Counter Strike Read online

  Counter Strike

  A Hawk Elite Security Novel

  Book Five

  by Beth Rhodes

  www.authorbethrhodes.com

  Copyright © 2020 Bethanne Strasser

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Elaina Lee at For the Muse Design

  Edited by Jessa Slade, Red Circle Ink

  Copy Edits by PC Edits

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Dedicated to fellow authors who also struggle to make sh*t happen.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Twelve Years Ago

  Jamie Nash was going to end up in prison, a dirty, corrupt jail cell in the heart of Mexico, if he wasn’t careful.

  He arrived at the church rectory and, at the sound of muffled footsteps from behind the door, checked his watch. Luckily the little church backed up to a ridgeline, which dropped down to the river. Trees would cover his escape.

  With a rattle of keys, the door creaked open. Jamie cringed. The noise sounded so loud in the silence. As the sweet smell of bread wafted through the doorway, hunger gnawed at his stomach. “Padre. Is she here?”

  The cassock-wearing priest glanced out beyond Jamie as if checking their surroundings, and then nodded and waved him in, carefully closing the door behind them. He slid the lock back into place. “Está cansada de viajar, viene a cien millas.” He shook off the Spanish and repeated himself, “She's come a hundred miles since Sunday, and it shows.”

  “And her father?”

  “He didn’t make it, I’m afraid. No sign or word from him since the fire.”

  Jamie followed the priest through the dark corridor and up a flight of stairs.

  “It’s good that you came. I have rooms here, but occasionally the police will bring over a drunk or a prostitute to sleep it off until morning. The jails are full.” He shrugged. “Here, at least, we can minister to them. But—” He shrugged. “I can’t guarantee her safety.”

  “Was she followed?”

  “No.” Shaking his head, the man slowed in front of a door near the end of the hallway. He turned the knob and pushed the door open as he stepped aside. “You must hurry. It won’t be long before we are visited by officials, and you’ll need to be gone before they get here. Do you understand?”

  Jamie nodded, the feeling of being thrown to the wolves shuddering through him. “Got it.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t do more. We’ve worked hard to stay neutral, so they have no excuse to run us out of town. Where would these people be, if we weren’t here?”

  “I understand,” Jamie assured him and went through the door to find her…

  He silently cursed her blistered and bloody feet. Singed hair. She was asleep, passed out on the cot. He knelt before her. Jiminy cricket. She wasn’t a girl anymore.

  The girl had been a pen pal to him and his sister.

  Marguerite Fuentes was a woman; a young woman but not a child at all. “Abuela?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  She sucked in a breath and tensed on the cot.

  He spoke softly. “Hey, it’s me. Jamie.” He smoothed his hand over her head.

  “Jamie?” she said in a pretty Hispanic accent.

  “In the flesh,” he answered, breathing in relief.

  “I can’t believe it. You are here, and I am meeting you.” She sobbed again but cleared her throat. She sat up, gathered herself, and shook off the last of her sleep. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess. I walked so far. I didn’t know. My grandmother said you would come, but I didn’t believe—”

  He put a hand at her waist, tension rolling through him. “Right now, we have to go. Can you walk?”

  “Si.” She stood, but her leg gave out. “Mierda!” Her face paled. “I’m so sorry. Something happened yesterday.”

  She talked a lot.

  Jamie helped her sit back on the bed and pulled up her pant leg. He hissed. A gruesome tear across her calf had stopped bleeding but was swollen and draining.

  “I soaked it when I got here,” she said defensively, her words a breath from his ear as they were head to head bent over her poor legs and feet.

  “You need a doctor.” He tried to hold back the anger that coursed through him.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  A knock at the door below the window had them both straightening and holding their breath. Padre spoke to the newcomers, but the words were unclear and muffled. Jamie picked Marguerite up. She didn’t flinch or make a noise—good girl—just held on tightly around his neck with her slim arms.

  He quietly tracked back through the monastery and in minutes, he was outside. He stuck close to the building and headed east until he came to the fence line that cut the church’s property in half—churchyard and cemetery. The ridgeline at the back of the property became his focus as the town of a few scattered buildings and the church disappeared behind them. He dropped off the edge along a well-worn trail, scrambling to keep his feet under him as he plummeted toward the river. Branches whacked him. “I’m sorry,” he said when a good-sized thatch tugged at his clothes, threatening to take them both down.

  She only held on tighter. “Hurry, Jamie.”

  His heart tightened at the warning, the way she used his name with familiarity.

  The crack of a rifle shot echoed through the little valley. He crouched, all of his senses spiking into overdrive, as he moved even faster.

  The smell of the wet dirt and the growing moss along the water line warned him to slow. His feet began to sink. His legs protested the additional weight. He lost a shoe to the sucking noise beneath him.

