Page 1 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

Kenji Marshall's hands betrayed him first.

The coffee cup rattled against the conference table as he set it down, the sound sharp enough to draw Maya's glance from across the room. He pressed his palms flat against his thighs, willing the tremors to stop.

Ninety-six hours until his bookie came collecting. Twenty-five thousand dollars he didn't have. In Afghanistan, at least he'd known who was shooting at him.

He'd already aligned and realigned his tablet with the edge of the conference table, and clicked his pen enough times that Maya had shot him a look from across the room.

His hands trembled—invisible to everyone else, but to him, it might as well have been a neon sign flashing ADDICT in pulsing red letters.

Six hours since he'd lost the twenty-five thousand in a game that was supposed to fix everything.

The tournament that would clear his debts and let him start fresh.

Instead, he'd watched eight thousand disappear on the final hand—the last of his savings—bringing his total debt to a number that made his stomach clench every time he thought about it.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

And one week to pay it back.

His phone buzzed against his thigh—probably another message from that trust-fund baby, Spencer, who'd latched onto him at last month's charity tournament. Three texts already today begging for "poker lessons from a real SEAL." The guy had no idea his hero was drowning in debt to a bookie.

The Bible app notification popped up next:

Verse of the Day: Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you. 1 Peter 5:7

Kenji swiped it away with practiced indifference. He'd installed the app two years ago when Ronan mentioned casually that faith helped with operational stress. These days, the daily verses were accusations, not comfort.

Funny how he'd gone from betting lattes on mission outcomes to owing twenty-five grand to a bookie.

The team still joked about his old wagers—remember when he bet his dessert rations for a month that Ronan couldn't land a helicopter on that tiny platform?

Six months since Vegas changed everything.

Three months since it became a problem. One month since he'd crossed the line from problem to disaster.

Knight Tactical's conference room hummed with subdued tension, the rest of the team filtering in for their 0800 briefing.

Through the wall-to-wall windows, Hope Landing spread below them, morning fog still clinging to the pines.

The view usually centered him. Today, it reminded him how far he had to fall.

"Yeow, Kenji, my man. You look supremely awful." Axel dropped into the chair beside him, coffee sloshing dangerously close to Kenji's tablet. Six-foot-four of pure muscle with a SEAL background and all the subtlety of a hand grenade.

"Late night." Kenji wrapped both hands around his coffee cup, using the warmth to steady them. Not entirely a lie—he'd been up until four calculating odds, debts, and increasingly desperate scenarios.

"Hot date?" Deke asked from across the table, eyebrows raised in exaggerated interest.

"Yeah, with the latest trauma surgery journals." Kenji forced a grin. "New techniques for hemorrhage control in the field."

Maya snorted as she claimed her usual seat. "Only you would consider medical journals a fun Friday night."

The easy banter washed over him, safe and predictable.

None of them suspected their medic/cyber-security assistant had spent his evening in a basement poker game, making increasingly reckless bets in a desperate attempt to recover previous losses.

He'd perfected his cover story months ago—late-night research, medical journals, continuing education—all the boring doctor stuff that made their eyes glaze over when he elaborated.

"Listen up. I've got news." Ronan's voice cut through the chatter as he strode in, tablet in hand. He placed a handwritten note in the center of the table. "This came in from Ghost last night."

The mood shifted instantly. Griffin "Ghost" Hawkins, their surveillance specialist, had been radio silent for three weeks.

"Don't come looking. I'll be back when I've handled my business," Axel read aloud, brow furrowed. "That's it? No location, no timeline?"

Ronan shook his head, expression grim. "Nada. No cell activity, no digital footprint."

Zara grimaced. "There won't be. No one finds Griff unless he wants to be found."

"We'll see him when we see him," Kenji added, mostly to himself.

Responsibility settled between his shoulder blades like lead. They'd all seen combat, all lost teammates. An absent team member generated the specific flavor of dread unique to those who'd learned the hard way that people didn't always come home.

Especially not Griff. The man took strong-and-silent to the extreme.

"Maybe it's personal," Deke suggested, his deep voice rumbling through the tension. "Family emergency."

"We're his family," Ronan replied flatly.

"Good news on the medical front, though," Zara spoke up, her usually serious expression brightening. "Kenji cleared me yesterday—lupus is officially in remission. Blood pressure normal, joint pain gone for the first time in years."

"That's fantastic," Maya said, genuine warmth in her voice. “Bet you can’t wait to celebrate with Mr. Amazing.”

Kenji fought an eye roll, though truly, he was happy for Zara. She and their newest teammate, former hacker Finn Novak, were heading straight into serious relationship territory. He expected an announcement as soon as Novak got back from his mission with an outside agency.

"All thanks to Kenji figuring out Reynolds was poisoning me with fake meds," Zara added, shooting him a grateful look.

The praise hit like a physical blow. If they knew what he'd done last night, if they understood the depths of his deception... The shame burned hot beneath his professional veneer.

Kenji clicked his pen again—once, twice, three times—before catching himself and setting it down with deliberate care.

"Assignments today. Maya, alert me if Griff's credentials surface anywhere.

Deke, check with your airport contacts. Axel, continue mission prep for Vancouver mission.

We're less than a week out." Ronan's gaze landed on Kenji.

"Admiral Knight's annual flight physical at nine. He specifically requested you."

Kenji nodded, maintaining his calm facade even as his pulse quickened.

Admiral John Knight—former Navy SEAL and assistant to the Joint Chiefs, then founder of Knight Tactical, and their collective boss—was notoriously difficult during medical examinations, with the kind of penetrating gaze that cataloged every weakness, every secret.

What he needed today—a human lie detector.

As the meeting disbanded, his phone vibrated with a text. He waited until the hallway was empty before looking.

Vince: Final warning. Payment by next Wed. or you won't like what happens next.

Vince. His bookie. His nightmare.

Twenty-five thousand dollars in seven days. The deck was stacked against him, the odds impossible, but he’d beaten the odds before.

One final game.

One big win.

He could make this right.