Strike Back (Hawk Elite Security Book 1) Read online

  “I’m safe with you!” Her voice rose.

  That familiar male panic flared in his eyes. “That’s not what I mean. I just wonder…we could look at our options—”

  “Why?” She leaned forward. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on, right now. I’m sick of this. Sick of this thing between us. You’ve been able to avoid—until now. Spill.”

  Hawk ignored her demand and stood. He held out a hand, his gesture a familiar invitation.

  She wanted to refuse.

  “Come on. I have some explaining to do. Just, not here.” He tucked her under his arm as they left the restaurant.

  “I have things to say, too,” she admitted. Her feet following his, her hand dipping into his back pocket.

  His fingers trailed along her collar bone and sizzled with an unspoken need. “Talk to me.”

  She cleared her throat as his touch turned her to molten desire. “The scooter incident. Thomas. The thief.” And then she remembered those eyes above her in their suite, the blackness, the cold. “It wasn’t a random break-in.”

  Hawk slowed, turned to her, and pierced her with that gaze of his. “Tell me.”

  She shook her head. “He hated me. I couldn’t figure out why. It was there, in his eyes.” She shivered. “I think he would have killed me if his phone hadn’t beeped.”

  Picking up her hand, he rubbed at the empty indentation on her left ring finger and, lifting it, kissed her hand. She’d left her ring behind… “Dang,” she whispered as she pulled her hand free of his.

  “This job.” His words were a whisper of uncertainty.

  “Maybe.” What was he saying? That they should quit?

  “Jamie’s working on identifying your attacker as we speak, and he’s running the drawing through every data base we have access to, and a few we don’t have access to.”

  “I know.” Stacy continued to walk. Hawk rested his arm over her shoulders and pulled her in tight against his side. “This is bigger than me, Nathan. And as much as I want to keep up appearances or not let fear drive us away, I think it might be time to take an active part.”

  His fingers began another slow caress across her collar, which sent her heart racing unexpectedly. A quick side-glance showed him deep in thought, unaware that his fingers roamed, sending a shot of desire through her veins. His happy fingers dipped, just barely, under the edge of her shirt.

  But it was more like he wasn’t aware of what he was doing.

  And she wanted to know what was going on in that head of his.

  She’d wanted him to join the real world, to participate in the vacation for what it was supposed to be. He’d instigated that, even if it had been through an unusual venue.

  “Hawk?” She caught his gaze, found it unfocused.

  “Yeah?” He focused in on her.

  “I can’t teach, not even for you. I like what we do. Working with you satisfies me. I can’t imagine going back to a nine to five type of job.” She tugged on his hand. “Besides, I love our guys too much to abandon them now. This is our company, our life. Why would we let it go?”

  “Because your life matters too much. Your life has been on the line twice this vacation.” He frowned. “It wouldn’t be on the line at all if not for this job.”

  “My life is protected because of this job,” she answered him, scowling at what sounded like him being ready to give up.

  He gripped her shoulders and turned her toward him. He sent a quick glance, first one way and then the other, before he pulled her into an abandoned storefront entryway. The cool of the shaded corner formed goosebumps along her arms, and in an instant, Hawk backed her against the brick wall. The weight of him pressed against her.

  “Talk to me, please.”

  He kissed her instead, and her arms came up, gripped his shoulders as a small moan escaped, fed his surprising frenzy. He devoured her, opened himself to her and trailed kisses to her temple. Then they were mouth to mouth. And she let all thought go, diving into his embrace and reveling in the need to forget.

  “Stacy,” he breathed her name in a way that made her think he would do anything for her. They were making out like a couple of randy teenagers at a Friday night carnival. His lips on hers, demanding and hot. His arousal pressed against her belly.

  She wanted all of it, now.

  He shifted, and the brick poked her in the back. Her sandals wobbled beneath her feet so that after a few seconds she was clinging to him. Thirty-eight. That was the difference. About twenty-some-odd-years too old for making out on the streets of San Ignacio.