  The men at the top of the hill gained on them, their shots wild.

  Pain seared his shoulder, and he grunted then dropped to his knees.

  “Jamie!”

  He gritted his teeth and rose again. “Almost there,” he managed to get out.

  The familiar cross-shaped tree a few meters ahead warned him to drop down into the water. Two strides later, his knee bumped the hull of the small zodiac. He leaned over, pain ripping through him, and dropped Marguerite against the side. “Lo siento,” he whispered. “¿Estás bien?”

  Blood soaked the back of his shirt now. He was going to need help, and soon.

  “I am fine. L
et’s go,” she said quickly as she scooted toward the bow.

  He jumped in and started the small—yet powerful—engine. “Stay down,” he ordered, keeping his own head low in order to reduce the dark profile of their escape through the moonlight.

  She curled up tight, her head resting on the canvas side.

  Jamie kept to the shore until he’d steered the boat through four turns, two miles from their starting point. On the fifth turn, he slowed and hit the opposite shore, looking for any sign of his friend. His vision wavered. “Shit.”

  A hand came out and grabbed the side of the zodiac and pulled it in.

  “Tom, thank God,” Jamie whispered. “Did the transportation come through?”

  A friend from years ago, Tom wagged a pair of keys in front of his face. “This time tomorrow you’ll be back in your precious Belize.”

  Jamie stood and then leaned…way over.

  “Shit.” Tom grabbed him this time and lifted him from the boat. “Stupid little shit.”

  Jamie groaned as Tom’s hand felt for the wound in his shoulder. “Just need you to wrap it up.”

  Tom eyed him. “But—”

  “I’ll get it checked first thing. Just wrap it up.”

  Marguerite moved behind him. “You’ve been shot?”

  “No biggie,” he said, keeping his eyes on Tom.

  Tom held his gaze for an instant. “That’s right. No biggie. You’ll be on your way in a jiffy.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “A friend. Let’s get away from the water. Up by the truck.”

  Jamie reached for Marguerite, but she pulled away. “I can walk.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  She gave him a look, one he remembered seeing from his mother a time or two. It stopped him, and she didn’t bother stating the obvious—he was hurt. “Tom,” he said.

  His friend stepped up and lifted her into his arms in one fell swoop. It had him very sorry he was shot. At the truck, he leaned against the hood with his hands flat against the hood, the pain sending a few spasms through his shoulder and down his arm.

  Tom gently set Marguerite in the passenger seat, opened the glove box, and came back with a first aid kit in his hand. He strapped a headlamp to his head and clicked it on.

  “What are you—” Marguerite rose in the seat of the open Jeep.

  “It’s okay,” Jamie said to reassure her.

  “But—”

  “I’ve done this before, ma’am. Promise, I’ll be nice.”

  Jamie noted the strain and worry on her brow, and he smiled at her.

  Tom didn’t waste any time, the friendly asshole. Almost as if he enjoyed it, he pressed gently around the wound. “Not too deep. You got lucky, bastard.”

  And then he poured a liquid over the wound.

  Pain exploded behind Jamie’s eyes. He braced himself, and an instant later, only a throb remained. Fucking throb, though. “Holy shit, that hurts,” he admitted as Tom pressed gauze into the wound and patched his shoulder.

  He gave the wounded left shoulder a slap, making Jamie bite back a swear word.

  “Get that out as soon as you can. But don’t stop in Mexico,” Tom said. “If the Martinez Cartel gets to you, you’ll disappear for good, amigo.”

  “Wait, there’s a bullet in there?”

  His gaze found Marguerite. He’d come illegally into this country to get a girl he hardly knew. But that wasn’t true either.

  “It’s not deep or serious.”

  She worried her lip. “Second thoughts?” Her direct approach startled him.

  “No,” he answered, no hesitation. Geez. He shook his head and turned to Tom. “Thank you…again.”

  He’d never questioned coming for her even though he knew it was going to change his life forever. He climbed in behind the wheel, checked all the instruments, and pressed on the brake. Tom had disappeared into the dark.

  “Looks like we’re on our own, now.”

  Her pretty brown eyes studied him…weighed his words…and then she nodded. “Okay.”

  She trusted him, and for the first time in his life, the weight of such responsibility brought nerves to his stomach. He blew out a breath, releasing the tension that crawled through his belly.

  “Have you ever been to Belize?”

  Chapter One

  Punta Gorda, Belize

  Present Day

  Marguerite Bellamy Fuentes—Missy—laughed, lifted Reuben into her arms, and leaned carefully over the edge of the boat so the wake sprayed them both in the face. The breeze that swept up off the water caught the sound of her voice and wrapped it around Jamie Nash’s heart.

