Page 3 of Rogue Hope
Zara’s stomach plummeted as her fingers froze over the keyboard. The same free-fall sensation she’d felt seven years ago in that rain-drenched Paris café when she discovered Finn Novak had played her for a fool.
That day, Parisian rain had turned streetlights into golden smears beyond the fogged windows. She’d sat across from Harrison Reynolds, her CIA handler, an untouched espresso going cold between her trembling hands as she confessed everything. How Finn manipulated her. How she’d violated SOP by sharing classified intel. How completely she’d fallen for his act.
“I trusted him,” she’d whispered, the words burning her throat. “I thought he loved me.”
Harrison’s face had been a mask of controlled sympathy as he reached across the table. “You’re not the first agent compromised by emotion.”
Not helpful. She’d forced herself to meet his gaze. “What happens now?” Termination, certainly. Maybe charges. Prison time?
The older man had rubbed his face. “You’re an excellent agent. Stuff happens.” He’d leaned forward, eyes hard. “Move on to another assignment. A boring one in a boring place. Rinse and repeat until this blows over.”
“Understood.” More than she deserved.
She should have left it at that, but her emotions ran too hot. “What about Finn?”
“Depends how willing he is to cooperate when we find him.”
Three weeks later, Harrison called her to his office.
“Novak’s dead,” he said, the words hitting like a physical blow. “Extraction team encountered resistance. Nothing they could do.”
The room tilted. She’d gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white against polished wood. Her lungs seized, refusing air. Not dead. Not Finn. Not the man whose heartbeat she’d counted while falling asleep, whose laugh still haunted her dreams despite everything.
She’d wanted justice, not this. Never this.
“How?” The word scraped her throat.
Harrison’s answer faded to white noise as blood rushed in her ears. One clear thought. Her confession had signed his death warrant.
For seven years, she’d carried it—this toxic cocktail of fury and grief and guilt. The emotions had fused together, inseparable now—love and hate, grief and relief, all coiled around her heart like barbed wire.
Now, staring at the threatening texts, that same sickening dread washed through her. She inhaled sharply, ordering her thoughts. This was different. Finn was past. This was someone else—someone who knew her medical condition and tracked her digital movements with disturbing accuracy.
She needed a truly secure network, one definitely not compromised. Knight Tactical’s system was state-of-the-art,but if someone watched her this closely, using it further was too risky.
Every instinct screamed to alert the team. Each Knight Tactical member brought unique skills that made them nearly unstoppable together. But disrupting their rare moment of lighthearted fun over what might be a personal vendetta against her? No. The threats specifically targeted her illness—her secret. Until she understood more, involving them felt premature.
Besides, if this connected to her CIA past, it endangered them all.
Better to handle it solo until she knew what she faced.
She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. “‘For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind,’” she whispered. 2 Timothy 1:7, the verse that had steadied her through far worse than anonymous threats. Through leaving the CIA for Knight Tactical, through the gut-punch of her lupus diagnosis.
Her fingers found the silver cross at her neck, her grandmother’s gift. Growing up in her grandmother’s home had steeped her in faith and Bible history—studies she’d continued into adulthood. Those ancient stories of perseverance reminded her she wasn’t alone, even when circumstances isolated her.
Footsteps on the stairs. Kenji, true to his word, returning after his promised half hour. He appeared in the doorway, fatigue etching lines around his eyes, phone clutched tight.
“Told you I’d bring reinforcements if you didn’t show,” he said, leaning against the frame. “Though I left the actual reinforcements building a pirate ship.” He closed the door. “Just got off with your rheumatologist. Your inflammation markers were elevated last checkup.”
Zara stiffened. “Doctor-patient confidentiality seems flexible these days.”
“When the patient lists me as medical proxy and emergency contact, yes.” His tone stayed gentle despite the firm words. “Dr. Liu’s concerned about the pattern, Zara. Three flares in two months, each worse than the last.”
“Just stress. The Westland contract, the Belmont audit?—”
“It’s lupus,” Kenji cut in, dark eyes serious. “If these patterns continue, we’re looking at escalating treatment. Possibly consulting with Dr. Beckworth at Mayo.”
Her throat closed. Mayo Clinic meant serious intervention. It meant her carefully constructed façade crumbling.
