Page 10 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)
Three hours later, deep into the wee morning hours, Fiji time, Kenji sat alone on the cool sand of Orchid Isle Beach, the night air heavy with salt and surrender.
The moon hung low behind thin clouds, casting enough light to illuminate the restless ocean before him.
Waves washed in and receded with rhythmic certainty, a natural order his life currently lacked.
Palm trees swayed overhead, their shadows stretching across the beach like elongated fingers reaching for him.
He shifted restlessly, digging his heels into the slightly damp sand. Despite exhaustion pulling at his limbs, sleep remained impossibly distant. He replayed the devastating loss from hours earlier—the disciplined medic reduced to a trembling addict watching his chips slide away.
The humiliation burned worst of all. She had witnessed his downfall. Cassidy Reynolds, with those eyes that saw straight through him, had watched him crash and burn. Her words echoed in his mind: "I know you saved that man's life at the table earlier."
Twenty-five thousand dollars. Five days left to pay Vince.
And absolutely no way to do it.
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe deeply as panic threatened to overwhelm him. The night air filled his lungs but brought no relief. The resort's distant lights blurred through moisture gathering in his eyes—not tears, he told himself, exhaustion.
He’d survived worse. Multiple black ops sorties into Afghanistan. Venezuela. That mess in Myanmar. But those battles had rules and objectives and teammates.
This disaster was entirely of his own making.
His phone vibrated against his thigh, the sudden interruption pulling him from his spiral of self-recrimination. Wiping a hand across his face, he checked the message.
Ronan: Mission alert: Resort owner Xavier Vega, known trafficker and arms dealer. On watchlist. If sighted, report immediately. No engagement.
He stared at the message, disbelief momentarily displacing despair. The universe had a sick sense of humor. Here he was, drowning in debt from a gambling addiction, and suddenly his actual job materialized in the same location?
The irony nearly made him laugh. Instead, he quickly texted back confirmation that he'd already seen Vega at the tournament.
Ronan's response came seconds later:
Head on a swivel, dude. Might be a short vacay. Sorry not sorry. I'll be in touch.
Something shifted in Kenji's chest—not hope, but close. Something adjacent to possibility.
The mission might offer plausible cover for his losses. He could explain the $25,000 buy-in as part of his surveillance work, a necessary expense to maintain his cover.
Thank you, Lord, he thought, the prayer rising unbidden from some neglected corner of his soul.
Maybe his Savior hadn't abandoned him after all.
Still, guilt flooded him.
Lying to Admiral Knight, to Ronan, to his team—the people who trusted him with their lives—betrayed the only real family he had left.
It was temporary, he rationalized, his internal voice desperate. Until he got home safely. Then he’d come clean. Tell them everything. And he’d get help.
The weight of deception pressed against his chest, forcing his head down. Shame burned through him as he murmured a quiet, desperate prayer.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. "I know I've said this before. I know I've broken my promises. But I mean it this time. Help me make it right. Please."
The emotion in his voice surprised him—a raw vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to express. For a brief moment, the knot in his chest loosened, replaced by a fragile sense of possibility.
Movement on a distant balcony caught his attention. He straightened, instincts sharp as Xavier Vega stepped into the warm light. Even from this distance, Vega exuded authority and power—a man accustomed to controlling his environment.
Vega's gaze lingered on the resort's outdoor restaurant, where flickering torches cast dancing shadows across the deck.
Following his line of sight, Kenji spotted two women at a table near the edge—Cassidy Reynolds and her assistant, their faces soft in the torchlight as they talked over what looked like a late dinner.
What was her connection to Vega? The way the billionaire stared at her table showed more than casual interest.
A protective instinct stirred in Kenji's chest, surprising in its intensity. He forced himself to look away, out over the water.
He scowled, remembering how she'd approached him after his loss, offering help with that perfect blend of compassion and certainty. What did she know about struggling? About desperation?
About looking into the abyss and feeling it look back?
Yet something about her troubled him. The genuine concern in her eyes when she'd confronted him in the hallway. The way she'd said, "Everyone needs saving, eventually." And most puzzling—that hint of fear he'd glimpsed beneath her composed exterior when she'd glanced toward Vega.
An odd protective instinct stirred inside him. Ridiculous. He couldn't even protect himself right now, let alone someone else.
When he glanced back, Cassidy had vanished. Only the assistant remained at the table, scrolling through her phone by torchlight.
Not his problem.
The woman’s charitable foundation—Haven House, if he remembered correctly—and her association with shady characters like Vega weren't his concern. She was probably another wealthy philanthropist who didn't look too closely at where donation money came from.
Still, the memory of her fear wouldn't leave him.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, fighting both exhaustion and confusion. He had to focus on his own disaster, not worry about a woman who'd offered him charity he couldn't accept.
Rising to his feet, he dusted sand from his clothing.
The distant horizon remained dark, but he squared his shoulders with renewed determination.
He would focus on surveillance of Vega, as Ronan had instructed.
He would give himself until tomorrow evening to solidify his story, make that dreaded confession call to Knight Tactical.
The waves continued their endless cycle, indifferent to his personal crisis. Kenji stared at the vast ocean stretching before him, drawing a measure of strength from its permanence.
Yet even as he turned back toward the resort, the familiar weight of deception settled between his shoulders. The man who'd once carried wounded teammates through gunfire now struggled to carry the burden of his own lies.
At least now he had a legitimate reason to be here. Even if everything else in his life was built on quicksand.