  “Hawk,” she gasped.

  He stopped kissing her, wrapped his hands around her rib cage just as she lost her balance, and he lifted her, held her steady, and... Crack. Hawk grunted.

  “Oh no,” she whispered, getting her weight on her own two feet. Hawk released her and took a step back without rising to his full height. Hands on his knees like in a football huddle.

  He lifted his wait-a-minute finger then lowered his head to touch his toes. The gentle crack of his spine brought a wave of queasiness to her stomach. He stretched for another second before standing upright.

  Pressing his lips together, he eyed her.

  For the life of her, she couldn't read him. Should she laugh like she wanted to or pretend nothing had happened in order to save him some pride?

  “We're not as young as we used to be,” she declared.

  Hawk shook his head. He was still obviously in some discomfort, and she was glad to see his lips twitch as he scanned the people moving by them on the sidewalk. When his laughing gaze captured hers, she fell in love all over again. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around her, and they finished the walk to the little hotel.

  Companionable silence hung between them.

  When he continued past the front of their hotel, she grabbed his shirt. “This is it.”

  “Oh.” He looked up and squinted into the night sky. His complexion seemed off. “My mind was wandering.”

  “Yeah?” She waggled her brows.

  Hawk didn't laugh, didn't even chuckle.

  “Hawk?” Stacy faced him, her hand gripping his arm. His eyes didn't focus, and he stumbled. Thoughts of headaches, old wounds and doctor visits slammed into her. “Whoa.” More than alarmed now, she touched his face. “Hey.”

  He broke from her grasp and lifted his hands to cradle his head.

  “Sit down.” She guided him to a wooden bench along the sidewalk and pulled her phone from her pocket. She sifted through her brain for phone numbers―an emergency number, Jamie's number, anything. With fumbling fingers, she started to dial The Shack.

  Hawk's hand swallowed the phone in one snap. Startled, she crouched between his legs and placed her hands on his knees. “You need help.”

  “No. I'm fine.” He paused. “Give me a minute.”

  Her heart pounded as reality set in and adrenaline from the moment before faded. A lump formed in her throat. “What the hell, Hawk?” she whispered.

  Leaning back against the seat, he took a deep breath, the pain from a moment ago apparently easing. The nighttime crowd continued to pass, oblivious to the fact that her world had tilted. The whole age thing had seemed like a joke, and she'd laughed. Now she didn't know what to do. He was only forty-two.

  “I'm okay.”

  Her gaze flew to his. Anger surged through her. At him. At herself, for not seeing sooner. She backed away and crossed her arms over her stomach. The sun was completely gone now, and dusk fell as an imminent precursor to darkness, reminding her that he'd kept her there. “How long, Hawk? How long has this been going on? What does it mean?”

  He stood, steady on his feet again.

  “You said it was only headaches.”

  “It’s a little more than that.”

  “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

  “Stacy.”

  She walked away from him and into the lobby.

  “Wait.”

  She did. She had to. “It’s the scar tissue, isn’t
it?”

  They both stopped at the shiny brass elevator doors, and waited.

  Still, he didn’t answer. Not until they were upstairs and in their room.

  “Yes.” He toed off his shoes and sat down. “It’s got a hold of my optic nerve.”

  “And…?”

  “And I can’t see.”

  “You’re seeing now,” she stated.

  “It’s slowly pinching off the nerves. I get the headaches and then sometimes my vision fades or goes fuzzy.”

  “Okay. Okay,” she repeated. “Okay.”

  When he lifted his brow at her, she just stared for a moment. “I’m processing. What do they plan to do?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the question. I have to go back to see Dr. Carrig.”

  “And that’s it?”

  Hawk blew out a breath and started undressing. “I might go blind. I might have headaches for the rest of my life. I’ll have to give up the company. My men won’t be able to count on me. You won’t be able to count on me—”

  “Don’t talk like that. It’s not true, anyways.”

