Page 8 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

Sweat trickled down the sides of Finn’s face from a heat the thin summer breeze couldn’t touch.

Cedar Street offered only temporary cover.

His pursuers would reacquire him within seconds, their coordinated search pattern designed to eliminate escape routes systematically.

He needed to create distance quickly while remaining unpredictable.

The sounds of the parade provided auditory cover as he increased his pace to a controlled run, taking a zigzag path through residential backyards. Each property offered momentary concealment but also potential witnesses or security cameras Cipher could access later.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed it was nearly noon. The holiday crowd would be moving toward the town park for the post-parade festivities, creating both obstacles and opportunities. Large gatherings provided excellent cover but limited mobility and escape options.

He vaulted a low fence and cut across a side yard, emerging onto yet another pine-lined lane. The street was mostly deserted, residents either at the parade or watching from front porches several blocks over. The female operative appeared at the far end of the street.

Finn ducked behind a garden shed, checking his immediate surroundings before pulling out his phone. He needed information on Zara’s location. If he could confirm she was safely surrounded by her team, he could focus entirely on drawing the pursuit away from Hope Landing.

The phone’s screen remained blank. Dead.

Not battery failure—he’d charged it fully that morning.

The device had been remotely disabled, a sophisticated countermeasure that confirmed what he already suspected.

These weren’t ordinary mercenaries. They had access to advanced technology and electronic warfare capabilities.

A twig snapped behind him. He pivoted, dropping to a crouch in one fluid motion. The third operative—the big dude—had approached from an unexpected angle, moving with surprising stealth for his size. His right hand drifted toward a concealed weapon.

“Novak,” the man said, his voice carrying a faint Eastern European accent. “This doesn’t need to get messy.”

The man’s weight distribution suggested formal combat training—possibly Spetsnaz or similar special forces background.

“You’ve had quite a run,” the operative continued, maintaining a cautious distance. “Seven years of interference. The boss is impressed, actually. Wants to talk.”

“I’ll bet,” Finn replied, his voice deliberately calm. “Tell Cipher I’m not interested in a reunion.”

The operative’s expression flickered briefly—surprise, quickly masked. Interesting. He hadn’t expected Finn to confirm knowledge of his employer so readily.

“You’ve misunderstood the invitation,” the man said, shifting his weight subtly. “It’s not optional.”

Finn registered movement in his peripheral vision—the female operative approaching from the left, the man in the blue shirt from the right.

They were boxing him in, using the playground equipment to limit his escape options.

Three against one, in broad daylight, with potential civilian witnesses nearby.

Not ideal odds.

“Take him,” the heavyset man ordered.

The woman came in low, targeting his knees, while Blue Shirt aimed higher, going for a chokehold. The heavyset man remained out of reach, overseeing the capture.

Standard operating procedure.

Finn dropped to the ground, causing the woman to miss her target, then rolled sideways as Blue Shirt’s momentum carried him forward. In the same motion, he hooked his foot around the woman’s ankle, using her own forward momentum to unbalance her.

The resulting collision between the two operatives bought him precious seconds. He sprinted toward a narrow gap between the playground and a chain-link fence. But the heavyset man reacted quickly, drawing a weapon—not a firearm but something that looked like a specialized taser.

Non-lethal capture equipment. They wanted him alive.

Finn dove through the gap, feeling the crackle of electricity as the taser probes missed him by inches.

He landed hard on his injured ribs, the pain immediate and intense, but adrenaline kept him moving.

Rolling to his feet, he sprinted toward the community center, where the holiday festivities would provide temporary cover.

As Finn rounded the corner of the center, the sounds of celebration engulfed him. A band played patriotic music while children raced about with sparklers and flags. Adults gathered in groups, many holding plates of barbecue and cups of lemonade.

He slowed his steps and his breathing, adjusting his body language to match the relaxed, festive atmosphere.

He snagged an abandoned baseball cap from a bench, donning it as he moved deeper into the gathering.

The hat and his reversed jacket created a significantly different silhouette, potentially buying him valuable seconds.

A group of teenagers moved past, laughing and jostling each other. Finn fell in step beside them, matching their pace and energy, allowing their youthful exuberance to provide additional cover as he scanned for his pursuers.

There—the woman had positioned herself near the band, her eyes methodically sweeping the crowd.

Blue Shirt was by the refreshment tables, his casual posture belied by the focused intensity of his gaze.

No sign of the heavyset man, which concerned Finn more than if he’d been visible.

The leader was likely coordinating from a higher vantage point.

He stayed with the teenagers, maintaining his borrowed anonymity until they veered toward the volleyball nets set up at the far end of the park. At that point, he seamlessly transitioned to a different group—middle-aged tourists taking photos of the celebration.

A familiar symbol caught his eye. Blue Shirt had removed his outer layer in the afternoon heat, revealing a distinctive tattoo on his forearm—a stylized compass rose with an offset needle.

