Strike Fear (Hawk Elite Security Book 2) Page 4

“—much.” He bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a grin.

  Tan looked around at the place. He’d spent his whole life getting away from home and family, but when it came right down to it, he hadn’t changed much. He liked the big furniture and the old afghan his grandma had made him. He kept his old trophies on the shelf, along with the small collection of books he’d started in college. Small being the keyword.

  He didn’t think about security much. Compared to where he’d grown up, this was nothing. No overnight shoot outs. No next door neighbor beating on his girlfriend…or drug deals going down on the corner. No gang warfare. In fifteen years, the only war he’d had to deal with was the one against terrorism. And there were some from the old neighborhood who didn’t like his choices. They wanted him to come back and make a stand, but most kept their distance.

  “Sure. Set me up.”

  “You keep your weapons here?”

  Tan nodded his head down the hall and waved a hand for him to follow. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door at the end of the hallway.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, this was the first thing I did after getting the place.” He’d taken the closet, stripped it down and created a gun locker. “I couldn’t worry about family being here and getting to it, so I built this.”

  “I can put my new system on this thing. Top of the line security system with fingerprint and coded entry.”

  Tan chuckled. “How much?”

  “For you? Fifteen hundred.”

  He grimaced. “Dude.”

  “I heard you were a cheapskate.”

  “I’m smart.” Tan frowned. “Heard shmeard. Jesus. People should shut the fuck up. And what do they know, anyway?” He lived like a man who supported his family. Had since forever. It was one of the reasons he’d joined the military in the first place…and was the reason he’d left, and…hell. “Come back when you can do it for under a grand.”

  Malcolm sighed—sarcastically. “Fine. I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fine. But then you’re coming with me to my mom’s for dinner.”

  “Need moral support?”

  With a sip of his beer, Tan walked back to the kitchen and took out the food and split it in half then took out two plates and a few napkins. “Come on. Eat. Then you gotta go. I’ve got research to do, and a client to protect.”

  His buddy’s smirk almost made him stop, but he blew off the need to defend what he was doing. He’d agreed to protection detail in order to stay near his mom and sister. After all the years away, being in the field and operations overseas, it was his turn to stay back. His time to do some of the personal security for Hawk Elite.

  Hawk wanted to grow that part of the business anyway. Tan could do something good. Do it well. Even if the guys did like to make fun of him. Guard duty. Police patrol. Babysitting, with no disrespect. They said, anyway.

  “What I need,” he said, going to back to the conversation about Sunday dinner, “is a buffer and a good reason to leave at a decent hour.”

  “Ah. I’m your man.” Malcolm said with a grin as he picked his jacket back up. “I’ll be over before noon.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a wave he walked toward the door. “Watch your six out there on patrol.”

  Tan rolled his eyes. “Fuck you. And hey—Mal.”

  Mal looked back.

  “If you need anything, let me know.”

  With a nod of agreement, Malcolm left.

  ~ 5 ~

  Liz didn’t know what to expect, meeting Janice.

  It had been a good five years since she’d seen the woman.

  Nevertheless, she was excited her first applicant on the job was someone who had lived her life—a little. Someone who knew the business, had trained the long hours, and understood the pressures.

  This was a sign she was making the right decision. The added expense and living a little more frugally were exactly what she needed to get to the next level.

  Janice crossed in front of her storefront windows.

  Liz set down her pencil at the glass counter and opened the door. “Hello.”

  Janice walked in. “Hi. And wow. Look at this.” She took a graceful turn inside the store. Liz looked around, seeing through a stranger’s eyes. Janice looked pretty good. In five years, she’d filled out some, but her clothes were stylish. Chestnut hair fell down her back, and her pretty amber eyes were bright with spark.

  “It’s a work in progress, of course. I’ve only been here for a year.”

  “No! It’s wonderful. In a way, it reminds me of our old locker rooms.” She stopped short. “In a good way! It has an energetic feel to it. The costumes, the florescent lighting, the slight chill in the air. And I love the designs you have on the wall.”

  Nodding, Liz looked around. “I never thought about that. Maybe I need a bench along the wall there…And I could find some old used lockers—somewhere.” Excitement slid through her veins. “Come on back. I’ll show you the workshop, and then we can go upstairs to talk business.”

  She showed off her work room, the heart of her business.

  “Oh, all the glitter,” Janice said as she ran a hand over her catalog drawers and opened one. “My costumes were never quite as glamorous as yours.”

  “Nonsense.” Liz opened her closet with rolls of materials lined up on every wall. “Sometimes the most glamorous gown is the simplest elegant design. And I do them all, leaving nothing out.”

  Up the stairs they went, and Liz pulled out her coffee pot. “Coffee?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to.”

  Liz eyed her friend. “I want you to relax, not be nervous.”

  “Coffee is not the answer. Believe me.”

  She laughed. “Gotcha. For myself then.” She peeled a coffee filter from the stack and turned to the coffee pot. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  “Retirement happened.”

  “How old were you when you stopped skating?”

  “Twenty-seven. Old. Unmedaled. Tired.”

  “I understand. I think we all retired exhausted, didn’t we?” Liz laughed as she pressed the on button. “Something to eat?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  She sat down in front of Janice. “I read your resume. You studied finance and business management in Colorado.”

  “My family lived there through the years I trained. As they say, ‘we weren’t natives, but we got there as soon as we could.’ My parents are still there.”

  “You got a job with Edward Jones and ended up in North Carolina.”

  “Took the job after graduation, but I knew it was a stepping stone.” Janice tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I’d like to start my own accounting business.”

  Liz clapped. “Wonderful. You mean, I’m just a stepping stone, too?” She laughed even as Janice blushed.

