Page 16 of Rogue Hope
Unknown Number: Rest well tonight. You’ll receive your assignment in the morning.
Zara set the phone down carefully, as if it might detonate. The brief reprieve provided by her team’s banter evaporated, replaced by renewed anxiety and a strange, clarifying certainty. She could no longer handle this alone.
Tomorrow, regardless of consequences, she would tell her team everything—the threats, her diagnosis, her concerns about her ability to perform her duties effectively. They deserved complete honesty about both her physical limitations and the potential danger they all might face because of her past.
The decision, once made, brought unexpected relief. Secrets were burdens, and she had been carrying too many for too long. Knight Tactical wasn’t just her employer; these people were her family. They had earned her trust through years of sharedstruggle and unwavering support. If anyone deserved her complete honesty, it was them.
She pushed herself up from the kitchen counter, determination easing some of her physical discomfort. She had an hour before she needed to leave for Deke’s cabin—enough time for a hot shower and a fresh dose of medication to manage the pain through the evening.
Tomorrow would bring whatever it would bring, including the necessary conversations she’d been avoiding. But tonight, she would enjoy the company of people she trusted, and the simple pleasures of food and friendship that had become so precious to her.
As she headed toward the bathroom, she caught sight of her reflection in the hallway mirror—pale, tired, but standing straight despite everything. She’d survived betrayal before. She’d rebuilt her life after Paris. She’d adapted to the diagnosis that had changed everything. Whatever came next, she would face it with the same resilience.
But this time, she wouldn’t face it alone.
Tonight was for fireworks, friendship, and the temporary comfort of familiar routines.
Tomorrow was for courage.
10
The early eveninglight cast long shadows as Finn circled back to Zara’s condo complex, each step heavier than the last. Seven years of emotional detachment had crumbled in the span of a single moment—seeing her face—and now the wreckage of his carefully constructed walls left him exposed in ways more dangerous than his physical vulnerability.
Behind him, unknown pursuers. Ahead, the woman whose memory he’d carried like shrapnel embedded too close to the heart to remove. His breath came shallow as he slipped between picnicking families and parade-goers, a ghost moving through the living, unseen but achingly present. His photographic memory had preserved every detail of her smile today with perfect clarity, but no mental discipline could prepare him for the storm it had unleashed within him.
As he prepared to approach the building, movement slowed his steps. A familiar silhouette emerged—Zara, dressed casually, keys in hand as she headed toward the parking area. Finn flattened himself against a tree trunk, watching as her SUV pulled out of the lot and disappeared down the quiet street.
An uncomfortable thought surfaced—what if she shared her condo? The dossier indicated she lived alone, but seven yearswas ample time for significant life changes. And Zara would be discreet. Could she have a boyfriend? A partner?
The possibility hit him with surprising force, a physical discomfort tightening his chest.
“Focus,” he muttered, pushing the distracting thoughts aside. The mission remained unchanged. Warn her about Cipher, then disappear before his presence endangered her further.
The service entrance yielded to his expertise within minutes. Once inside, Finn moved through maintenance corridors, heading directly to the stairwell nearest Zara’s third-floor unit.
Her security measures proved more challenging—BioGuard X7 electronic keypad, conventional deadbolt, and magnetic contact alarm. Impressive but not unexpected for someone with her background.
Using specialized equipment, he detected residual heat signatures on the keypad buttons: 2, 4, 8, 9, and 0. On the seventh combination attempt, the light flashed green. The deadbolt surrendered to basic manipulation, and the alarm was neutralized with a conducting strip. Finn eased the door open cautiously, listening for any indication of another presence before slipping inside.
The condo was dark and silent, illuminated only by ambient light. He closed the door quietly behind him, reengaging the deadbolt before allowing himself to truly observe her home.
The space was warm and inviting—stylish but comfortable. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with a diverse collection—spy novels alongside historical biographies, technical manuals, and theological works.
That last category surprised him. The Zara he’d known in Paris had been firmly agnostic. These books—C.S. Lewis, Timothy Keller, Alister McGrath—suggested a significant shiftin perspective, perhaps even a spiritual journey. It was a side of her he hadn’t glimpsed during their brief Paris encounter.
Not that he would have. They’d had only two months together, most built on his careful deception. How much of the real Zara had he actually known?
The kitchen was immaculate, with high-end appliances and a professional-grade coffee maker. A single mug sat in the drying rack—no second cup, no paired dishes suggesting cohabitation. The relief he felt was immediate and embarrassingly intense.
A collection of framed photographs showed Zara with various members of the Knight Tactical team in casual settings—genuine smiles, arms around shoulders. A particularly striking image showed her aboard what appeared to be a sailboat, laughing into the wind, more carefree than he’d ever seen her. These people weren’t just colleagues; they were clearly family.
He moved to the living room couch, sitting heavily as the day’s exertions caught up with him. His bruised ribs ached from the earlier confrontation, and the adrenaline was finally ebbing, leaving bone-deep exhaustion. He sat, body sinking into the soft cushions.
The scent of her home—a faint trace of lavender and something spicy and distinctly Zara—triggered memories he’d kept carefully suppressed: her laughter in a Parisian café, the way she twisted her hair when concentrating, rare moments of vulnerability during their brief time together.
Had any of it been real? He’d asked himself that question countless times. He’d been playing a role, yet there had been moments when the lines between deception and genuine emotion had blurred beyond recognition.
He didn’t realize he was drifting until his head nodded forward, jerking him back to alertness. Five minutes, hepromised himself. Five minutes of rest, then he would leave his warning and get out.
