13. Family Forces
13
FAMILY FORCES
Maya stood at the guest room window, working her fingers through hair that still dripped on the shoulders of her borrowed tactical gear. The clothes fit perfectly—of course they did. Everything about Knight Tactical’s setup screamed precision and deep pockets, from the spa-worthy shampoo to the rack of color-coordinated workout wear. Like some fantasy boutique hotel where retired operators dropped platinum cards instead of brass shell casings.
In another world, she’d have time to actually appreciate the amenities. Right now, she needed to get this mess sorted. So far, it looked like she was in the right place to get that done. Knight Tactical had resources that made her NCIS clearance look pathetic. Between their connections and her knowledge of internal procedures, they could tear through the fabricated evidence, trace those deepfake images and videos, and get her world righted again. A day or two of their help and she’d be back at headquarters, hunting down Marcus Sullivan’s real killers. The ones who’d murdered Tom.
But first, she’d have to get Ronan Quinn to stand down.
The man switched from brilliant strategist to tactical loose cannon without warning. His past haunted every decision, every interaction, and that issue with his brother ...
Lots of future therapy bills there.
Having grown up with her passionate, hard-driving father who lived to bend rules for justice, Maya understood exactly how things with a man like Ronan Quinn would play out. Dad’s intensity had driven Mom away before Maya turned twelve. His dedication to the job had shaped her childhood into a series of missed events and broken promises—all for good reasons, but still. She’d sworn she wouldn’t live that way herself.
Even if Ronan was on the right side of the law, he was exactly the kind of complication she didn’t need.
The memory hit without warning—Tom, floating face-up in that murky water at the boat ramp.
Her hands clenched. She shouldn’t have left him there. Her partner, her friend, deserved better than to be abandoned like evidence in a crime scene.
Her father.
The realization jolted through her like electricity. The BOLOs would have hit his desk hours ago. Those deepfake videos ...
She hit the hallway at a run, banging on Ronan and Axel’s door.
Axel swung it open immediately.
She didn’t bother with niceties. “I need a phone. Now.”
“Whoa, easy.” Ronan emerged from the bathroom in utility pants and a black tech shirt, hair still wet. “What’s wrong?”
“My father’s probably got half the LAPD looking for me already. He’ll have seen everything—the BOLOs, the videos, Tom’s murder. He’s probably calling in every favor he’s got.”
“No one outside law enforcement will have seen those alerts yet,” Axel added. “We should probably check with the team before?—”
“You don’t understand.” Maya fought to keep her voice steady. “My father?—”
“Will be fine until we talk this through with the Knight Tactical crew,” Ronan assured her. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt—” He stopped, finally taking in her expression. “What?”
Axel shrugged.
She stared at them. “You really didn’t do your research, did you?”
Axel was already typing on his phone. His eyebrows shot up. “Yikes.”
“Yeah.” Maya ran a hand through her hair. “Twenty-eight years with the LAPD. Currently Captain of Northwest Detective Division. Trust me, he’s seen the BOLOs. And he knows literally everyone in law enforcement on the West Coast. How long do you think it’ll take him to trace us here?”
Without another word, Ronan tossed her his phone.
Maya’s fingers trembled as she dialed, muscle memory taking over. The familiar number felt like touching a live wire.
Twenty-eight years of commanding officers, organizing task forces, and moving heaven and earth to protect his only child had honed Lawrence Chen into a force of nature. He’d take over, reorganize everything, call in every favor from San Diego to Seattle. The full tsunami of Captain Chen’s protective instincts was about to be unleashed.
And she needed to stop him before he destroyed both their careers trying to save her.
Her throat tightened. How many times had she sworn she’d never need rescuing? That she’d learned from his mistakes, would never put either of them in that position again? Yet here she was, about to drag him into the mess she’d made.
Her father answered on the first ring. “I’ve got three task forces running scenarios. Where are you? I’m sending a team. I’ve already talked to the DA and?—”
“Dad—”
“—called in markers with the FBI’s forensics lab. Those videos are obvious fakes. Just need forty-eight hours to prove it. You sit tight and let me?—”
“They killed my partner.” Her voice cracked, stopping his flow of words. “They knew we were called out to the scene—or they called it in themselves—and then they killed Tom. These people have reach inside NCIS. Maybe the Navy itself.”
“I’m not Benson, sweetie. I’ve got three decades on the force and connections he didn’t have. I can protect you.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t come in. They’ll use you to get to me.” She swallowed hard. “I’m safe. Hidden. I’ve got ... resources.”
“What resources? Maya, honey, you don’t know who to trust right now?—”
She gritted her teeth. Time to bargain. “Give me twenty-four hours. If I stall out, you’re in.”
Silence for a heartbeat. Then two. Finally, a sigh. “Deal.”
“I love you, Dad. I’ll contact you when I can.”
“Maya, wait?—”
She ended the call before her voice could betray her. Her father’s fear and frustration hung in the air like smoke. The silence after she ended the call seemed to ring in her ears, mixing with the soft hum of the room’s air conditioning and the distant thrum of helicopter blades. Even the metallic taste of adrenaline in her mouth reminded her of countless stakeouts with her father, waiting for his signal.
She stared at Ronan’s phone, hearing the echo of her father’s desperation. Behind her, Ronan and Axel made a show of examining the room’s high-tech security system.
“Nice panic buttons,” Axel commented way too casually. “Very Mission Impossible .”
“Motion sensors in the windows,” Ronan added. “Top of the line.”
She almost smiled at their awkward attempt to give her privacy. “You can stop pretending you weren’t listening.”
She handed Ronan’s phone back, pacing the length of the room. “I need these charges cleared. Now. Every hour I’m stuck here is another hour I’m not tracking down who killed Marcus Sullivan and Tom.”
“What exactly do you think we’re doing?” Ronan’s frustration matched hers. “Knight Tactical has resources that?—”
“I’ll give your team twenty-four hours.” She spun to face him. “That’s all the time we have.”
“Twenty-four hours? To untangle a conspiracy this deep? That’s not?—”
“That’s all we’ve got. My father won’t wait longer than that. He’ll dive into this investigation himself, start pulling threads, asking questions ...” Her voice cracked. “These people killed my partner. They won’t hesitate to take out a police captain who gets too close, no matter how well-connected—or overconfident—he is.”
“Maya—”
“Team’s ready.” Christian’s voice cut through their argument as he appeared in the doorway. “Conference room.”
They followed him down the hall, their footsteps echoing off polished floors in a rhythm that reminded her of precinct corridors. The taste of Knight Tactical’s premium coffee still lingered on her tongue—worlds away from the bitter breakroom brew she usually survived on. Even here, surrounded by elite operators and high-tech security, her senses stayed sharp, cataloging sounds: the subtle click of door locks engaging, the whisper of tactical gear as operators moved, the almost silent communications system broadcasting status updates in controlled tones.
Christian glanced at Ronan. “Your mom called. She expects a full update ASAP.”
Ronan’s groan was heartfelt.
Axel winced. “Mama Quinn is a handful and a half.”
“Tell me about it,” Ronan huffed.
Despite everything, Maya smiled. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with complicated family dynamics.