Page 3 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)
Finn Novak winced as the rental car hit another pothole on the winding mountain road leading to Hope Landing.
His bruised ribs protested. Not a huge deal.
He’d long ago learned to distinguish between injuries that required immediate medical attention and those he could manage himself.
This fell into the latter category. Barely.
He adjusted the makeshift ice pack over his left eye, the swelling having reduced his vision to a narrow slit. The gas station ice had mostly melted during the overnight drive from Nevada, but the cool dampness still provided minimal relief.
He glanced at his bruised reflection in the rearview mirror. The image stuck instantly—every detail imprinted vividly and irreversibly in his stupid, photographic memory.
During those few weeks of the Paris op, Zara teased him about having a “built-in surveillance camera” able to capture and store every face, place, and conversation with disturbing accuracy. The CIA operatives who recruited him out of college called it eidetic memory.
Civilians just called him weird.
Zara had meant it lightly back then, a playful compliment edged with irritation. But he knew better. It was a skill that had saved his life countless times—and condemned him to endlessly recall every mistake he’d ever made, starting with her.
His reflection in the rearview mirror wasn’t reassuring. Bruised jaw, split lip, the aforementioned eye swelling into an impressive shade of purple-black. He looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight. Not exactly inconspicuous.
The mirror also confirmed what his instincts had been telling him for the past hundred miles.
No one was following him. His little trick with the trucker at the Nevada state line had worked.
Slipping his phone onto the big rig headed for Salt Lake City had given his pursuers a false trail to follow while he turned west toward California.
The Eastern Sierra loomed majestically against the impossibly blue July sky, snow-capped peaks a stark contrast to the desert landscape he’d driven through for hours.
The beauty would have been breathtaking if he weren’t so focused on the constant threat assessment, his eyes methodically scanning each bend in the road, each vehicle he passed.
As the elevation increased, his thoughts drifted back to the attack outside the remote truck stop diner. It had been precise—and terrifying in its efficiency.
He’d just paid for his coffee and was walking to his car when he sensed the presence behind him.
Years of training had him dropping to a crouch just as a blade sliced through the space where his neck had been seconds earlier.
The attacker had moved like a shadow, dressed in non-descript dark clothing, face obscured by a baseball cap pulled low.
What had followed was ninety seconds of brutal close-quarters combat that left both of them bloodied.
Finn had managed to knock the knife out of the man’s hand, but his opponent had compensated with devastating blows.
That level of training wasn’t common—even among intelligence operatives.
Only the elite units received such comprehensive hand-to-hand combat instruction.
The fight had ended in a stalemate when a truck pulled into the lot, causing his attacker to retreat into the darkness.
Finn had immediately abandoned his car, hotwired an aging pickup from behind the building, and driven non-stop for three hours before switching vehicles again at a small-town car rental agency that didn’t ask too many questions when cash was involved.
What truly unsettled him wasn’t the attack itself, but how the assailant had found him at all.
The diner was a random choice, three hundred miles from his previous location, selected on impulse when fatigue had demanded he stop for caffeine.
No credit card trail, no cell phone GPS, no pattern to his movements.
Whoever had tracked him possessed resources and skills far exceeding the norm.
His money was on Cipher.
The first digital threat had arrived three weeks ago, slipping past three separate high-security firewalls he’d personally designed. The message itself had been simple.
You can’t hide forever, Finn.
What made it extraordinary was the signature—a string of code that he’d only seen once before, almost a decade ago, when he’d first started working against Cipher’s operations.
For seven years, he had waged a silent war against the shadowy figure known only as Cipher, dismantling the criminal’s influence piece by methodical piece.
He’d disrupted arms deals in Eastern Europe, exposed money laundering operations in Singapore, and systematically eliminated digital networks that facilitated everything from human trafficking to corporate espionage.
It had been his personal mission, his penance, his obsession—the only way he could atone for what he’d done to Zara.
Zara. Even thinking her name sent a complicated surge of emotions through him—guilt, regret, and something dangerously close to longing.
Going to her now was foolish, bordering on suicidal. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d been manipulating her into revealing classified intelligence while pretending to fall in love with her.
Only in the end, it hadn’t been pretend.
Then she’d discovered his betrayal and reported him to her handler. He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d deserved whatever consequences came his way.
What he hadn’t expected was to survive those consequences.
The extraction team had come close to killing him—close enough that his “death” had been officially recorded.
He’d used that presumed death to disappear completely, dedicating himself to dismantling Cipher’s operations while living in the shadows.
Now he was driving straight toward the woman who probably still hated him enough to put a bullet between his eyes—if she even recognized him.
But he had to know if she was safe. If Cipher was targeting him this aggressively after years of cat-and-mouse, there was a real possibility Zara might also be in danger—collateral damage in a vendetta against him.
No way he’d allow that to happen.
A highway sign announced Hope Landing was fifteen miles ahead.
Finn swallowed two more ibuprofen dry, grimacing at the bitter taste.
His plan, such as it was, involved finding somewhere inconspicuous to stay, conducting careful surveillance to ensure Zara wasn’t under immediate threat, and then disappearing again before she ever knew he was there.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best compromise between protecting her and respecting the boundaries his betrayal had created.
She’d built a new life here, according to his research—a successful career with Knight Tactical, a respected position in the community, colleagues who seemed more like family than coworkers. He had no right to disrupt that.
Not unless absolutely necessary.
The highway narrowed into a two-lane road that climbed steadily through pine forests.
Finn cracked the window, letting the crisp mountain air fill the car.
It smelled of pine sap and wildflowers, so different from the recycled air of server rooms and safe houses where he’d spent much of the past seven years.
A small part of him—the part not consumed by pain, paranoia, and purpose—appreciated the irony.
Throughout his career, first as Cipher’s reluctant asset and later as the criminal’s most dedicated adversary, he’d operated in some of the world’s most dangerous locations.
Yet none of those places frightened him as much as this picturesque mountain town where Zara Khoury now lived.
The road curved sharply, revealing the town nestled in a scenic valley.
Hope Landing looked like a postcard come to life—historic buildings with colorful facades, tree-lined streets, and a bustling main thoroughfare where tourists and locals mingled.
Fourth of July decorations adorned storefronts and lampposts, giving the whole place a festive air that seemed to mock his grim purpose.
Finn slowed the car as he approached the town limits, his decision crystallizing with each passing second.
He’d assess the threat against her, if there was one, and eliminate it, protecting her from afar to ensure Cipher’s vendetta against him didn’t touch her life.
And if she wasn’t in play, he’d simply skulk off.
It was the least he could do. The only thing he could do.
A digital billboard near the welcome sign flashed news about the upcoming Independence Day celebration, featuring a parade scheduled for tomorrow.
Finn made a mental note. Public gatherings provided excellent cover for surveillance but also created security vulnerabilities.
If he wanted to ensure Zara’s safety, the parade would be both an opportunity and a challenge.
He adjusted his baseball cap lower, obscuring his bruised face as best he could, and drove past the “Welcome to Hope Landing” sign. Behind him, the mountains stood sentinel against the cloudless sky. Ahead, somewhere in this idyllic town, was the woman he’d betrayed seven years ago.
The woman he’d come to protect, even if it killed him.
And given his current physical condition and the unknown threat circling them both, death seemed like a distinctly possible outcome.