Page 7 of Rogue Hope
“You’re spying on them?” Zara asked, unable to suppress a smile as she approached.
“Gathering intelligence,” DJ corrected with mock seriousness. “Dad calls it ‘competitive awareness.’”
“I call it being fifteen and having too much time on your hands,” Deke retorted, but he ruffled his son’s hair affectionately.
“Whatever works,” Ronan called from his perch on the mast. “Jack’s still sore about losing that pickleball match to us last month. I wouldn’t put it past him to build the Taj Mahal just to one-up us.”
“With Star Rodriguez designing it? We should worry,” Maya agreed, passing tools up to her fiancé. “That woman could make a cardboard box look like a design masterpiece.”
The easy banter continued as Zara circled the impressive construction. Despite the underlying competition, there was genuine affection in the team’s references to their colleagues. Though the two units generally functioned separately, Ronan’s half-brother, Christian, had been instrumental in bringing Zara’s team onboard. They owed their new lives to the original team. None of them would forget it.
“Earth to Zara,” Kenji’s voice broke through her thoughts. He stood beside her, holding out a steaming mug of coffee. “You look like you’re plotting a cybersecurity algorithm instead of appreciating our maritime ingenuity.”
“Just admiring the craftsmanship,” she lied smoothly, accepting the coffee. “It’s impressive.”
“It better be. We’ve put more collective man-hours into this float than our last three government contracts combined.” He studied her face, his medical training evident in his assessing gaze. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Fine,” she said automatically.
“The universal response of someone who is decidedly not fine,” he observed. “Fever?”
“Gone.” That, at least, was true. Her temperature had normalized overnight.
Kenji opened his mouth to ask another question when Zara’s phone vibrated in her pocket.
Her heartbeat jumped as she tried to turn away casually. Everyone on the team was here.
Her stomach dropped.
Expect instructions in three days.Comply, or your life as you know it ends.
The same unknown number.The same untraceable sender. The same threat that seemed to know exactly when she was most vulnerable.
“You okay?” Kenji asked, instantly alert to her change in expression. “You just went pale.”
Zara forced a smile, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “Just remembered I forgot to run the final encryption sequence for the Westland contract. Nothing critical.”
He didn’t look convinced, but before he could question her further, Deke called for his assistance with the mast installation.
“Don’t think this conversation is over,” Kenji warned as he slid under the float.
Alone again, Zara read the message once more. The timeline was specific—three days. After the parade. After the holiday celebrations. As if the sender knew exactly what was happening in Hope Landing and had timed their threat accordingly.
She looked around at her team—her family—working together with enthusiasm and laughter. They deserved this moment of carefree joy, especially after the intensity of their recent contracts. How could she disrupt that with threats that might be nothing more than someone’s sick idea of a joke?
But what if it wasn’t a joke? What if waiting put them all at risk?
The internal debate raged as she sipped her coffee, watching Axel and Griffin argue good-naturedly about the proper angle for the ship’s figurehead. Deke was now fully engaged in directing the crow’s nest installation, with DJ providing running commentary that had Maya doubled over with laughter. Ronan’s face glowed with love as he watched his fiancée, his hand absently touching the pocket where Zara knew he kept the wedding band she’d helped him select last month.
These people had become her world after the CIA—the family she’d never expected to find. They’d earned her trust, her loyalty, and her protection.
“Two days,” she decided silently. She would give herself two more days to identify the threat independently. If she couldn’t make progress by then—the day after the parade—she would bring the team in fully.
“Need an extra pair of hands?” she called to Deke, setting aside her coffee mug. “Or am I too late to claim a role in this maritime masterpiece?”
“Just in time,” he replied with a grin. “We need someone to test the plank. How do you feel about being our practice pirate prisoner?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re asking a woman who hacks government databases for fun to voluntarily walk to her watery doom? Did you also invite sharks to the parade?”
