Page 35 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)
Soaking wet, and breathless from a the ten yard sprint though the whipping wind to the exposed hangar, Cassidy huddled behind Kenji.
The access door to the hangar screamed on its hinges as he forced it open, and nature immediately tried to claim them.
The wind hit like a physical assault—not just strong but violent, personal, as if the hurricane had been waiting specifically for them.
Rain drove horizontally with enough force to sting through clothing.
Cassidy had to turn her face away just to breathe.
"Stay low!" Kenji shouted, though his words were ripped away the instant they left his mouth. He didn't need to tell her twice—the wind alone would have knocked her flat if she'd tried to stand upright.
The hangar loomed before them, a massive structure that was losing its battle with the storm.
Sheet metal peeled from the walls like skin, each piece becoming a lethal projectile as it tore free.
The entire building groaned and shrieked, its steel bones bending in ways they were never designed to bend.
No guards. Of course not. Who would be insane enough to be out in this?
They would, Cassidy thought grimly, ducking as something—a toolbox? a piece of roofing?—whistled past her head.
They crawled more than ran, staying below the worst of the wind.
Her poker face meant nothing here; the storm stripped away all pretense, leaving only the primal need to survive.
When a particularly vicious gust caught her, threatening to send her tumbling across the tarmac, Kenji's hand found her waist, anchoring her to the earth and to him.
The hangar's side door had already been claimed by the storm, torn from its tracks to leave a gaping wound in the building's side. They squeezed through, and the change was immediate—not quiet, never quiet, but the hurricane's roar dropped from deafening to merely overwhelming.
Inside was chaos of a different sort. The helicopter sat in the center of the space, a gleaming corporate transport that probably cost more than most people's houses.
But it wasn't going anywhere—not with half the hangar's roof missing, rain cascading through the gaps like waterfalls.
Tools and equipment had been scattered by the wind, creating an obstacle course of potential weapons and hazards.
"This whole place could come down," Cassidy shouted, eyeing the way the remaining roof sections flexed with each gust.
"Then we work fast," Kenji replied, already moving toward the helicopter with purpose.
The aircraft's door resisted at first, then gave way to reveal an interior that screamed money—leather seats, wood trim, electronics that belonged in a spacecraft. All of it useless if they did their job right.
"Hold this," Kenji said, positioning her hands on an access panel.
As he worked, she found herself anticipating his needs—grabbing tools before he asked, shifting position to give him better angles, holding components steady while he worked.
It felt like poker in a strange way—reading the situation, predicting the next move, working in partnership toward a goal. Except instead of chips and cards, they were dealing with aviation fuel and electrical systems while a Category 4 hurricane tried to tear the building apart around them.
A massive crash made them both freeze. Part of the hangar's far wall had given way, and through the gap, Cassidy could see the storm in all its terrible glory.
Palm trees bent horizontal, their trunks straining to the breaking point.
Debris flew past at speeds that would turn harmless objects into missiles.
The ocean, visible in the distance, had transformed into something primordial—white foam and black water churning together in patterns that hurt to look at.
"Keep working," she said, as much to herself as to Kenji. Her hands were steadier than they had any right to be as she helped him disconnect critical systems.
Calculate the odds, she told herself. Play the hand .
But what were the odds when nature itself had joined the game?
Kenji's movements grew more urgent as the hangar's structure continued to fail.
Sparks flew as he severed connections, each one reducing the helicopter from a sophisticated machine to an expensive sculpture.
When he yanked out what looked like the main navigation computer, water immediately flooded into the exposed electronics, finishing what he'd started.
"That's it," he said, grabbing her hand. "Move!"
They abandoned the helicopter just as another section of roof tore free. The metal screamed as it separated, then crashed down where they'd been standing seconds before. The rain found them immediately, driving through the new gap with renewed fury.
A maintenance shed at the hangar's edge offered the illusion of shelter.
They dove inside among scattered tools and spare parts, both gasping from exertion and adrenaline.
The shed's walls drummed constantly with rain and debris, but at least they weren't in immediate danger of being crushed or impaled.
Cassidy pushed soaking hair from her face, aware that she was trembling—not from cold but from the delayed reaction of what they'd just done. They'd walked into a hurricane. Deliberately. Voluntarily.
"You're insane," she said to Kenji, but she was almost laughing. The adrenaline made everything sharp and bright and slightly unreal.
"Says the woman who wanted to use herself as bait," he countered, but his eyes were warm as they tracked over her, checking for injuries.
She watched him in the emergency lighting—this man who'd appointed himself her protector, who'd argued against her coming but then kept her safe when she insisted.
Water dripped from his hair, his clothes were plastered to his body, and there was a cut on his cheek from flying debris he probably hadn't even noticed.
He was beautiful.
The thought came unbidden, surprising in its certainty.
Not handsome in the conventional sense—though he was that too—but beautiful in the way he moved with purpose, the way his hands had worked with steady competence even as the world came apart around them, the way he looked at her like she was something precious even in the middle of chaos.
She was falling for him, she realized with startling clarity. In the middle of a hurricane, while running from killers, she was falling for a man––a man with issues –– she’d known a couple days.
The journey back to their hideaway redefined her understanding of "rough." The service tunnels were flooding, water rising with each minute as the storm surge combined with structural failures. Emergency lighting failed in sections, leaving them to navigate by the weak glow of Kenji's phone.
When they finally reached the concrete tomb—relief flooded through her. They'd done it. They'd actually done it.
Spencer and Sophia arrived not two minutes later, both soaked to the skin, and looking totally glum.
“Problems with the boats?” Kenji asked.
Spencer wiped his face. “Nope. Took care of those.”
Sophia dropped her mallet on the desk. “New problem.”
“Big one,” Spencer added. “Ginormous.” He shared a look with Sophia. “The dude’s got a submarine.”
“What?” Kenji’s mouth dropped open.
The same shock echoed through Cassidy’s limbs.
“For real.” The spear in Spencer’s hand sagged downward. "It’s big. As in ‘bring along your henchmen’ big. With an underground tunnel that connects to some kind of hidden dock beneath the resort. I'm talking full-on supervillain lair territory."
Cassidy and Kenji both turned to Sophia.
She swiped dripping hair out of her eyes and sighed. “Unfortunately, Spencer’s exactly right.”
"An actual submarine?" Cassidy repeated, needing to hear it again to believe it.
"With its own underground dock," Spencer repeated, still looking stunned by his own discovery. "Armed guards everywhere."
“That restricted elevator,” Kenji mumbled. He caught her eye, despair clear. “Vega built an escape route right off the lobby. Of course, he did.”
So it was over.
They'd disabled the obvious exits, but Vega had planned for even this level of paranoia.
"We can't let him reach it," she said.
"We can't stop him," Kenji countered. "Not with what we have."
She met his eyes, seeing her own determination reflected there despite his practical assessment. They'd come too far to give up now. Survived too much to let Vega slip away beneath the waves.
"Then we get creative," she said, her poker player's instincts finally seeing the shape of a desperate play. "We can't stop him from reaching the submarine. But maybe we can make him think he doesn't need to run at all."
The building shuddered around them as the hurricane continued its assault, but Cassidy felt a different kind of energy building. They'd walked into the storm and survived. They'd played impossible odds and won—so far.
Time to go all-in.