Page 7 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

After the pirate float rattled past, Finn blended seamlessly with the crowd lining Main Street.

He’d positioned himself strategically—close enough to observe the parade without being conspicuous, partially shielded by a family with enthusiastic children who provided both cover and plausible excuse for his stationary presence.

The baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses obscured most of his features, and the purple bruises circling his eye, while his stance—relaxed shoulders, weight evenly distributed, hands tucked in pockets—projected nothing but casual interest. It was a carefully cultivated invisibility, perfected through years of fieldwork.

Hide in plain sight, blend with your surroundings, become part of the background noise that the human brain filters out automatically.

The pirate ship float was approaching, drawing cheers from the spectators around him.

Even from this distance, Finn could identify each member of Knight Tactical’s team from his research: Deke Williams at the helm, his military bearing evident despite the flamboyant pirate costume, Ronan Quinn and Maya Rowan side by side near the bow, Griffin Hawkins perched precariously in the crow’s nest, DJ Williams, Axel Montgomery, and Kenji Marshall scattered across the deck in various pirate poses.

And then he saw her.

Zara.

The world around him blurred, sounds fading to a distant hum as his entire focus narrowed to the woman walking alongside the front of the float. For a moment, Finn forgot to breathe. Seven years of carefully constructed emotional defenses crumbled in an instant.

His photographic memory had preserved her with perfect fidelity—every curve of her face, the exact shade of her eyes, the precise angle of her cheekbones, even the small scar near her left eyebrow from a childhood accident she’d once described to him.

He could recall with perfect clarity the seventy-three freckles that had dusted her shoulders in the Parisian summer sun.

His mind contained an atlas of Zara Khoury, mapped down to the molecular level.

But his eidetic memory had failed him in one crucial way. It couldn’t capture the forcefield of her actual presence. His perfect mental image was data only—devoid of the emotional impact that now hit him with physical force.

She was smiling—that particular smile he remembered so vividly, the one that lifted the right corner of her mouth slightly higher than the left, reaching her eyes only partially, as if part of her remained perpetually on guard.

Her dark hair was shorter now, cut to shoulder length in loose waves that framed her face.

The sunlight caught the subtle auburn highlights he’d once traced with his fingers as they sat in the shadow of the Eifel Tower.

He reached for the wooden cross beneath his shirt, fingers clutching it like a lifeline as emotions threatened to drown him.

She was still breathtakingly beautiful, her features as striking as he remembered—the high cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw, the expressive dark eyes that had once looked at him with such trust, then such devastation.

As she turned to adjust something on the float’s railing, he noticed it—a certain carefulness to her movements, a subtle fragility that hadn’t been there before.

Zara had always moved like an athlete, every gesture economical and purposeful.

Now there was a hint of caution, as if some movements caused discomfort.

She masked it well behind her smile and animated conversation, but Finn’s trained eye caught the slight wince when she reached overhead, the momentary tension around her eyes.

Was she injured? Ill? The protective instinct that had driven him to Hope Landing intensified, becoming almost overwhelming in its urgency.

Kenji Marshall leaned toward her, saying something that made her laugh. The doctor’s posture suggested casual conversation, but Finn detected the clinical assessment in his gaze, the subtle way he positioned himself slightly closer than casual friendship would warrant.

Protective. Monitoring.

The distance between them—barely thirty feet of sunlit, crowded street—felt simultaneously vast and microscopic.

How many times had he imagined seeing her again?

In how many different scenarios had he rehearsed what he might say, how he might explain, if they ever crossed paths?

None of those imagined reunions had prepared him for the reality of seeing her now, alive and vibrant, yet somehow vulnerable in a way that tore at his heart.

Watching her interact with her teammates, witnessing the easy camaraderie between them, the full weight of his past actions crashed down upon him.

These people had earned her trust legitimately, not through calculated deception.

They protected her, supported her, made her laugh in ways that reached her eyes.

Everything he had pretended to offer her in Paris, while systematically manipulating her for information.

The truth that he’d been hiding from himself for seven years finally broke through his carefully constructed defenses.

He had fallen in love with Zara Khoury during those weeks in Paris.

Genuinely, completely in love with her, even as he betrayed her trust. The realization had come too late—only after she’d discovered his deception, after she’d looked at him with such devastated betrayal that it had fundamentally altered something in him.

That moment had been the first crack in his loyalty to Cipher, the beginning of his redemption. Too late for them, but not too late for him to spend the following years trying to undo some of the damage he’d caused.

As he watched the float move farther down the parade route, Finn wrestled with the overwhelming urge to approach her. To step out of the shadows, walk directly to her, and simply say her name. The desire was as powerful as it was irrational.

But this wasn’t about him.

Better to remain unseen, to verify her safety independently, then draw Cipher’s attention away from Hope Landing entirely. His feelings were irrelevant compared to her security.

So focused was Finn on the receding pirate ship that he nearly missed the subtle shift in the crowd around him.

A movement pattern that didn’t match the general flow of spectators—someone moving laterally rather than following the parade, someone whose body language conveyed purpose rather than casual enjoyment.

His instincts, honed through years of high-stakes operations, sent warning signals through his nervous system before his conscious mind had fully processed the threat. He drifted toward a vendor cart, maintaining his tourist persona while scanning the crowd.

There—a man in a dark blue shirt, average height, athletic build, moving with the distinctive economy of motion that marked a pro.

Not law enforcement—too careful, too deliberate in his movements.

The man was closing distance methodically, his trajectory intersecting with Finn’s current position within the next thirty seconds.

Finn purchased a bottle of water from the vendor, using the transaction to change direction naturally. The man adjusted course immediately, confirming Finn’s suspicions. This was no coincidence. He was being hunted.

A quick scan revealed a second operative—a woman with short blonde hair, athletic build, wearing casual hiking attire—positioning herself to cut off his likely escape route.

The smoothness of their coordination confirmed what he had suspected.

These weren’t random mercenaries. They were highly trained operatives working as a coordinated team.

Cipher had upgraded his resources significantly.

Finn calculated his options. Engaging with the operatives here, amid the parade crowd with its many families and children, was unthinkable.

Any confrontation could result in civilian casualties.

But allowing himself to be herded to a more isolated location would surrender his one advantage—the public setting that constrained his pursuers’ actions.

The solution crystallized instantly.

He needed to appear to flee in panic, drawing the operatives away from the crowded parade route.

Away from Zara.

Finn moved with deliberate urgency toward the edge of the crowd, his body language shifting subtly to suggest awareness and alarm. The male operative immediately increased pace, communicating silently with his partner who began converging from the opposite direction.

Perfect. They believed they had spooked him.

He slipped between two vendor carts and removed his baseball cap. The simple alteration wouldn’t fool trained operatives for long, but might buy him enough time to reach the edge of the festivities.

He headed through a narrow gap between buildings, emerging onto a less crowded side street.

A glance back confirmed both operatives had followed, joined now by a third—a heavyset guy who had likely been positioned as backup.

Their coordinated pursuit pattern suggested they were communicating electronically, their movements too precise for coincidence.

Good. All attention on him, none on the parade. None on Zara.

He rounded a corner, momentarily out of his pursuers’ sight lines. His hand moved to the wooden cross beneath his shirt, a habit formed in moments of greatest danger. The simple prayer that formed in his mind wasn’t for his own safety, but for Zara’s.

God, keep her safe. Let them follow me instead of staying here. Let me draw the danger away from her.

Seven years ago, he’d been the villain, using her for his own illegal ends, choosing mission over morality, loyalty to Cipher over love for her. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Even if it cost him his life.