Page 28 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

Kenji checked his watch for the third time in ten minutes.

The maintenance coveralls he'd "borrowed" from a laundry cart smelled like industrial detergent and someone else's sweat, but they'd gotten him and Spencer into Cassidy's suite without raising alarms. The universal invisibility of service workers—something he'd exploited in more operations than he could count.

"Dude, these pants are way too short," Spencer complained, tugging at the hem that stopped a good three inches above his ankles. "I look like I'm waiting for a flood."

"You are waiting for a flood," Kenji reminded him, nodding toward the windows where the storm continued its escalating assault on the island. "Hurricane, remember?"

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, then froze as they heard the keycard in the door. Kenji's hand moved instinctively toward where his weapon would be—if he had one. Instead, his fingers found only the dive knife still strapped to his ankle.

The door opened and Cassidy stumbled in, looking like she'd aged five years since he'd seen her at the tournament. Her poker face had crumbled completely, leaving exhaustion and anguish in its wake.

"Cassidy." He was at her side in two strides, steadying her as she swayed slightly. "What happened?"

"I did it." Her voice came out hollow. "Eliminated Reagan.

Vega got exactly what he wanted." She looked up at him, green eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"But I couldn't warn him. Vega showed up with Van Der Merwe and suspended the tournament before I could—we have to find Reagan. We have to warn him what's coming."

"Absolutely not." The words came out harsher than Kenji intended, fear sharpening his tone. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be? Vega's watching everything. If you'd tried to approach Reagan?—"

"He's going to die because of me!"

"He's going to die because of Vega," Kenji corrected, gripping her shoulders gently but firmly. "And if you'd tried to warn him, Vega would have grabbed you both. Is that what you wanted?"

She flinched at his tone, and he immediately softened, pulling her against his chest. "I'm sorry. I just—the thought of you taking that kind of risk..."

"We have to do something," she insisted, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"We will," he promised, though privately he doubted they could save Reagan without sacrificing themselves. "Spence and I have been scouting emergency hidey-holes in case things go sideways. There's a maintenance sublevel that could work, and a storage area near the kitchen that?—"

"Where's Sophia?" Cassidy pulled back, noticing her friend's absence for the first time.

"Reconnaissance," Spencer supplied, fidgeting with his too-short maintenance uniform.

"She said something about checking Vega's movements and figuring out the resort's storm protocols.

Very spy-like. Very impressive. Did you know she can pick locks?

Because I didn't know assistants could pick locks. "

Despite everything, Cassidy's lips twitched slightly. "She's full of surprises."

The door opened again, and Sophia slipped inside, her usual professional composure notably cracked. She took in their expectant faces and shook her head slowly.

"We have to talk about Reagan," Sophia said finally, her voice careful.

Everyone turned toward her, hope flickering in their eyes.

"I was in the lobby when I spotted him getting into a car—black sedan with tinted windows. He had a suitcase." Sophia's expression grew grim. "The car was heading toward the far side of the island, where the airport is."

"Protective custody?" Spencer asked hopefully.

Sophia shook her head. "I don't think so. He looked..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He looked scared. And the men with him didn't look like federal agents."

The hope in the room died as quickly as it had been born. Reagan was either already dead or about to be, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Cassidy turned to Kenji with a look that could have stripped paint. "You said we'd help him."

He met her accusing gaze steadily, though it felt like taking a bullet. "I said we'd try. But not at the cost of your life."

"So his life is worth less than mine?"

"To me? Yes." The admission came out raw, honest. "I'm sorry if that makes me a bastard, but I'm not going to apologize for prioritizing your safety."

The anger in her eyes flickered, replaced by something more complicated. But she didn't back down. "We could have done something."

"We are doing something," he insisted. "We're staying alive long enough to take down Vega. That's how we honor Reagan's memory—by making sure his killer pays."

She held his gaze for a long moment, then looked away. He'd take her anger, her disappointment, whatever she needed to throw at him. As long as she was breathing to be angry, he could live with being the bad guy in her story.