  “This could affect everything.” Anger exploded around him. “Everything.”

  “I don’t mean to make little of it,” she apologized, throat tightening. “You should have told me.”

  He scowled. “I wanted to be sure. I needed to have a plan.”

  She didn’t get that. Still, even after he’d revealed so much, there was distance between them.

  You didn’t tell him about Michael.

  It was true. She had her own secrets. And now guilt to deal with, because while she’d been making friends with Michael, he’d been dealing with the thought of losing his vision, of being blind.

  They’d had their share of secrets over the years. He still teased her about how she’d been too shy at the beginning of their marriage to tell him she wasn’t actually having an orgasm. Over a year of faking it.

  This was such a huge deal. Brain injury was nothing to ignore. And she didn’t know why he wouldn’t have said something to her. They could have canceled this trip so he could get the care he needed.

  “Do you have a plan now?”

  “No. What I have now is a full-blown clusterfuck, thank you very much.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  “With you at the center of it.”

  She opened her mouth to object, except for the truth that they’d been discussing.

  Stacy sighed. “Okay, so we make it work. We fix it. You tell me when this kind of thing happens, Hawk. You’ve always had my back. It’s my turn to have yours.”

  She could tell that freaked him out a little, too.

  When she finally got into bed, she curled into Hawk’s side.

  Maybe she could easily see the distance between them, but in bed was no time to allow it, so she reached out a hand to cover his.

  And as she dropped off to sleep, Hawk’s arm came around her, his leg crossed over hers, pinning her to the bed beside him, and he pulled her close.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daniel had disappeared again.

  The irritation that threatened to unhinge Miguel rose to the surface. He had no doubt his son would return. The boy was too bold and full of himself not to.

  So he would wait patiently. First for his son to return, and then for Stacy to return. Though nothing would have killed Hawk’s will and pride more than having his wife choose Michael, Miguel could be flexible. His original plan to bring her to her knees might have been more satisfying. Revenge was funny that way. It wasn’t picky. Miguel would use another method.

  Daniel would help. Miguel had learned a lesson about Daniel’s growing independent streak, and in the end, he would use his son’s new-found passion so they would both get what they wanted.

  Ten years had given him such an ache.

  Finally, he would have his day. He would take from Hawk what had been taken from him.

  Miguel sighed as he went to the back porch of the old property on the north side of Punta Gorda and flipped the electrical breakers on the box at the back of the house. The kitchen and the bedroom lights shut down. He emptied his vehicle. Brown bags of groceries for the next week. His own small bag with extra clothes. And then finally, his weapons cases. Two Walthers, ammo, a set of knives, and last but not least…

  Miguel lifted the lid of the box compartment at the bottom of the case.

  Two bars of C4. Three detonators.

  His fingers brushed the roll of wire, shook a little at the anticipation of the fireworks to come.

  It was time to narrow the field, bring the players to him.

  The backdoor slammed shut. His son had arrived.

  “Where have you been?”

  Daniel shrugged. “I had business.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes,” Miguel corrected without even thinking about it. He scowled. “Your business is here now. Anything you feel needs to be done goes through me first.”

  The mulish gleam in his son’s eyes predicted the fight on his tongue. Daniel merely scoffed and made his way to the fridge. “There’s nothing to eat.”

  “I have the room at the hotel for a few more nights. It wouldn’t do to disappear without a trace, yet. That would only raise questions.” Miguel zipped the case in front of him.

  “Nathan Hawkins and Stacy are on vacation with no care for you.”

  Carefully lifting the case, he brought it through the doorway and into the living room. A folding table and two chairs sat on the opposite wall under a window. “Daniel,” Miguel called out to him, ignoring the disdain and the underlying bitterness of his son’s tone. “I need a chair. Go get one.”

  “What the hell do you need a chair for?”

