Page 23 of Rogue Hope
He grunted, a small smile on his lips.
“I need five minutes,” she said finally, standing abruptly. “Alone.”
Without waiting for a response, she stalked out the conference room into the adjacent office, closing the door firmly behind her. Through the glass wall, she could see her team exchanging glances but making no move to follow. They understood her need for space. One of the many reasons she valued them so deeply.
She pressed her palms against the cool surface of the desk, head bowed, breathing deliberately. The logical part of her mind—the operative, the tactician—recognized the validity of the proposed approach. A controlled engagement offered the best odds of neutralizing the threat while minimizing risk to Knight Tactical and its people.
But the part that still woke in cold sweats from dreams of Paris, the part that had spent years rebuilding her reputation and personal trust after Finn’s betrayal—that part screamed in protest at the idea of voluntarily reconnecting with him in any capacity.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She glanced down, expecting one of her teammates checking on her.
If only.
Tick tock, Zara. Your team seems to think they can control this situation. They can’t. Neither can Novak.
She scanned the horizon, the empty runways out beyond the cluster of hangars, the parking lot below, any vantage point that might allow visual confirmation of their meeting. Nothing obvious, but the message was clear. Vanguard was watching. They knew Finn was here. They knew her team was planning countermeasures.
None of that difficult to imagine, but still. She felt the pressure around her neck. Fingers squeezing …
The door opened behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was—the particular quality of the silence told her.
“They’re getting pushy,” she said quietly, holding up her phone without turning.
Finn closed in, reading the message. “Expected. They know us both well. And they’ve done their homework. Don’t let them rent space in your head.”
No need for that warning. There wasn’t any space left there after Finn’s appearance.
She faced him. “If I do this—if we do this—I need something from you.”
“Name it.” No hesitation, no qualification.
“Absolute honesty.” Her voice was steel. “No hidden agendas, no convenient omissions, no creative interpretations of the truth. I need to know everything you know about Cipher, about Vanguard, about the operation in Paris seven years ago. Everything.”
“Agreed.”
“And when this is over—assuming we survive—you disappear. Completely. Permanently.”
Something flickered in his eyes—so briefly she might have imagined it—before his expression settled into calm acceptance. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Done.” He met her gaze steadily. “Complete transparency now. Complete separation after.”
She nodded once, the decision made, though it felt less like choosing a path forward and more like accepting an inevitable collision course.
She turned back toward the conference room, where her team waited with varying expressions of concern and determination. Through the glass, she could see Deke already outlining technical specifications on a tablet while Ronan and Axel planned the op. Griffin was on the phone, likely calling in additional resources, while Kenji methodically organized the evidence Finn had provided. Maya frowned, watching her with soft eyes.
They were already moving forward, preparing for the operation without her explicit agreement. They knew her well enough to recognize that despite personal objections, she’d make the logical choice.
She motioned Finn toward the door, following him back into the conference room. “Okay,” she said, as she entered. “But we do it my way.”
“Copy that. You’re lead,” Ronan confirmed, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Draft the response. Let’s get this ball rolling.”
As she composed a carefully worded reply to Cipher’s demand, she felt the weight of Finn’s gaze. She refused to look up, refused to acknowledge the complex emotions his presence stirred.
She hit send on the message, setting their dangerous plan in motion, and finally raised her eyes to meet his across the room. What she saw there wasn’t the charming manipulator from Paris or the contrite intruder from her apartment last night. She saw something far more dangerous—a focused operative with the same intensity and determination that drove her own actions.
She’d do well not to forget it. Or underestimate the man.
