Page 31 of Fierce Hope
Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow she would tell him everything—or enough for his team to start searching her past for suspects. She owed him that much. But tonight ... tonight she just wanted to pretend this could be real. That she could be worthy of a protector like Deke in her life.
She watched him move back to the windows, rechecking locks with practiced hands. Lord, what would he see when he looked at her once he knew the truth? Would that protective warmth in his eyes turn cold? Would he feel betrayed?
Tomorrow would bring what it brought. For tonight, she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to memorize how it felt to matter to someone. To be sheltered rather than alone.
Even if it was all built on quicksand.
18
Eight forty-five a.m.The digital clock on Knight Tactical’s wall blinked its red numbers with military precision. Too early for this. Too early for anything after last night’s chaos. Jade paced the length of the conference room, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her mug with each turn. Morning sunlight struggled through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the polished table where multiple screens displayed surveillance footage. The room hummed with technology—blinking security panels, touch-screen monitors, equipment that belonged in some government facility rather than a small-town security firm.
Truth-finding machines.
She stopped pacing, her reflection fractured across the darkened screens. Three hours of sleep and a lifetime of secrets weighing on her shoulders. Not a great combination. She took a sip of lukewarm coffee, the bitter taste matching the dread pooling in her stomach. Any minute now, the team would start asking questions, their databases, their trained eyes that saw too much.
And she’d have to decide exactly how much of herself to reveal.
The very thing she’d spent years hiding.
She’d rehearsed this moment since dawn. After tossing all night, hearing every creak in her condo while Deke kept watch from her living room, she’d finally accepted the inevitable. Tell them something. Not everything. Just enough.
But watching Deke now, his confident movements as he walked the team through security footage, her resolve crumbled like dried earth.
“Suspect moved like they knew the camera locations.” Deke froze a frame showing the shadowy figure.
Kenji nodded, fingers flying across his keyboard. “Tracked them through traffic cams for six blocks before losing visual. Dark sedan, no plates visible.” He looked up, dark eyes serious behind his glasses. “Whoever this is, they’ve got decent evasive skills.”
“Too good for a rando.” Zara crossed her arms, her gaze laser-sharp on the footage. “This is personal.” She shifted her attention to Jade. “But why you?”
The weight of their combined scrutiny pressed down like a physical force. Jade forced air in and out of her lungs. Maintained her carefully constructed mask of confused innocence. Inside, her thoughts tumbled like clothes in a dryer. How much to tell? How much would keep them safe without revealing everything?
“Let’s review what we know.” Deke pulled up a different screen, his movements crisp. All business. “The Whitmore Trust investigation—dead end. None of the principals have been within a hundred miles of Hope Landing.”
“And Richard Baylor’s been in rehab since his stroke.” Zara slid a file across the polished table. “His son’s running the company now. Financials are pristine.”
Jade’s stomach twisted. She’d already known these leads wouldn’t pan out. The walls closed in, inch by suffocating inch.She’d combed through client files for hours, searching for threats, for reasons, for answers that weren’t there.
“Your client list is squeaky clean,” Kenji concluded, snapping his laptop shut. “Almost suspiciously so.”
“I know.” The words scraped her throat. “I’ve gone through everything multiple times. There’s nothing there that explains this.”
The team exchanged glances—that silent communication born from years of trust and shared danger. Jade’s pulse skittered. Something unspoken hung in the air.
“What about the church audit?” Deke’s voice stayed carefully neutral.
“Clean.” The answer came too quickly. “I’m thorough in my work. I wouldn’t have missed anything suspicious.” The moment the words escaped, she recognized her mistake. That tiny emphasis on “work” dangled between them like bait.
The silence stretched. Expanded. Deke’s expression shifted—just a flicker. Just enough. And Jade knew with crushing certainty what came next. They’d found the holes in her past—the careful fabrications, the missing years, the trail that vanished if examined too closely.
Her carefully constructed world teetered on the edge of collapse.
“We’ve also looked into your background.” Deke’s words fell gentle but firm.
Star slid a thin manila folder across the table. Too thin.
Jade’s heart stuttered at how little it contained. Her entire documented life, reduced to a few sheets of paper.
“We can’t protect you if we don’t know what we’re protecting you from.” Deke leaned forward, elbows on the table. “There are ... gaps. Big ones.”