  He throttled down so the boat slowed in the water. On a sunny day like today, people and boats filled the water. Fishing boats came and went, like clockwork—sunshine or not—but today was for the vacationers. Today was for his business—The Shack, scuba diving, fishing, and boating.

  He couldn’t resent the loud raucous noise of the young party groups on their large boats. During the quieter morning moments, those same people would visit his shop, looking for something different to do, something other than drink.

  No one wanted to leave Belize and go home with nothing to show for it, so they’d make their way to his shop for that excursion on the water, for pictures to post on Instagram and Facebook.

  Some days, like today, a local family would come down for an outing, so he gave them a deal. Reuben was a regular down at the dock, always full of questions for Jamie. His dad wasn’t in the picture anymore. His mom worked full time to support them.

  Missy laughed again, at the same time as she wrangled their young friend into her arms in order to keep him from jumping overboard, making Izaneth giggle. The older sister of Reuben was shy, still afraid of the water. Not like her little brother at all.

  Jamie turned the boat quickly as one of the speed boats flew by with its crew of young people.

  “Whoop!” Missy laughed behind him and took a step into the rocking of the boat.

  He worked to subdue the irritation at the other boat’s carelessness.

  He didn’t like the internal proof of how much he’d changed, of how old he’d gotten. But when the younger crowd circled his boat and cut across in front of him again, he scowled and picked a spot off to the west to head away from the rowdier group. Looking back at Missy, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would rather be on a boat with loud music, with young people who drank the afternoon away.

  Jamie scratched at his cap of hair and set his hat back down on his head. Shit. What had happened to time?

  “Ahoy!” Missy called from the stern, and when he turned to look at her, she lifted her brows in question as if to ask, what’s going on? He was distracted today.

  Steering around another group of boats that had dropped anchor in order to swim, he waved back at her and began their slow meandering cruise back toward home, staying closer to shore.

  It reminded him of home, in Tampa. It reminded him he wanted to marry Missy—like, yesterday would have been nice.

  She held him off. She said her reluctance wasn’t because of his job. It felt like his job, like if she just kept him at arm’s length, he couldn’t hurt her if he disappeared—as her father had. But he knew her.

  Tomorrow, he was leaving again on a job with Hawk Elite Security, this time for an assignment to Colombia. And lately, every time he left, a funny feeling would settle in his chest. He rolled his shoulders, taking the wheel in a turn through the waves as he sped up again, noting every detail: the position of the sun, the orange glow shining off the windows of their bungalow on the shore, the sweet scent of earth that stayed close to the shore on this southern part of Belize, and the school of sharks playing in the waves.

  The other boats crisscrossed the waves beyond them. He kept an eye out for the speed boat, but it seemed to have taken off.

  He loved living near the water, had grown up on the Gulf outside Tampa. It was the main reason Hawk had set him up in this remote location w
hen he’d needed a place for their South American operations.

  At a shout from Izaneth, her Mama took charge, taming the rambunctious brother.

  “Missy.” He nodded out to the water, and she looked.

  Sharks, just twenty meters out now.

  She tapped the boy’s shoulder and lifted him up. “¿Puedes verlos?”

  The little boy clapped his hands as the mother snapped pictures, and his sister hung back by the railing, gripping it with her fist. She’d been the first in her lifejacket at the dock, not wasting any time.

  Jamie pointed the boat south and closed the distance, so the boy might get a glimpse of the sleek bodies beneath the surface of the water. The splash of fins made the boy laugh and the girl’s curiosity grow.

  Reuben pointed. “He’s hungry, si? Because it is dinner time?”

  Izaneth finally came forward, interest winning over the nerves and fear.

  “Sharks will eat any time of day.” Missy slipped into teacher mode behind him, explaining when sharks ate.

  Jamie checked his watch, took one last glance back on the school of sharks—he couldn’t help it, the underwater world had always fascinated him. He turned the boat toward land to end their tour of paradise.

  The careless speedboat came out from the east and buzzed their position in the water. Jamie quickly turned his boat, his heart taking a solid jump. “Jesus,” he hissed when the other boat made another tight circle and came back around. He counter-turned to avoid a collision.

  “Jamie, stop!” The alarm in Missy’s voice had him glancing back. Izaneth, who’d been kneeling against the railing, tumbled over the side.

  “Iza!” Mama yelled.

  He had the boat dead in the water an instant later, and he tossed a marker, and pulled out his flare gun, his eye on the assholes who were clueless about the damage they left in their wake.

  Missy jumped over the side after the girl.

  The speed boat headed back this way, making Jamie’s heart rate increase. Two in the water, and the asshole. He throttled up and moved his boat between Missy and the oncoming disaster.

  “Shit.” The commotion in the water had drawn the attention of the sharks as well.