Page 9 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

"That's him." Cassidy indicated the SEAL from the tournament, now sitting alone at a table at the far edge of the bar area, water glass sat at his elbow. The ice had long since melted.

Much like the man himself.

His bearing was evident even in defeat—spine straight despite slumped shoulders, hands positioned at precise angles on the counter, eyes constantly scanning exits and entrances even in his distress. The disciplined exterior couldn't conceal the chaos beneath.

"One of the worst cases I've seen in a while," she murmured.

Sophia followed her gaze while organizing the Vega research on her tablet. "When you're ready, I've got lots of thoughts about how you could appeal to Mr. Vega." She handed the tablet across the table.

"Perfect." Cassidy skimmed through the info, mentally calculating approaches that would position Haven House as an ideal fit for Vega. "He's part Croatian on his mother's side."

Sophia took a long drink of water before responding. "And he's got extensive holdings in the surrounding countries."

Cassidy handed the device back. "If he's interested in a signature project, we could pitch the plan for the new safe houses in Eastern..."

Her voice trailed off as Marshall abruptly stood, swaying slightly before steadying himself against the table. Even from across the room, she could see the tremor in his hands. He headed toward the restrooms, movements controlled but obviously strained, each step a careful calculation.

Something about his deliberate dignity in the face of obvious desperation tugged at her. Not professional curiosity. Something else. Something she couldn't name.

She rose. "Watch my things."

"Cassidy." Sophia's voice held a note of caution. "You've got that podcast interview in half an hour. Maybe this isn't the time to?—"

"Two minutes." She was already moving. "I'll be right back."

She intercepted him in the quiet hallway that led to the restrooms, the plush carpet muffling her approach. The corridor's soft lighting cast shadows that emphasized the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the tension around his eyes.

"Your betting pattern betrayed you," she said without preamble, still processing what she'd observed during the tournament.

He froze, slowly turned. The movement reminded her of a wounded predator—dangerous despite its injuries. His eyes met hers, dark and guarded, flashing with something that was anger or fear or perhaps both.

"Excuse me?" His voice was deeper than she'd expected, rough-edged with fatigue and tension.

"You weren't playing the odds. You were chasing relief." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. Something about his rigid posture made her soften her approach, though the words remained direct. "I've seen it before. Whatever you're dealing with, the tables won't fix it."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you saved that man's life at the table earlier. When he was having chest pains." The words surprised them both. "I saw you. The way you immediately recognized the symptoms, had him chew aspirin, kept him conscious until the paramedics arrived. You knew exactly what to do."

His expression shifted, surprise replacing defensiveness.

"I know desperation," she continued. "But I also know a healer when I see one. You've got both warring inside you right now."

For a heartbeat, something raw and vulnerable flashed across his face—a momentary crack in the armor that revealed the man beneath.

It was gone so quickly she had imagined it, but that brief glimpse stirred something unexpected in her chest. Compassion, certainly, but also.

.. recognition? Not of his addiction, but of something deeper. A kindred isolation perhaps.

She reached into her jacket pocket and extended her business card. "If you're looking for a different way out, call me."

He stared at the card without taking it, his eyes lifting to hers again. She noticed they weren't simply brown as she'd first thought, but a complex amber. "I don't need saving."

"Everyone does, eventually." She tucked the card into his shirt pocket, her fingers brushing against the solid warmth of his chest for the briefest moment. "The question is whether you'll recognize the moment when it comes."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the man beneath the addiction. For a second, she saw what he must have been like before: steady, protective, the kind of person others instinctively trusted with their lives.

"You remind me of someone," he said quietly, catching himself. "Sorry. That's?—"

"No, it's okay." She wanted to linger, despite Sophia waiting. "Who?"

"A first sergeant in Kandahar. Wouldn't give up on anybody, even when they'd given up on themselves." His amber eyes held hers. "Drove me crazy. Also saved more lives than the rest of us combined."

