Strike Zone (Hawk Elite Security Book 3) Page 3

  But his presence had her blood pumping like it hadn’t in years, making her admit her biggest lie: that she was happy, alone in this little seaside town. She shoved the thought aside.

  He turned and caught her in his direct gaze.

  She was happy.

  Her heart pounded as he came her way.

  Be cool. Calm. You can say no to anything. You are the master of your destiny.

  And then he sat. “Emily Rogers?”

  “No,” she answered. See, that wasn’t so hard.

  “No?” His confusion confirmed her suspicions.

  “No, I won’t come work for you.” She looked him up and down. “Security? Beretta? Winchester? National Rifle Association? It’s not the military. They’d send someone in uniform. And it’s definitely not government. They wear the suits.”

  The man studied her, finally making her nervous. He leaned forward and reached across the table. Every instinct inside of her fought the urge to react, to defend against the unknown threat. But then he stuck his hand out to shake hers. “I’m John Vega.”

  “You’re a bit blond to be a Vega, aren’t you?”

  “We’ve been watered down in the last few generations, but we still got the blood to prove it.” He grinned again and almost made her smile.

  But the nerves flared up again. “How’s your coffee, John Vega?”

  “It’s excellent coffee.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said, unable to hide the bit of pride that cropped up. Studying him, she was struck by feelings from her past—being part of a team and having his confidence. She frowned. Those feelings had been well buried. But his face tugged at some memory, almost as if she’d met him before. “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”

  “Not really. But we almost met—once.”

  Emily leaned in and rested her chin on her hand. “No. I never forget a face. Yours, I would remember.”

  He hesitated the briefest of moments. “There was a lot going on, probably a lot you don’t want to remember. But—”

  Vega. Doha. Qatar. Hotel. The bar. “That’s right.”

  He took a card and handed it to her. “You must get offers all the time.”

  She glanced down and saw a red, white, and blue eagle with the words Hawk Elite across the glossy side of the card. Flipping it over, she found his name, an email, and a phone number. She let out a slow breath. Hawk Elite was well known…and good. “There’s still nothing to talk about.”

  “Please.”

  They all tried so hard.

  But this time, she shrugged, willing to bend. Maybe it was the good looks. She needed to work on getting laid. “You are persistent.” She nodded toward the benches across the street that lined the rocky embankment between the beach and the road. “Wait out there for me. I won’t be long.”

  “Promise?”

  She rolled her eyes and made him grin—and holy moly, her stomach dropped right out of her abdomen. Too confident. Too freaking gorgeous for his own good. She watched the long line of his khaki-clad legs and his tan, sandaled feet stride for her door. Lord help her, she’d forgotten what instant attraction could do to a woman.

  “That man is trouble, Miss Emily.” Callie came up behind her and leaned in. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Emily answered, ignoring the shiver of awareness that ran down her spine.

  Emily rounded the pastry-filled counter and ducked through the doorway to the back room. She counted out the drawer and filed everything for tomorrow morning. Monies went into the safe, trash went out the back door…

  She could sneak out. Right now. Ignore him.

  The alley backed up to the small public library, which was open until six thirty, and one short walk would put her right where she ought to be—hidden amongst shelves full of books. Where in her fake, pretend, wonderful life, she was harmless.

  A car honked as it drove by on the main street, and she jumped in surprise. “Geez. Don’t let a stupid man make you stupid,” she told herself. “Stupid. He’s just a man,” she muttered as she went inside and secured the door. A man who knows things. Knows me.

  Emily stopped behind the counter and watched her visitor sit on the bench with his cell phone to his ear. He looked content, a smile on his face, legs crossed out in front of him, and a touch of breeze, ruffling his hair. Callie was right.

  No matter what he wanted, and she believed he wanted something, John Vega was definitely trouble.

  And it had been a long time since she’d been in any trouble.

  She bit at the smile that came to her lips.

  “The rumors are true. She’s being nice, but…” John said to Hawk as he waited. He rarely waited for anyone, much less a woman. Unless that woman was his mother, of course, or one of his sisters. “She said no before she even knew my name.”

  “We need a shooter, and she’s been in hiding long enough. Something bad happened. I feel for her, but we could really use her. Is she still shooting?”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t gotten that far in our relationship yet,” he answered.

  The door to the shop opened.

  “I gotta go. Call you later.” He touched the screen, disconnecting the call as Emily approached him. She walked with her head held up and her shoulders back, like the woman who’d worked for the FBI. He’d followed her career after the botched Hassan assassination—calm, collected. She hadn’t wavered when the press had demoralized her. And she’d never apologized.

  He liked what he saw. That hadn’t changed in two years. “Would you like to walk?”

  “Walk? How about you can walk me home? In that amount of time, you can make your proposal.”

  Unexpected butterflies filled his stomach as she moved south down the sidewalk. He picked up his pace to keep up. “Well, you see, I’m recruiting for Hawk Elite. Our shooter is on family leave—indefinitely. We hire the best—”

  “Ding, ding, ding,” she interrupted, with a smile to soften the blow.

  “Wait.” He stopped. “This is where you live?”