  “Oh, well, no. Yes.” She chuckled. “How should I answer that?”

  “I think it’s perfect, actually,” she stood and clutched her hands together. “I’m a small business and I need someone to run the books. I’ve been doing it myself for the last year. I suck at it. Royally.”

  “Your head is in the designs.” Janice leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. “Can I get that drink now?”

  Liz grinned. “Yes.” And it was a bit of an unspoken agreement as they sat and talked, about business and about old times, too.

  Within the hour they were sitting back, laughing…like they never had during those intense training years. “We worked too hard, don’t you think?”

  Janice shrugged. “Everything always seemed to come so easy to you.”

  “I wish!” Liz sipped from her second cup of coffee. She’d added enough cream to drown a cat, but she didn’t mind indulging now and again. “Do you still skate?”

  “Sometimes. I teach a class at the rink, for the little ones.” Janice blushed modestly. “You should come down sometime. I bet you’d be great with the kids.”

  “No.” Liz
shook her head. “I don’t skate. Haven’t since, well, since then.” Frick, why couldn’t she say it?

  “None of us could believe it when Gabriel attacked you.”

  Taking a slow breath, Liz forced herself to focus, to remind herself she was stronger now. Her life was hers to order, hers to be in control of… “Sometimes, we don’t know the people closest to us.”

  “What a douchey asshole. I’m so sorry. Of all of us on the team that year, you really could have gone all the way. To the Olympics. To gold.”

  Liz bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

  “You knew then.” Janice patted her arm and then sat back. “You were so confident.”

  But she didn’t remember it that way.

  She remembered the nerves and the excitement and…needing her family, knowing she couldn’t do anything without them to back her up. She remembered looking forward to the end of the year in competition. Wanting to get out of the spotlight, go to school…

  Liz had never been the girl other people saw.

  When Janice left, Liz set about drawing a display for the Expo coming up in March. Her thoughts went to the interview. Connecting with Janice made her nervous, created an excitement, though, too. Having someone else aware of her vision acted as motivation. She couldn’t get away with half-assing now.

  She wasn’t trying to…she’d done nothing half-ass her entire life. She wouldn’t start now. Picking up her purse, she pulled her Chapstick from the outer pocket. Her hand brushed the card Tancredo had given her.

  She rubbed her thumb over the string of numbers at the bottom. Her phone came out next and she entered the info into the new contact page and touched save. Send a text. Just one to confirm the connection.

  She debated the need and argued with herself over doing something that was the equivalent of calling and hanging up.

  Liz Whitney. Thanks for the self-defense session today. See you Monday.

  She hit send before she could change her mind. And because she wasn’t an idiot, she put her phone on silent and set it on the table next to her drawing pad, where she sat with her pencils and sharpies.

  And then she ignored it when the screen blinked as a new message came in. Yup. Strong. Determined. And a little bit crazy. The perfect client for poor Tancredo Byrnes.

  She drew long legs, one leg bent at the knee in a one-foot upright spin. And above the boot of the skate, she added the leg warmers so popular in the eighties—perfect for the routine set to the music of Purple Rain.

  The artistic flair blossomed from her year in therapy, and then after another year in design school, she could finally brag about being competent…or better. She’d found an outlet to take care of what the skating no longer did for her.

  Swirling the royal blue marker over the last of her costume design to give it the tulle she loved so much, her stomach fluttered. “Nerves,” she whispered. “Get behind me.”

  This ice skating exposition was one of the biggest events of the year in the industry. Her chance to show the world her designs and take her business beyond the local market was a discovery—by all the right people—away.

  God, she was so nervous, going up against the biggest names and the most famous designers. Mingling with the people who used to make her costumes.

  Was she good enough? Would they laugh at her?

  She couldn’t stand it if they only saw pity. Poor Elizabeth Whitney, her career cut short. Hardly able to get on the ice, much less skate in the Olympics anymore. Her hands shook as she rolled up the designs and tucked them into the cylindrical tube. Capping it, she finally checked her phone.

  “Shit.” Two hours had passed. A glance through to the front room showed the dark windows of her shop and the glow of the street lights outside. No wonder she was hungry.

  Her heart beat a little faster, noting the unread message on her message icon, and she shrugged and touched the screen. The pounding increased when she saw it was a reply from Tan. And she grinned to herself. “Fool.”

  K. CU

  And she laughed. Yup. Totally deserved that one.

  A pounding on her door brought her back to the moment. She set aside the canister as the pounding continued. “Hold your horses. I’m coming.”

  She liked her door to the alley. Meant she could come and go without detection, without people seeing her. Live under the radar. Three years since her attack, and she still liked the idea of being hidden away. The doctors said it would fade.

  With a shake of her head, she pushed open the heavy exterior door, which led to the alley behind her shop. A gust of wind took it from her hand, and the door bumped into her visitor. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  The door came slamming back toward her, catching her wrist and hand. “Oh!” Pain shot up her arm.

  Just as quickly, the door swung open into the alley, and a kid shoved her inside and through the doorway to her workroom. She stumbled, her heel getting caught on the threshold as he threw a punch. The flight reaction exploded through her. Escape. To the front door.

  His fist connected to her head with brass knuckles force, and she went down only to scramble back and quickly get to her feet. She kicked out, catching the guy in his gut. He bent over, and she ran, crossing into to the shop, freedom a glimpse through those glass panes in front of her. He grabbed her elbow, and she ducked when he went for her head again, tucking her chin, as he jumped her, and they grappled to the floor behind the counter.

  Her elbow got him in the side, yet he shook her off, straddled her waist, and leaned into her neck with long skinny fingers. