Page 12 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)
The tropical night air clung to Kenji's skin as he made his way back from the beach, the salt breeze carrying hints of plumeria and something else—danger, sharp and metallic on his tongue.
The resort's manicured pathways wound through lush gardens where shadows pooled beneath swaying palms, creating perfect cover for predators and prey alike.
His mind still churned with the implications of Ronan's message about Vega.
Arms dealer. Human trafficker. The irony of finding salvation in the same location as a Knight Tactical target would have been amusing if his situation weren't so desperate.
At least now he had legitimate cover for his presence here—surveillance, not gambling addiction.
Movement caught his peripheral vision, and Kenji instinctively melted into the shadow of a towering hibiscus. Years of combat training kicked in automatically—assess, analyze, act. A figure emerged from the direction of the penthouse, moving with the hurried gait of someone fleeing, not strolling.
Cassidy Reynolds. The Angel of the Felt. The woman who'd offered him salvation he couldn't accept.
Even in the dim lighting cast by the resort's artfully placed torches, her distress was unmistakable.
She moved with none of the controlled grace he'd observed at the poker table.
Her usually perfect posture had collapsed, shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself smaller.
One hand clutched her evening purse while the other pressed against her stomach as though fighting nausea.
The clock tower near the marina chimed midnight, its deep tones carrying across the resort grounds. Three hours since their encounter in the hallway. What had happened in those three hours to transform her from compassionate savior to terrified victim?
What was she doing at Vega's penthouse at this hour?
Disgust roiled through his gut, hot and acidic.
The image crystallized in his mind—the philanthropist and the arms dealer, meeting in private.
How naive had he been? All that talk about helping people, about Haven House rescuing trafficking victims, and here she was conducting late-night business with a man who profited from human misery.
He was jumping to conclusions. Could be innocent.
But the evidence suggested otherwise. Wealthy philanthropists didn't emerge from criminal strongholds looking like they'd seen ghosts unless they were complicit in whatever darkness dwelt there.
Still, something was wrong. That wasn't the confident stride of a co-conspirator but the desperate flight of a victim.
Kenji shook his head, annoyed by his conflicted thoughts. None of his business. He had enough problems without adding a potentially corrupt poker player to his list of concerns.
He spotted them.
Three figures positioned in strategic shadows around the resort's perimeter, their positions forming a surveillance triangle with Cassidy at the center.
Vega's security team. Kenji immediately catalogued their advantages—clear sightlines, multiple escape routes, professional spacing that spoke of specialized backgrounds.
They weren't protecting her.
They were hunting her.
The realization shifted something fundamental in his chest. Whatever Cassidy's relationship with Vega, whatever business had brought her to his penthouse before midnight, she was now clearly in danger. The predatory stillness of the watchers reminded him of snipers preparing for a kill shot.
Walk away, his survival instinct urged. You've got your own problems. Your own death sentence hanging over your head.
But another voice rose from deeper within—the voice that had driven him to become a medic, to save lives rather than take them. The voice that quoted scripture even when his faith was hollow: "Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed."
He'd offered help to wounded enemies in Afghanistan. How could he do less for someone who'd shown him genuine concern hours earlier?
Moving with the fluid stealth that had kept him alive through countless missions, Kenji shadowed Cassidy toward the beach. The security operatives adjusted their positions accordingly, maintaining their surveillance net. None of them noticed the additional predator now stalking their formation.
The beach opened before them, moonlight painting the sand silver-white. Cassidy had removed her heels and was pacing near the water's edge, her movements agitated. Even from a distance, he could see the tremor in her hands as she pressed them against her temples.
Whatever had happened in that penthouse had shattered her composure completely.
Kenji approached slowly, announcing himself before he could startle her. "Ms. Reynolds."
She spun toward him, eyes wide with terror before recognition flickered across her features. For a heartbeat, relief softened her expression—suspicion hardened it again.
"What are you doing here?" Her voice carried none of the warmth from their earlier encounter.
"Could ask you the same question." He kept his tone gentle, non-threatening. "Though it's past midnight and you're alone on a beach. Not exactly safe."
She straightened, attempting to resurrect the composed facade he'd witnessed at the tournament. "I needed some air. The casino can be... overwhelming."
The lie was so transparent it was insulting. Her hands still shook. Her breathing remained rapid and shallow. A small muscle jumped in her jaw from clenched teeth.
"You don't look fine." Kenji stepped closer, close enough to see the genuine fear lurking behind her defensive walls. "Whatever happened up there?—"
"Nothing happened." The words came out too sharp, too fast. "I had a business meeting. It concluded. That's all."
Business meeting. At midnight. The disgust returned, warring with his protective instincts. Even if she was involved with Vega's operations, she was clearly in over her head now.
"Those men watching you would suggest otherwise."
Her gaze snapped to his, startled. "What men?"
"Vega's security. Three of them, positioned around the perimeter." He nodded toward the shadows where death waited patiently. "Professional surveillance pattern. Been tracking you since you left the penthouse ten minutes ago."
Color drained from her already pale face. She turned slightly, scanning the darkness with the desperate intensity of prey suddenly aware of the hunters.
"Look," Kenji said, his voice gentle but firm. "I don't know what your connection to Vega is, and I'm not judging. But if you're in trouble?—"
"I'm not in trouble." She backed away from him, her retreat bringing her closer to the water's edge. "And I don't need help from someone who—" She stopped abruptly, as if catching herself before saying something cruel.
Someone who what? Someone who's a degenerate gambler? Someone who lost everything at a poker table?
The unfinished accusation stung more than it should have. He'd offered genuine assistance, and she was throwing his failures back in his face.
"Fine." Kenji raised his hands in surrender. "But the offer stands. If you change your mind?—"
"I won't." She was already moving, hurrying back toward the resort with determined steps that barely concealed her panic. "Goodnight, Mr. Marshall."
He watched her go, noting how the shadows shifted as Vega's men adjusted their positions to maintain surveillance. Whatever game was being played here, Cassidy Reynolds was a pawn, not a player. Her terror had been too genuine, her desperation too raw.
So what now?
The smart play was to return to his room, focus on his own problems, let whatever was happening between Cassidy and Vega resolve itself without his interference.
He had mere days to figure out how to pay Vince, and involving himself in international criminal conspiracies wouldn't help that timeline.
But as he started back toward the resort, passing close enough to one of the watchers to smell his cologne, Kenji made a decision that went against every survival instinct he possessed.
He was going to keep an eye on Cassidy Reynolds.
Whether she wanted his protection or not.
Defend the weak and the fatherless.
Some commands weren't optional, even when faith was as fragile as moonlight on water. Even when the person you were protecting might not deserve it.
Even when you were drowning in your own darkness.
The warm tropical night pressed against his skin as he melted back into the shadows, becoming another ghost in Vega's web of surveillance. But this ghost had different intentions.
This ghost remembered what it meant to be a protector.
The casino clock chimed the half-hour as he circled back toward the resort, maintaining his own surveillance pattern. Whatever dawn would bring, Cassidy Reynolds wouldn't face it alone.
Even if she didn't know it yet.