Page 30 of Rogue Hope
“How?” She had to know.
“I still do occasional contract work for the agencies that don’t officially exist,” he answered, holding her gaze steadily. “Including periodic security assessments of facilities like Blackridge.”
The revelation shouldn’t have surprised her, yet somehow it did. While she’d built a new life with Knight Tactical, Finn had apparently maintained connections to their former world—the shadow realm of deniable operations and classified facilities.
“Convenient,” she remarked, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “Almost suspiciously so.”
“I understand your concern,” he acknowledged. “But this is precisely why Cipher specified my involvement would be advantageous. He knows about my continued access.”
“Or he engineered this entire scenario specifically because of it,” she countered.
Griff looked like he’d just swallowed a bug. “Either way, it’s our only shot given the timeframe.”
Logic dictated agreement, but something deeper—instinct, perhaps, or hard-earned caution—made her hesitate. The twinge of pain didn’t help her concentration. She pressed her palms flat against the cool surface of the table, using the sensation to center herself.
“If we do this,” she said finally, “it’s a two-person operation only. Minimize exposure.”
“Agreed,” Ronan nodded. “You and Finn, with the team providing remote tactical support.”
“I’ll prep the aircraft,” Deke offered, already moving toward the door. “Full communication suite, minimal equipment footprint.”
“I’ll coordinate with our Colorado contacts,” Griffin added. “We’ll need ground transportation waiting.”
The team dispersed efficiently, leaving Zara and Finn alone. She felt his eyes on her but didn’t immediately look up, using the moment to collect herself, to push aside the physical discomfort that threatened to distract her from the mission parameters.
“You’re in pain,” he observed quietly.
Her head snapped up. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice held no accusation, just calm certainty. “Your right hand has been trembling intermittently for the past hour. You’re favoring your left side. And you’ve taken something—probably anti-inflammatory—at least twice today.”
The accuracy of his assessment was infuriating. “Your point?”
“No point. Just recognizing reality.” He gathered his tablet, apparently unwilling to push further. “Wheels up in ninety minutes?”
“Make it sixty,” she countered, refusing to acknowledge any limitation. “I need to brief Kenji on handling things here while we’re gone.”
He nodded once and moved toward the door, pausing briefly. “For what it’s worth, I wish I’d made different choices in Paris. Or before that. A long time before.”
Before she could formulate a response, he was gone, leaving her with the unsettling awareness that despite everything, she believed him. No. Back up. She wanted to believe him. A lot.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming group text.
Deke: Gulfstream almost prepped. Estimated departure 2015 hours.
Axel: Surveillance equipment loaded. Limited profile package only.
Griffin: Local assets confirmed in Colorado. Vehicle will be waiting.
Kenji: Medical kit prepped.
The last message made her pause gratefully. Kenji’s discreet acknowledgment of her condition without explicitly naming it was exactly why she trusted him with her diagnosis.
A second text chain dinged almost immediately:
Griffin: Anyone else notice Ronan taking another “private call” with Maya?
Axel: Third one today. Something’s up.
