive,” Finn acknowledged, unable to hide his admiration as he conducted his own assessment of the space.

She closed the weapons panel. “Christian’s paranoia makes the rest of us look like carefree optimists. Plus, he has great taste.”

Finn wandered toward the kitchen area, marveling at the thoroughness.

The refrigerator contained perfectly portioned meals clearly labeled with calorie counts and nutritional information.

The pantry held vacuum-sealed packages of gourmet provisions with extended shelf lives.

Even the coffee station featured multiple high-end options alongside precisely measured brewing instructions for optimal caffeine delivery.

“This makes CIA safe houses look like abandoned storage units,” Finn remarked, running his hand along the pristine countertop. “We were lucky to get working plumbing and packaged MREs.”

Despite its relatively small footprint, the safehouse felt spacious—until they both reached for the same protein bar in the kitchen at exactly the same moment. Their hands collided awkwardly, both pulling back as if burned by the contact.

“Sorry—go ahead,” Finn offered, stepping back to create distance.

“No, it’s fine. Take it,” Zara countered, moving toward the refrigerator instead.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Finn admitted, his gaze continuing to take in details he’d missed initially—the thickness of the windows that likely contained bulletproof material, the subtle air filtration system built into decorative ceiling features. “The attention to detail is amazing.”

“We should review what we know,” she said, seamlessly transitioning to operational matters. “And determine our next steps.”

Finn nodded, appreciating her focus despite their dire circumstances. “Command center first, then food?”

“I’m starving. I vote we multitask,” she countered, gesturing to the central table that doubled as both dining surface and workspace.

After Zara tossed a meal into the microwave, they settled at opposite ends of the table, the distance between them serving as both physical and emotional buffer.

Zara activated the embedded terminal. The system responded instantly. A crystal-clear display materialized from what had appeared to be an ordinary surface.

“I’ll hack into the Phoenix PD and federal database,” he offered, examining the unfamiliar system before tentatively initiating what he hoped was the correct sequence. “See what they’ve gathered on the bombing. Might give us insight into who planted it and what type of explosive was used.”

She activated a secondary terminal interface with significantly more confidence. “I’ll track Cipher. He’s careful, but even ghosts leave footprints if you know where to look.”

They worked in focused silence, the microwave’s soft chime eventually prompting her to retrieve her meal.

Finn continued working, diving through layers of secured police communications and preliminary forensic reports.

Despite the unfamiliar system, the familiar rhythm of hacking—identifying vulnerabilities, creating exploits, covering tracks—provided an almost meditative focus that temporarily pushed aside their precarious situation.

After several minutes, Finn glanced up to find her wincing slightly as she flexed her fingers, a brief indication of discomfort before her expression returned to its usual composed state.

“Do you need to get your medication?” he asked carefully.

Her posture stiffened immediately. “I have what I need in my go-bag.”

“Just asking.” He raised his hands in surrender. “No ulterior motive.”

She studied him for a moment longer before returning her attention to her terminal. “What have you found?”

Accepting the subject change, he expanded his display to share his findings. “Preliminary reports suggest the explosive used has an unusual signature. They’re running comparisons against known bomb-makers, but nothing’s matching existing profiles.”

“Cipher would ensure it didn’t,” Zara noted.

“Exactly.” Finn scrolled through additional data. “Witness accounts mention two suspicious individuals entering the building approximately thirty minutes before we arrived—described vaguely as ‘professional-looking male and female, both wearing sunglasses.”

“They were good. We didn’t see any footprints.”

“Vanguard operatives. They’re thugs, but they’re also amazingly thorough. It’s seriously annoying.” He continued scanning the reports. “Federal agencies are already involved, citing potential terrorism connections. They’ve recovered partial fingerprints that don’t match any database.”

“We should also establish alternative communication channels with my team,” Zara added.

Her expression hardened at the reminder of Cipher’s infiltration of her organization, but she quickly refocused.

“I’ll implement emergency protocols. Rotating frequencies, code-shifted transmissions, dead-drop digital verification.

” She worked a few more minutes, then yawned and closed down her terminal interface.

The holographic display retracted seamlessly into the surface, once again making the table appear as ordinary furniture. “We should rest while we can.”

The mention of rest immediately highlighted their accommodation dilemma—one bedroom, limited space, and a complicated history stretching between them like an invisible barrier.

“I’ll take the couch,” he offered immediately. “More comfortable than half the places I’ve slept in the field anyway.”

Zara seemed about to protest before reconsidering. “Fine. We’ll alternate if we’re here multiple nights.”

The concession surprised him—a small acknowledgment of fairness that suggested perhaps the ice between them had thawed slightly.

Not that he’d let her take the couch. Ever.

As Zara retrieved her go-bag from near the entrance, Finn noticed how carefully she handled it—the bag clearly containing essentials beyond standard gear.

She disappeared briefly into the bathroom, and Finn deliberately avoided looking when she returned, respecting her privacy regarding medication management she clearly preferred to keep private.

Later, as he stretched out onto the surprisingly comfortable couch, he found himself reflecting on the day’s events and their implications.

The bombing had escalated their situation from investigation to survival.

Cipher had transitioned from manipulative intelligence operative to active threat.

And somehow, improbably, he and Zara had been thrust back into partnership.

And a chance for him to erase at least a little of the damage he’d done.

Whatever happened next, he’d protect Zara with his life.