Page 4 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

Cassidy Reynolds had learned to smile through almost anything—convos with sleazy casino managers, handsy high rollers, fourteen-hour tournament days that left her back aching and her mind raw.

But these charity events—where the women's gowns cost more than most families made in a month and the men's watches could fund an entire village's education—still tested her.

Even if it was for her own, thriving charity.

She adjusted her simple pearl earrings as another camera flash left spots dancing in her vision. The momentary blindness triggered an irrational spike of panic, and she fought the urge to scan the crowd again. Stop it, she scolded herself. Nobody's watching you.

But even as she thought it, the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

Behind her fixed smile, she calculated the charity gala's statistics: three hundred attendees at five thousand dollars per plate equals one-point-five million.

Minus venue, catering, and promotional costs—approximately twenty-two percent—left over a million for actual charitable work.

Numbers were reliable. Numbers didn't make the hair on the back of her neck stand up for no reason.

Her publicist had insisted on the "Angel of the Felt" persona for these functions—conservative black dress, minimal makeup, hair pulled back in a sophisticated twist. Rachel claimed the image projected approachable sophistication.

To Cassidy, it was armor. Lately, she needed that armor more than ever.

"Ms. Reynolds, another photo with the children?" A harried event coordinator guided her toward a group of five young teenagers, all former trafficking victims now thriving in Haven House programs.

This—finally—was real. Cassidy slipped in between the kids, evening gown sparkling in the light, her smile genuine as she embraced them.

Jasmine, who'd been terrified of adults eighteen months ago, now leaned comfortably against her shoulder.

Miguel, who hadn't spoken for his first six weeks at Haven House, chattered about his science project.

This was why she played poker—why she endured the smoke-filled rooms, the calculating opponents, the endless travel. Every dollar won funded another safe house, another chance for children like these.

"Last month we got twelve kids out of that factory in Bangkok," Jasmine whispered, squeezing Cassidy's hand. "My counselor showed me the photos. They're all in school now."

"That's wonderful," Cassidy murmured, though her voice caught slightly. Twelve more children saved from hell. Twelve more mouths to feed, bodies to clothe, minds to heal. The foundation's work was never done.

"Someday I'm gonna be exactly like you," whispered Trini, a twelve-year-old with solemn eyes and a fierce smile. "Helping other kids."

Something tightened in Cassidy's chest. "You'll be even better," she whispered back.

The children were whisked away for their scheduled performance, leaving Cassidy momentarily alone in the swirling social current.

Her eyes swept the room, a habit formed over the past three months.

Was that man by the pillar staring a moment too long?

Had she seen that waiter at last week's fundraiser in Seattle?

"Paranoid much?" she muttered to herself, then froze. The waiter she'd noticed—he was at the Seattle event. Same distinctive scar on his left hand as he carried the tray.

She shook her head slightly. The grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel sparkled with chandeliers and designer jewelry, voices rising and falling in practiced cadences. She could predict the flow of conversation, like calculating pot odds. It was normal party chatter, not coded messages.

"You've got that look again." Sophia Larsen, her new assistant, appeared at her elbow, slim and elegant in a tasteful charcoal pantsuit that complemented her auburn hair.

At thirty-two, a year older than Cassidy, she carried herself with the quiet confidence that had made her not only Cassidy's right hand, but her closest confidante over the past month.

"What look?" Cassidy asked, though she noticed Sophia's eyes tracking the same waiter.

"The one that says you're calculating escape routes." Sophia's Australian accent, usually subtle, became more pronounced when she was concerned. "Third time this week you've gotten jumpy at an event."

Cassidy's smile tightened. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to me, darl." Sophia lowered her voice, subtly positioning herself to scan the room while appearing to fix Cassidy's shawl. "Though I can't blame you. That waiter's definitely been at multiple events. Want me to have a word with security?"

"No, I'm probably—" Cassidy paused.

Sophia was already texting someone, fingers flying across her phone with surprising speed.

"Better safe than sorry," Sophia said firmly, her accent clipping the words efficiently. "There. Building security will investigate." She tucked her phone away and smiled brightly. "Now, tell me about that deranged fan who followed you to Osaka last June. Is he still a concern?"