  They’d gone maybe five steps and stood at the bottom of a set of stairs that rose off the sidewalk to the second floor, above the café. “No wonder you were willing to let me walk you home.”

  She had a smoky, velvet-smooth laugh. He was certain he’d never hear another without comparing it to hers. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. It was like the crush he had two years ago never left.

  And it didn’t even matter that she’d gotten the upper hand.

  “Do you run?” she asked out of the blue.

  He almost sighed. Hawk wanted Emily Rogers on his team. Period. If that meant running, he could manage it. “Sure. When I have to.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She moved up the stairs.

  He would have followed her, but it was like she knew he wanted to, and the look she sent over her shoulder stopped him. John lifted his hands. “I’ll wait right here.”

  She disappeared through the doorway at the top. And he was only fifty-fifty sure she’d come back. But he sat to wait anyway. If he was wasting his time, he was going to do so while he enjoyed the twilight sky over the Atlantic.

  He leaned forward to pull his phone out of his pocket, touched the camera app, and lined up his shot.

  His mom was going to love the colors in this one.

  Ten minutes later, the door above him opened. Emily came out in a slim pair of yoga pants, a tank top, and sunglasses. She wore brightly colored shoes and had a holster under her arm.

  He grinned up at her. “Expecting trouble?”

  “Not necessarily.” A blush rose on her neck. “What are you doing there?”

  “Taking a picture of the ocean at sunset.”

  “Oh.” She narrowed her eyes, perhaps suspicious again.

  He liked that about her. She’d fit in well with Hawk’s team. If they couldn’t be called misfits, they at least knew how to hold out on trust to the very end. “I send them to my mom,” he explained.

  She laughed, her ey
es sparkling from the rays of the setting sun. “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She took the last step to the sidewalk. “I like to run at the end of my day.”

  “Okay,” he said, waiting for the catch. He knew she wasn’t interested in the job, so what was she playing?

  “Let’s race.”

  He lifted his right foot, took his sandal off, and tossed it onto the steps, then repeated the action for his left foot. Shoeless. He had five brothers and three sisters. In the middle, he’d been raised to keep up with the older ones or chase after the younger ones. Shoes were optional. “Ready?”

  She chuckled as she lunged into a stretch. “Almost.”

  He stretched as well. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

  “Oh, really.” She snorted.

  “And if I win, you hear me out.”

  A light came to her eyes. “And if I win, you leave me the hell alone.”

  Chapter Two

  “Not sure I can do that,” he said. This guy had Boy Scout written all over him. Maybe that was why she let her guard down, invited him into her quiet, secure life.

  Didn’t matter. “I’m afraid you better win, then.” She nodded down the beach. “To the lighthouse?”

  He looked out down the beach and lifted a brow. “You first.”

  He seemed so easygoing, so laidback. Maybe he could run…

  She shrugged and ran, knowing her head start would be his undoing.

  Familiar with the route, she crossed the street and took a direct route over the rock divide, then side-leapt to the flat-topped boulder before jumping down onto the sand of the beach. Her legs ate up the distance.

  But she could hear him behind her, and she considered what it would be like to say yes this time. Had she been waiting for a reason to say yes?

  At the halfway point, he started gaining, so she clicked up her efforts a notch. She did have her pride to consider, after all. She ran toward the water and the hard-packed, wet sand, which gave her a bit of an advantage. She used it, sprinting forward.

  With twenty yards to go, he pulled beside her. He wasn’t quite at ease, though.

  She refused to break her stride by looking his way. But in the last five yards, huffing breath and all, he shot ahead.

  Distracted, she stumbled. Crap, the man could run. Those cargo pants. He’d taken time to remove his shirt, and his rolled pants revealed the definition of his calves—smooth skin, hard muscle. She looked up and almost stopped at the determination on his face. He was running hard, especially without shoes. And watching all that sweet muscle in motion tripped her up.

  But she wouldn’t let him get the best of her, not yet. And she kicked in her last reserve. Reaching, reaching…

  Shit. He pulled ahead again and touched the abutment—the large boulders that surrounded the land that jutted off the shore where the lighthouse stood, looking out to sea and guiding people home.

  They breathed hard in unison.

  John bent over, taking in air like an asthmatic, and for a moment Emily felt bad.

  “I won,” he wheezed, and the moment was gone.

  She rolled her eyes and took the chamois from her waistband to wipe the moisture from her neck. “Barely.”

  “Barely counts,” he huffed out. “My God, woman. You run like a cheetah.”

  “Geez, did you just call me a cheetah?” She smothered a giggle and cleared her throat. Nice one, you idiot. Fall for the charm.

  “Run like a,” he answered, with that grin. “Come on. Go to dinner with me. The boss will pay.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped. “Okay.” The night was full of surprises.

  The walk back up the beach cooled her off, drying the minimal sweat from her skin. Usually, she ran a few miles. This had been—fun. Not even worth a shower. Not when there was a good-looking man—

  Stop.

  Good-looking guys were a dime a dozen in her industry, in the military. In and of itself, that shouldn’t be impressive. They walked, and awkward silence filled the air. Almost as bad as that date with Danny MacDougal in eleventh grade.