  “For our visitors,” Miguel answered with the patience of a saint. Daniel had learned obstinacy during his time in the States, with his aunt. He regretted those years. Desperate without Nina, he had no one but his sister to turn to. He hadn’t known what to do with such a young boy. He’d had a business to pull out of the barrel. And he’d worked to get back on top, in a place where he could move freely across the globe.

  He’d plotted his revenge. The grief slowly morphed, sending a shot of satisfaction through his veins, and he spoke to himself. “This is why you are here. You have taken care of the infidels who would destroy your stronghold.”

  He relaxed, blew out a breath. He’d had a setback, but he was still on track. He turned.

  Daniel stood at the wall, leaning against it, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He nodded to Miguel. “Now it is time for him to pay.”

  The hard glint returned to his son’s eye.

  A flash of something unexpected had him looking hard at his son. Pride. Not a man yet, but learning the rules. “You will do well.”

  Daniel shrugged, his youth still obstructing his pleasure of the job at hand. “What we’re doing doesn’t need to be done well.”

  With great satisfaction, Miguel smiled.

  The lessons were about to begin.

  ***

  The sound of Hawk’s voice woke Stacy from a restless sleep at―she glanced at the night table―four in the morning. It took her a moment to remember where she was―a hotel, inland. Releasing her breath, she waited another minute for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. Something was wrong. She knew it like she knew Hawk was no longer in bed with her. He stood in the corner, to the right of the window, casting his shadow across the room.

  The air zapped with an electric tension, causing the hair on her arms to rise. Hawk's voice rose then lowered, a rollercoaster of quiet sound. She held her breath and struggled to hear the conversation.

  And then she heard it. One word. Philippines.

  And she frowned. They’d had enough trouble already. She sat up and ran a hand through her hair then stretched the muscles in her back and shoulders as she waited.

  “What happened?”

  “That was Jamie. His place was broken into tonight.”

  “Wha
t?” Alarm raced through her. “Is he okay?”

  “He says he’s okay.”

  “We should go. We never should’ve left.” She started packing, her heart up in her throat. Because she hadn’t done what she told herself to do. She was being chicken, as if whatever he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. It was sure as hell hurting her.

  He came to her, held her face in his hands, and as he led her to the bed, he massaged the tension from her shoulders at the same time. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  He knelt in front of her. “I think this is the end of our vacation.”

  The disappointment that washed through her was actually relief. “I don’t think calling this a vacation is even fair.”

  “No. You’re right.” He pushed her to sit, and went to the little fridge in the corner for a bottle of water. Handing it over, he leaned over and kissed her head. “Let’s pack, get a car.”

  She grabbed his hand before he could walk away, stopping him and making him come back. He smiled down at her. “There will be other vacations.”

  “Definitely.” His reassurance was enough right now, because two days ago, she’d wondered if he was leaving her for good, if he’d had enough.

  Hawk cupped her face, leaned down, and thoroughly kissed her mouth. Then he rose as if to go and squeezed her breast through the tank she wore instead. Such a familiar touch, and she backhanded his rear in pseudo offense as he walked away.

  “I’m taking a quick shower.”

  “Kay,” she said, watching him, so strong and lean and not looking weak at all. “Hey, we’ll make the over-fifties dance now that we’re going back early.”

  Hawk grimaced. “Whoo-hoo.”

  She grinned. “You’ll love it.”

  She changed and finished packing for both of them, and then wandered over to the bathroom door and opened it.

  Hawk stood at the mirror, dabbing a cut on his chin, frustration written on his face.

  “You okay?”

  “Something had happened yesterday after dinner; an ache at the base of my head and pressure behind my eyes.”

  Her heart thumped. “Okay.”

  There was a mass of tissue, unwanted, unneeded and sitting in his head like a ticking bomb. They’d always known this and had been told nothing would come of it—most likely. The mass itself was benign. Scar tissue from a rap to the head he'd taken years ago, during his time in the military—well before his time in Hawk Elite.