Page 32 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)
The water treatment facility's heavy door sealed behind them with a pneumatic hiss, cutting off the hurricane's howl to a muffled roar.
They'd found the underground maintenance tunnels purely by accident—Kenji had been thrilled to discover the old service maps showing connections between buildings, saving them from attempting the suicidal exterior route through the full fury of the storm.
Cassidy blinked in the harsh fluorescent lighting, her eyes adjusting from the dimmer service corridors to this underground bunker of screens and blinking electronics.
She forced herself to focus on the details, on the mission—anything to keep the horror at bay.
Van Der Merwe's lifeless eyes. The blood pooling beneath his head. Just like Marcus Holloway.
Don't think about it. Can't think about it. Be hard. Be numb. Calculate the odds and play the hand.
"Finally," she breathed, scanning the space.
Banks of monitors lined one wall—ancient CRT screens that looked like they belonged in a museum, their cases yellowed with age and screens curved like fishbowls. The images they displayed flickered with static, showing grainy feeds from what must be the resort's original security cameras.
"These are ancient," Kenji muttered, moving immediately to the screens, his fingers dancing across keyboards that looked equally dated.
"Probably installed when the resort first opened.
But look—" He pointed to the feeds. "They're on a completely different circuit.
Vega probably forgot they even existed."
The old monitors showed limited angles—the main entrances, a few corridors, the marina, a handful of small boats bucking hard against their ties—but it was better than being blind.
"No sign of Spencer or Sophia yet," Kenji added, cycling through the available feeds.
The words sent ice through her veins. Their friends were somewhere in the storm-damaged resort, navigating flooded corridors with Vega's killers hunting them.
Please, Jesus, let them be safe, she prayed, moving to study the resort schematics spread across a dusty table. The building's anatomy spread before her—a maze of service corridors, guest areas, and hidden infrastructure that could either save or trap them.
A sound in the corridor made them both freeze. Kenji's hand moved instinctively toward his concealed weapon, positioning himself between Cassidy and the door. Her own pulse spiked, the taste of fear metallic on her tongue.
The door burst open and Spencer stumbled through like a half-drowned retriever, water streaming from every surface.
His designer clothes were plastered to his body, his usually perfect hair hanging in soggy strands that dripped steadily onto the concrete floor.
Despite the tropical location, he was shivering violently—whether from the air conditioning hitting his soaked clothes or from fear, Cassidy couldn't tell.
"That," he panted through chattering teeth, leaning against the doorframe, "was like s-swimming through a washing machine designed by someone who really hates people.
Why is half the resort underwater? Actually, d-don't answer that—hurricane, I know.
But seriously, I think I saw a deck chair trying to break into the kitchen. "
Despite everything, Cassidy felt a smile tug at her lips. Spencer's ability to maintain his peculiar brand of optimism even while looking like he'd barely survived a shipwreck was oddly comforting.
He set down his improvised weapons with shaking hands—a paring knife duct-taped to the end of a telescoping window-washing pole, creating a makeshift spear, and a small fire extinguisher that hung from his shoulder on an improvised sling.
Moments later, Sophia appeared. The contrast was striking. Where Spencer looked like he'd wrestled the hurricane and lost badly, Sophia appeared almost composed. Her clothes were damp but not soaked, her auburn hair still maintaining some semblance of its usual professional style.
"Took the maintenance shaft," Sophia explained, catching Cassidy's surprised look.
"Stays drier than the main corridors. Learned that trick in.
.." She paused, seeming to catch herself.
"In Brisbane. During flood season." She set down a commercial-grade meat tenderizer from the kitchen supplies—a hammer in all but name.
"Right," Spencer said, wringing water from his shirt and trying to control his shivering. "Next time m-maybe share that intel before I go swimming through a hurricane?”
"You didn't ask, love," Sophia replied with that diplomatic smile Cassidy was beginning to recognize as her deflection technique.
Both of them shrugged off waterlogged backpacks. Spencer immediately ducked behind some large water pumps, and Cassidy could hear him rummaging through his pack for dry clothes.
Sophia pulled water bottles and energy bars from her pack. "I'm not sure three changes of clothes and some cliff bars are going to help us take down an international arms dealer."
"Better than nothing," Kenji said, checking his own pack. "Everyone has water? First aid basics?"
A muffled "Yeah" came from behind the pumps where Spencer was changing. When he emerged in dry clothes, he'd stopped shivering quite so violently, though he still wrapped his arms around himself.
"So our guy’s dead," Spencer said, his usual cheerfulness noticeably dimmed. “Not good.”
Sophia pinned Kenji with a sharp look. "Agreed. What now?"
"What she said," Spencer added. "Please tell me there's a new plan that doesn't involve anyone else dying."
Cassidy forced herself to focus, to push down the horror and think strategically. She moved to the security monitors, watching the grainy feeds cycle through empty corridors and storm-battered exteriors.
"Vega's cleaning house,” Kenji announced. “And we're definitely next." He turned to face the group. "So we stop running and start hunting."