  Only John smelled way better, and he held the door—like a gentleman. Standing in the doorway like he did, she had to sidestep to avoid touching him. Intuition was screaming at her that touching him was probably a huge mistake. He came up behind her, and then moved into the dining area and picked the booth in the corner. Exactly where she always sat.

  She breathed a sigh of relief at having the wall at her back, even if it meant John was now next to her instead of across from her. She shrugged at his questioning look. “I guess we have something in common after all.”

  “So, tell me what made you open the coffee shop.”

  “Small talk, huh? I was thinking you could make your proposal. I could say no. We could eat. And then I would go home.”

  “You’re going to eat anyway, and we haven’t even ordered. Talk.”

  Emily rolled her eyes as the waitress walked up. “What can I get you, Emily?”

  The twinkle in Sally’s eye was a sure sign the town gossips would be very busy tonight. “A water for me.”

  Sally looked at John.

  “Iced tea for me. And a burger and fries.”

  Emily liked how he didn’t hem and haw over what to order. His direct nature assured her he wasn’t going to mess with her. “And you can give me the chicken salad croissant,” Emily said, and set the menu back into the holder against the wall. “Thank you, Sally.”

  John smiled for the waitress then gave his undivided attention back to Emily. “So.” He looked at her, his eyes all eager and…innocent and friendly. Holy shit, this guy couldn’t possibly be real. “Tell me about the bakery. How you ended up here in this little town.”

  She thought about what to tell him, realizing in all the years working in government agencies, she’d never really gotten on a personal level with her coworkers…to the extent of sharing her past. As much as Richard had known about her past, even he’d only brushed the surface. Funny, this was the first guy to come around and start on her personal life.

  “My mom used to bring me down here for a week every summer. We’d rent a place on the strand—that’s the bit of realty along the coast, north of town. Back then, it wasn’t quite the coveted location. Prices weren’t so steep. We never stayed very long. There was—”

  Stop talking. He doesn’t need to know your history. He didn’t ask.

  “What?”

  She stared at him, wondering if her attraction to him could possibly be as simple as time—and how long it had been since she’d been with, dated, or otherwise interacted with a man. Her stomach clenched, and she sighed. It might be time to agree to that date with George Sedley. Scratch the itch. “It was a place to escape every year. And when I left my job, it seemed the perfect place to go. The coffee shop, that was pure luck. The family who owned it wanted to retire, and I had some savings set aside and an unused business degree, so—”

  Sally approached with their food and set a plate in front of each of them.

  Emily didn’t realize how hungry she was until the smell of fresh bread was under her nose. She ate, thinking about his question. Her life might be quieter now, but there was something alive about the simplicity of it. She really did enjoy it, even if there were bouts of stir crazy that kept her from falling asleep at night. “Tell me about Hawk Elite.”

  John finished chewing then sipped his tea. He cleared his throat and brushed a hand through his hair. “Hawk is looking for a sniper.”

  She carefully placed her napkin on the table next to her plate. Even though she’d known it was coming, she’d still hoped he might be different. No, there was more. Like the fact that this was a man who might be able to get her to say yes. “You already know my answer is no.”

  She’d left the agency and buried that part of her life. He said he’d been there that day, but he was a damn liar to say that and say he wanted her on his team. Her career ended the day she shot that lit
tle boy.

  “That easy for you, huh?”

  “To say no? Hell yes. I don’t work anymore. You don’t want me.”

  “Hawk wants you,” he said. “And what Hawk wants, Hawk gets.”

  Their food arrived, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

  He lifted his hands. “Not at all. I don’t drag women kicking and screaming. I only come to ask.”

  “Well then, your answer is no.”

  “You’re scared because of what happened. But what if you came out and visited our headquarters? Hawk Elite is different.”

  Emily stilled in her seat. “I doubt it. No offense, of course.”

  He snorted a laugh. “None taken. But I still think you could give it a chance.”

  Her hand shook a little, and she kept her eyes on the door and the windows up front. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  His big hand came out and rested on hers. He turned her hand over and ran his thumb over the edge of her palm. “Still shooting,” he whispered, and then looked up into her eyes. “Hawk wants the best. You’re the best.”

  She curled her fist. “I don’t remember you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Sometimes, I wish I could remember more of the details. There were so many people crowding the joint operations center that day. After—” She took a bite as nerves fluttered through her system. “After the fiasco of the media, I didn’t resurface for two whole weeks. I know the exact minute, actually.” She’d never talked about it before. Even in all those post-op briefings and therapy sessions. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this with you.”

  “I’m easy to talk to. I don’t really get it myself, and sometimes, I don’t even really like it, but that’s the way it’s been my whole life. People talk to me.” He tilted his head. He was unassuming and interested. Just plain trustworthy.

  She cleared her throat. “My mom used to crochet. All sorts of things. Blankets. Sweaters. Baby wraps for the neighbors. After she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she might have slowed down a little, but she kept going. And in her most lucid moments, she’d say to me, ‘Use it or lose it, Em.’” Emily looked up at John. “I still shoot occasionally. I’m good at it. But nowadays, I shoot for the fun of it—at paper targets.”