Page 37 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

Surprisingly, the fake blood was hot against Cassidy's skin.

She'd expected it to be cold somehow, but Sophia had heated the mixture to well beyond body temperature.

"We need to start above body temp. It needs to be a little warm still by the time the bad guys het here," she'd explained with the clinical detachment of someone who'd staged crime scenes before.

"Cold blood means you've been dead too long. "

Spencer had contributed by cutting his palm on debris—just enough to add real blood to the mix. "For authenticity," he'd said, looking vaguely proud and queasy at the same time.

Now Cassidy lay perfectly still among the artfully arranged debris, fighting every instinct that screamed at her to move, to breathe normally, to wipe away the sticky substance trickling down her temple.

The partially collapsed section of the resort's third floor created a natural theater for their deception—twisted metal beams, chunks of concrete, shattered glass catching the eerie light filtering through storm-damaged windows.

Through her barely cracked eyelids, she could see Spencer pacing nervously near the stairwell, practicing his lines under his breath. "Oh God, oh God, she's dead. The ceiling just came down and she's—no, too dramatic. Help! Someone help! There's been an accident—better, more believable..."

Focus, she told herself, the same way she'd learned to center herself during marathon tournament sessions. You're not Cassidy Reynolds anymore. You're a prop. A convincing corpse. The most important hand you've ever played.

The position Kenji had arranged her in was strategically perfect but physically awful.

Her left arm twisted beneath her at an unnatural angle—not actually dislocated, but it would look that way in photos.

Her hair, matted with more fake blood, partially obscured her face while still leaving enough visible for identification.

Torn clothing completed the image of someone caught in a catastrophic structural failure.

"Two minutes," Sophia's voice whispered through the darkness where she and Kenji waited. They'd positioned themselves behind intact portions of debris—close enough to strike, far enough to remain hidden until the moment came.

Cassidy let her breathing shallow out, the meditation techniques she'd learned for controlling tells now serving a deadlier purpose. In poker, stillness was about hiding intentions. Here, it was about hiding life itself.

Footsteps on the stairs. Spencer's sharp intake of breath—genuine nervousness making his performance more believable.

"Help!" His voice cracked with real fear. "Someone help! There's been an accident! She's— I think she's dead!"

More footsteps, faster now. Two sets, just as they'd hoped. Vega's security would travel in pairs, standard protocol that they'd counted on.

"Sir, step back," a gruff voice commanded. American accent, professional tone. "What happened here?"

"The ceiling!" Spencer's panic was beautifully authentic. "We were trying to get to the shelter when the storm—it just came down! She pushed me out of the way and—is she breathing? Please, you have to check if she's breathing!"

Cassidy remained perfectly still as footsteps approached. Through the veil of her hair, she caught a glimpse of tactical boots, weapons held at ready position. These weren't resort security—these were Vega's personal team.

"Control, this is Team Two," one guard said into his radio. "We've got a situation in the damaged section, third floor. Looks like structural collapse with one casualty."

Spencer's distressed hovering was Oscar-worthy. "Can you help her? Please?"

"Sir, I need you to step back." The guard's voice carried the kind of authority that brooked no argument. "Phillips, get photos. Boss will want confirmation."

Boss. Cassidy's mind filed away the information even as she maintained her deathly stillness. They reported directly to Vega.

The second guard—Phillips—pulled out a phone, the camera flash harsh in the dim space. "Multiple angles," he muttered, circling her still form. "He'll want to see the whole scene."

Each flash felt like being shot. Cassidy fought the automatic reflex to flinch, instead focusing on the pattern of their movements. Phillips was methodical, professional, getting exactly the documentation Vega would need to feel secure.

"Definitely the Reynolds woman," the first guard confirmed, crouching closer. "Looks like the beam caught her across the?—"

Spencer's strangled gasp cut through the analysis. " I'm going to be sick."

"Not here!" Phillips barked. "Contaminate the scene and?—"

The sentence never finished.

Cassidy heard the soft whistle of movement, the meaty thud of impact. Through her hair, she saw Phillips crumple forward, Kenji's arm locked around his throat in a blood choke. The phone clattered across debris as the guard went limp.

The first guard spun, hand moving for his weapon, but Spencer—sweet, anxious Spencer—proved surprisingly quick. The ceramic cup they'd found in the debris connected with the guard's temple in a lucky strike that sent him staggering directly into Sophia's waiting arms.

Ten seconds of controlled violence, then silence except for the building's groans and the storm's distant fury.

"Clear," Kenji's voice was professionally calm as he zip-tied the unconscious guards.

Cassidy finally allowed herself to move, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The fake blood had started to congeal, making her skin feel tight and sticky. "That was unpleasant."

"You were brilliant," Spencer breathed, still clutching his improvised weapon. "I honestly thought you were—I mean, I knew you weren't, but?—"

"Photos came out perfect," Sophia interrupted, checking Phillips' phone. "Vega will get exactly what he expects to see. Dead woman, confirmed identity, case closed."

Kenji was already stripping one guard of his tactical vest and radio. "Size isn't bad. Spencer, you're closest to Phillips' build?—"

"Oh no," Spencer backed away. "I don't do uniforms. I had a very traumatic experience at military school?—"

The radio crackled to life, cutting off his protest.

"Team Two, report. Vega wants status on the verification."

They all froze. Cassidy's heart hammered as Kenji smoothly lifted the radio.

"Team Two confirming casualty is Reynolds. Female, structural collapse, deceased. Photos transmitted." His voice was a perfect match for the guard's professional tone.

A pause that felt like eternity.

"Copy that. Boss wants visual confirmation personally. He's en route to your position. ETA five minutes."

The radio went silent.

"Five minutes," Cassidy breathed. "He's coming here himself."

"Then we better get back into position," Kenji said, but she caught the concern flashing across his features. "Same spots, but this time?—"

"This time we're ready for him," she finished, already moving back to her debris pile. The fake blood had cooled now, unpleasant against her skin, but she'd endure it.

As she settled back into her corpse pose, Cassidy touched her cross through her torn shirt. The metal was warm, real, a reminder that even in deception, she wasn't alone.

Almost there, she thought. Vega's taking the bait. Now we just need to set the hook.

"Everyone in position," Kenji commanded quietly. "Spencer, you're our early warning. The second you see him?—"

"I know," Spencer said, surprising them with his steady voice. "I'll sell it."

Cassidy let her breathing shallow again, forcing her body back into unnatural stillness. But this time, she wasn't just playing dead.

She was playing for all their lives.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the stairwell—more than two sets this time. Vega wasn't coming alone.

No plan survives contact with the enemy, Kenji had warned her during their preparation.

Time to find out just how good they were at improvising.