19. False Fit
19
FALSE FIT
Late morning light crept through the high windows of Knight Tactical’s guest quarters as Ronan eased the borrowed t-shirt over his head. Six hours ago, they’d touched down in the company’s private jet—a luxury he’d been too exhausted to appreciate. The expensive fabric settled against his ribs like muscle memory, a reminder of everything he wasn’t. He was going to miss these clothes. Whatever wonder fabric it was the stuff was way out of his price league.
Across the room, Axel’s soft snores provided a steady counterpoint to the distant hum of early morning aircraft.
He slipped out of bed. His thoughts and emotions tumbled like clothes in a dryer, refusing to sort themselves into anything coherent. Lawrence Chen had proven to be exactly as his daughter described—smart, intense, running on seemingly limitless energy even after their early morning arrival back at headquarters. The man’s wariness of Ronan and Knight Tactical was palpable. Understandable, really. What father wouldn’t be suspicious of a guy with a record like his? A guy who’d dragged his daughter into a deadly game of shadows?
Because that’s exactly what Ronan had done. If he and Axel hadn’t shown up at Tank’s house, Maya wouldn’t be in the crosshairs of killers who clearly had massive resources at their disposal. And Tom Benson would still be alive.
His gaze drifted toward Maya’s room two doors down. It was probably a blessing that they were polar opposites—her the rule-follower, him ... decidedly not. Because otherwise, he’d find her impossible to resist. Her energy, her dedication, even her faith—though he’d never admit that last part aloud. He wasn’t religious, but he envied that kind of unwavering devotion.
Just like he envied Christian Murphy’s team and their rock-solid belief. Add that to the growing list of ways his half-brother had beaten him at life: growing up with a real father instead of a rotating cast of nannies and a celebrity journalist mother who was never home. Getting the structure and discipline to succeed in the teams. Building this impressive second life as a civilian.
“Ugh.” The frustrated gesture escaped before he could stop it.
Axel groaned, lifting his head off the pillow. “Time?”
“Early. Go back to sleep.”
But his friend was already sitting up, reading Ronan’s mood with a decade of practice. “You’re thinking too loud.”
“Yeah.” He needed to get over himself. And get out of Hope Landing. As soon as this manhunt ended. “Gonna hit the gym. Need to move.”
Mostly, he needed to stop thinking about Maya Chen, about her father’s suspicious glares, about all the ways this could go sideways. Needed to focus on finding Marcus’s killer before anyone else died because of his mistakes.
Blankets rustled and Axel sighed deeply. “Roger that. I’ll meet you down there.”
Ronan slipped into the quiet hallway, his boots silent on the plush material. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee pulled him forward, probably some fancy single-origin roast knowing Christian’s operation. No standard military sludge here at Knight Tactical. They probably had a professional barista on staff.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had nothing to do with last night’s poor sleep. Too many people here. Too many eyes watching, judging. Axel was solid—his friend was as committed to finding Tank’s killers as he was, to uncovering whatever shadow players had ordered the hit. But Knight Tactical ...
Anger flared, hot and sudden. Anger for Marcus, executed in his own home. For Maya’s partner Tom, caught in the crossfire of something he never saw coming. And yeah, if he was honest, anger at Christian Murphy and his perfectly ordered world.
Irrational? Absolutely. His half-brother only knew what the Navy and Ronan himself had allowed him to know—that Ronan was a screw-up who’d earned his General Discharge. Christian had no idea that Ronan had fallen on his sword to protect a teammate.
Hard to fault Christian for looking down on him when he didn’t know the truth. And never would.
The coffee scent grew stronger, drawing him straight into the modern kitchen. He needed space, air, distance from all these people with their assumptions and their order and their ... rightness. But first, caffeine. And a good, hard workout.
The French roast’s rich aroma curled around him as he leaned against the railing, steam rising from the matte black mug like morning fog. Two stories below, the hangar sprawled in industrial vastness, all gleaming equipment and precision-placed gear. His stomach clenched as he spotted movement in the gym area.
So much for a solitary workout.
Jack’s lithe frame was easy to spot, along with a massive guy who had to be the one Knight Tactical partner he hadn’t yet met: Patrick Olivetti and—of course—Christian. Perfect. The coffee’s warmth turned bitter on his tongue.
Jack’s wave and shouted invitation echoed off the metal walls. Ronan hesitated, but then Lawrence Chen emerged from the shadows of the weight room, calling up something about young guys getting soft. Christian’s answering smirk was all it took. Ronan was down the stairs before he’d even set down his coffee.
The next thirty minutes were a blur of sweat and controlled violence. Chen might be thirty years their senior, and half Ronan’s size, but he moved like a far younger man, all economy and precision. Christian had the technical perfection you’d expect, but Ronan ... Ronan had something else. That raw edge that had made him a state wrestling champion, that animal instinct that kept him alive in places where rules didn’t exist.
He could feel Axel watching from the sidelines, heard his friend telling Christian, “Best fighter I’ve ever seen, bar none.”
Pride surged through Ronan’s chest—until Christian’s voice cut through his concentration. “Raw talent only gets you so far without discipline.”
That split-second of distraction was all Chen needed. The mat slammed hard against Ronan’s back, driving the air from his lungs. Above him, Christian’s expression shifted to something that looked a whole lot like disappointment.
“Mad skills,” his half-brother said quietly. “But you don’t have the head game to keep up. Not yet.”
The words burned worse than the takedown. Ronan’s jaw clenched as he watched them walk away, already planning how quickly he could wrap this mission and get clear of Hope Landing, of Knight Tactical, of Christian’s perfectly ordered world.
Then Maya’s face appeared above him, hands on hips, head shaking slowly. She turned without a word, following the others.
Ronan groaned, letting his head fall back against the mat. It was going to be that kind of day.