Cassidy blinked at the non sequitur. "He's in jail. Ten years minimum, the prosecutor said. Why?"

"I’m a detail gal." Sophia's smile never wavered, but something in her eyes remained watchful. "The Orchid Isle tournament's coming up. Big event. Lots of strangers. We should review your security protocols."

"Since when do you worry about security protocols?"

"Since I became responsible for keeping you functional enough to run a multi-million dollar charity." Sophia's tone was light, but there was steel underneath—that particular Australian directness that could cut through nonsense. "Speaking of which..."

She produced Cassidy's wrap from seemingly nowhere, draping it over her shoulders. "The car should be here soon. Red-eye to Orchid Isle, meetings with sponsors all day tomorrow, then the tournament starts Monday."

"I know my own schedule, Sophia."

"'Course you do. But you've been distracted lately. That's not like you.

It was true. The feeling of being watched had been growing for weeks, despite no concrete evidence.

Phone calls with background noise that didn't match the caller's supposed location.

The same faces appearing at events across the country.

Little things that added up to a pattern she couldn't ignore.

"Maybe I need a vacation," Cassidy said lightly.

"After Orchid Isle," Sophia promised. "Win another couple million for the foundation, then we'll talk beaches. Maybe even visit my family in Melbourne—show you what real sand look like."

They made their way through the crowd, Sophia expertly deflecting would-be conversationalists with polite but firm "Ms. Reynolds has a flight to catch" explanations. As they approached the exit, Cassidy had that prickling sensation again.

She turned slightly, using the mirror by the door to scan behind them. The waiter with the scarred hand was gone, but a man in a gray suit stood by the dessert table, his gaze tracking their movement with an intensity that made her stomach clench.

"Sophia—"

"I see him." Sophia's hand found Cassidy's elbow, grip firm. "Keep walking. Car's right outside."

They pushed through the doors into the chill San Francisco night. The hotel's valet already had their town car waiting, engine running. Sophia practically pushed Cassidy into the backseat before sliding in after her.

"Airport," Sophia told the driver crisply. "No stops."

As the car pulled away, Cassidy caught a glimpse of the gray-suited man emerging from the hotel, phone pressed to his ear, his gaze following their vehicle.

"Okay," Cassidy said slowly. "That was definitely not my imagination."

"No," Sophia agreed, already typing on her phone again. "It wasn't. But don't worry. I've got some friends looking into it. Former colleagues from... from my previous job in security consulting."

"Security consulting?" Cassidy studied her assistant's profile. "I thought you worked in nonprofit management before this."

"I did. Both, actually. You'd be surprised how often those skills overlap in Oz." Sophia's smile was reassuring. "Trust me, Cass. Nobody's going to hurt you on my watch. Now, let's review the player dossiers for Orchid Isle. Intelligence is always your best weapon, right?"

As Sophia pulled up files on her tablet, chattering about player statistics and tournament strategies, Cassidy found herself really looking at her assistant for the first time.

How well do I really know her?

But Sophia was already pulling up footage of potential opponents, her enthusiasm genuine as she pointed out tells and betting patterns. Whatever secrets her assistant might be keeping, she was devoted to Cassidy's success. That would have to be enough for now.

"Oh, and I've also arranged for Pastor Mike to visit our Jakarta house while we're away," Sophia added, seamlessly shifting from poker strategies to foundation business. "He said he'd send daily prayer updates."

"You think of everything," Cassidy murmured, touching her cross necklace reflexively.

"That's what you pay me for," Sophia said with a wink, her accent making the words sound friendlier than they might have otherwise. "Keeping you safe so you can keep saving kids. It's good work, Cass. Work worth protecting."

Outside the car windows, San Francisco blurred past in streaks of light. In a few hours, they'd be on a plane to Orchid Isle, where two million dollars in prize money waited. Money that could fund new safe houses, rescue more children, expand their reach into areas where kids disappeared every day.

Cassidy closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer for protection. Whatever was happening—whoever was watching—she couldn't let it interfere with Haven House's mission.

The children needed her to win.

She always played better when the stakes were highest.