The unexpected vulnerability in his voice caught her off-guard. This wasn't the desperate gambler from the table, but someone else entirely—someone who understood sacrifice and service. The same person whose medical training had kicked in without hesitation hours ago.

"K-MAN. There you are." A loud voice shattered the moment as a disheveled young man in rumpled designer clothes bounded toward them. "I've been looking everywhere. You okay, bro? Tough break today."

The young man skidded to a halt when he noticed her, eyes widening in recognition. "You're Cassidy Reynolds. The Angel." He thrust out his hand with puppyish enthusiasm. "Spencer Donovan. Friends call me Spence. Huge fan. Your statistical approach to positional play rocks."

Cassidy accepted the handshake, genuinely surprised by the intelligent observation buried within his exuberance. "You've studied my games."

"Are you kidding? I have spreadsheets!" Spence's entire face lit up. "Your World Series run two years ago? Killer. Completely off the hook. The way you adjusted your three-bet range based on stack-to-pot ratios." He shook his head. "Wow."

"Spence," Marshall warned, his voice tight with embarrassment.

"What? It's true!" Spence continued, undeterred.

"Did you know Kenji here was a SEAL? Like, the real deal.

Combat medic. Total hero. Saved his whole team in some classified op he can't talk about.

" He leaned closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper that was probably audible in the next room.

"He's modest, but I heard he got medals and everything. "

Marshall closed his eyes briefly, as if praying for patience or possibly an earthquake to swallow him whole.

"Is that so?" Cassidy reassessed her initial impression. A decorated combat medic. Someone who had saved lives on the battlefield and at poker tables alike. The contradiction intrigued her—the same hands that had expertly managed a cardiac emergency now trembled with his own demons.

"Totally. Most amazing guy I know." Spence's admiration was genuine. "Though he's terrible at accepting help. Too stubborn for his own good. But that's what makes him such a?—"

"We should go," Marshall interrupted firmly, guiding Spence away with a hand on his shoulder. His eyes met Cassidy's once more, something unreadable flickering in their depths. Challenge, perhaps. Or possibly regret.

"Nice meeting you." Spence called back over his shoulder. "Let's catch up later."

Cassidy watched the mismatched pair with unexpected interest. The desperate gambler with a hero's past. The chaos beneath the control. The healer who couldn't heal himself. There was more to Kenji Marshall than she'd initially calculated.

She returned to find Sophia waiting with their research materials neatly organized.

"What?" Cassidy asked, catching Sophia's observant gaze.

"I've never seen you follow someone like that," Sophia remarked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Professional curiosity." The excuse sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"Of course." Sophia smiled slightly before glancing toward the casino entrance. "There's Vega."

Cassidy turned to see the billionaire making his entrance, flanked by four security men in tailored suits.

Even more poised than he was last night, Vega worked the room, pausing to shake hands with various casino executives, his smile practiced and camera-ready.

As he moved through the crowd, a young man in resort attire approached him, hand extended.

A member of the security team stepped between them, gripping the man's arm with enough force to make him wince.

Words were exchanged, too distant for Cassidy to hear, but the young man's face drained of color.

What caught her attention wasn't the security team's roughness—that was, unfortunately, standard for high-profile protection details.

It was Vega's reaction. For the briefest moment, as his security handled the interruption, his carefully cultivated charm slipped.

The expression that flashed across his face wasn't annoyance or embarrassment, but something colder.

Emptier. His eyes held the flat, assessing quality of a predator considering prey—weighing value rather than recognizing humanity.

It was gone, replaced by his media-perfect smile as he continued his circuit of the casino floor.

A chill whispered along her spine.

Her hand rose unconsciously to the cross at her throat, fingers tracing its familiar contours. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," she reminded herself, the verse from Isaiah offering its usual comfort.

The numbers and projections she and Sophia had so carefully prepared for her anticipated meeting with Vega suddenly were insufficient, like trying to calculate human behavior using only the most basic equations.

Two things she'd learned tonight: gorgeous SEALs weren't immune to personal disaster, and more frightening... even without his billions, Xavier Vega would be a dangerous enemy.