Page 6 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

Independence Day dawned bright and sunny, deliciously warm even well before parade start time.

Hope Landing’s Main Street had transformed overnight into a kaleidoscope of patriotic splendor.

Red, white, and blue bunting draped from every storefront, flags snapped in the mountain breeze, and excited children darted between clusters of chatting adults.

Behind the Hope Landing Hardware Store, in the staging area for parade floats, Zara perched precariously on a stepladder, securing the last skull-and-crossbones flag to the pirate ship’s mast.

“Thirty degrees portside!” Deke called from below, hands on his hips as he critically evaluated the flag’s position. “We need symmetrical menace, people!”

“It’s a parade float, not a tactical insertion,” Griff muttered, though he obligingly adjusted the mounting bracket.

Zara laughed, wincing slightly as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her shoulders. She’d awakened to a flare-up, her limbs stiff and aching despite the increased medication Kenji had insisted she take.

The growing heat wasn’t helping matters.

“Heads up! Incoming competition at two o’clock,” Axel announced, nodding toward the far end of the staging area where another float was arriving.

The original Knight Tactical team’s creation rolled majestically into view, drawing appreciative whistles from nearby parade participants.

Their “Heroes Through History” theme had manifested as an elaborate tableau featuring iconic figures from different eras.

A Roman centurion stood beside a medieval knight, while a Wild West sheriff conversed with what appeared to be a World War II pilot.

“Is that a working waterfall?” Griffin asked incredulously, squinting at the cascading feature at the rear of the float.

“And fog machines,” Ronan confirmed grimly. “They’ve got fog machines.”

“This means war,” Deke declared, pulling a walkie-talkie from his belt. “All hands on deck! We need more pirate swagger, stat!”

The Original Knights had spotted them now.

Jack Reese, tall and commanding in his Revolutionary War costume, raised a hand in greeting.

Austin Dagget, dressed as an old-timey sheriff, cradled his son in one arm while adjusting his cowboy hat with the other.

Star Rodriguez, resplendent as what appeared to be Amelia Earhart, was already heading in their direction, her husband Ethan following with Christian Murphy, both of them already sweating in their Apollo astronaut costumes.

“Ahoy, pirates!” Star called, her smile warm despite the competitive glint in her eyes. “Love what you’ve done with the basic starter kit. Very ... oceany.”

The good-natured ribbing continued as the teams circled each other’s floats, offering genuine compliments amid the teasing. Despite the competitive atmosphere, there was obvious affection between the groups.

Zara participated in the banter, but found herself increasingly distracted.

The sunlight felt like needles against her skin, and fatigue dragged at her limbs despite having taken her pills at dawn.

She subtly adjusted her position to remain in the shadow of their float, grateful for the wide-brimmed hat Maya had insisted everyone wear as part of their pirate costumes.

“Ten minutes to parade formation!” a volunteer coordinator announced, walking between the floats with a clipboard. “Everyone to starting positions, please!”

Zara found her designated spot near the ship’s bow, relieved it offered some shade from the increasingly oppressive sun. The temperature had climbed steadily, and the crowd’s energy seemed to intensify the heat, creating a wall of noise and movement that pressed against her heightened senses.

The noise was overwhelming—hundreds of voices calling out, children shrieking with delight, patriotic music blaring from speakers. Zara waved mechanically, her smile fixed as she scanned the crowd from habit, a security assessment she couldn’t turn off even during a small-town parade.

That’s when she saw him.

Standing near the drugstore, partially concealed by a group of tourists, a man watched their float with unusual intensity. Dark baseball cap pulled low, mirrored sunglasses obscuring his features, something about his stillness amidst the celebrating crowd caught her attention.

Then he shifted, turning slightly toward the sunlight, and Zara’s heart stuttered in her chest.

Finn.

But that wasn’t possible.

Yet the set of the jaw, the particular angle of the shoulders triggered recognition so visceral she couldn’t deny it.

She gripped the railing of the float, lightheaded.

The parade sounds receded, replaced by the thundering of her pulse in her ears.

Memory crashed through her defenses: Finn’s laughter as they walked along the Seine, his fingers laced with hers, the devastating moment when she discovered every touch, every whispered endearment had been calculated manipulation.

Then, as quickly as she’d spotted him, the figure disappeared into the crowd.

“Did you see that guy win the pie-eating contest?” Axel called from behind her. “Six slices in under two minutes!”

Zara forced herself back to the present, drawing a steadying breath. “Impressive, stomach capacity,” she managed, her voice surprisingly normal despite the turmoil inside.

It wasn’t Finn.

It was the heat. The anonymous threats. Classic signs of operational stress, something she’d been trained to recognize during her CIA days.

Their float turned the corner onto Oak Street, where the crowd was even thicker.

Zara continued waving mechanically, her mind racing behind her carefully maintained smile.

Why was she hallucinating Finn now? Was it connected to the threatening texts?

Had her subconscious somehow linked the current threat to Finn’s past betrayal?

“Captain!” Griffin called from the crow’s nest. “We’ve got a mechanical issue with the portside cannon!”

“Define ‘mechanical issue,’” Deke responded, not breaking his enthusiastic waving.

“It’s, uh, falling off.”

“Maintain parade formation.” Deke ordered through clenched teeth. “Ronan, Maya—strategic cannon support. Now.”

The minor crisis provided a welcome distraction, allowing Zara to regain her equilibrium as she helped stabilize the listing decoration.

Physical action cleared her head, bringing her fully back to the present moment.

By the time they’d secured the wayward cannon, she’d convinced herself the sighting had been nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence—a stranger with a passing resemblance to a man seven years dead.

Still, she scanned each cluster of spectators as they passed, her gaze searching for that particular silhouette. She saw nothing suspicious for the remainder of the route.

Whatever ghosts her mind had conjured, whatever threats lurked in anonymous text messages, she wouldn’t let them overshadow this moment. Her team—her family—deserved better than to have their celebration tainted by her fears.

Finn Novak was dead. And the dead couldn’t send text messages or appear in parade crowds.

Could they?