Finn recognized it immediately from intelligence files he’d compiled over the years.

It marked the wearer as a member of the Vanguard Group, elite mercenaries who operated exclusively for Cipher’s organization.

The confirmation sent a chill through him despite the warm afternoon. Vanguard operatives were notoriously effective and utterly ruthless. Their presence in Hope Landing elevated the threat level significantly.

The Vanguard team would have backup resources, possibly including satellite surveillance and local assets. His earlier hope of simply drawing them away from Hope Landing now seemed na?ve. They’d know Zara lived here.

And they’d know they could use her as leverage.

He headed down a row of vendor booths, using their colorful awnings as visual cover. The heavyset man appeared unexpectedly, emerging from behind a kettle corn stand directly in Finn’s path. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second—enough for recognition on both sides.

He grabbed a nearby trash can and hurled it toward the man, yelling a vague threat and creating instant chaos as garbage scattered across the walkway. The distraction worked; several people moved between them, momentarily blocking the operative’s line of sight.

Finn used those precious seconds to sprint back toward the community center building. A service door stood propped open, staff bringing supplies in and out for the celebration. He slipped inside, immediately assessing the interior for escape routes and chokepoints.

The building was mostly empty, the celebration having drawn most people outside. A maintenance worker glanced up from mopping the floor, nodding casually as Finn walked past with deliberate purpose, projecting the confidence of someone who belonged.

“Bathroom?” he asked.

The worker pointed down a hallway. “End of the corridor, turn right.”

Finn thanked him and moved in that direction, listening intently for sounds of pursuit. Nothing yet, but the Vanguard team would regroup quickly.

The bathroom provided momentary sanctuary. Finn locked the door behind him, quickly assessing his options. The window was too small for escape, and the single entrance created a potential trap. He needed a better exit strategy.

A ceiling panel above the toilet caught his attention—access to maintenance areas or possibly ductwork. Super obvious, but he’d take what he could get. He stood on the edge of the toilet, pushed the panel aside, and hoisted himself up.

The crawlspace was cramped but navigable, ductwork and electrical conduits running in multiple directions.

He took a moment to replace the ceiling panel, then oriented himself, crawling carefully toward what he hoped was the exterior wall.

The metal ductwork creaked slightly under his weight, but the sounds of the celebration outside would likely mask any noise.

After several minutes of careful movement, he found what he was looking for—a ventilation output that opened to the exterior of the building. The metal grate was secured with screws, but the aging hardware yielded to persistent pressure.

The exit opened to a narrow alley between the community center and an adjacent building. No visible surveillance, no sign of the Vanguard team. It wasn’t ideal—the drop was nearly fifteen feet to concrete—but staying in the building was riskier.

He eased himself through the opening feet first, hanging by his fingertips to reduce the distance before dropping. He landed in a controlled crouch, absorbing the impact as best he could, though his injured ribs protested sharply.

As he straightened, something caught his eye—a small metallic object partially embedded in the gravel near his foot.

He crouched down, carefully extracting what appeared to be a pin.

Not just any pin—a stylized compass rose with an offset needle, identical to Blue Shirt’s tattoo.

One of his pursuers had dropped their identifier.

He examined it closely, turning it over to reveal a minuscule power node on the back—not just an organizational emblem but a sophisticated tracker.

He used his thumbnail to pry open the nearly invisible seam, exposing a battery smaller than a watch component.

Removing it rendered the device inoperable, then he slipped both pieces into his pocket.

Solid evidence of Vanguard’s presence—and potentially valuable leverage.

Night was falling now, the summer twilight casting long shadows that provided additional cover.

He moved quickly through the alley, emerging onto a quiet residential street that paralleled the park.

The sounds of celebration continued unabated, suggesting the Vanguard team hadn’t alerted local authorities or created any public disturbance that might interrupt the holiday activities.

That made sense strategically. Their mission was acquisition, not elimination—at least not in public. They would want to maintain operational security and minimize witnesses.

His immediate priority was retrieving his emergency gear from the motel before the Vanguard team located it. After that ...

After that, he needed to warn Zara.

The realization had been building since he’d recognized the Vanguard tattoo.

If Cipher had deployed elite operatives to Hope Landing, the mission parameters wouldn’t be limited to Finn’s capture.

Even if she hadn’t been on their radar initially, they would investigate his purpose here, which would inevitably lead them to Zara.

So by coming here, he’d all but ensured she got targeted.

The parade had likely kept her safe temporarily—too many witnesses, too much visibility. But once the holiday celebrations ended and she returned home alone ...

He sped up, ignoring the pain in his ribs.

The motel was nearly a mile away, on the outskirts of town.

He could retrieve his gear and still make it back to Zara’s apartment before she returned from the party.

He needed to leave her a warning, something that would alert her to the danger without compromising her if it was discovered by others.

The irony wasn’t lost on him as he slipped through the shadows of Hope Landing, a ghost returning to warn the living of approaching danger—danger he himself might have brought to her door.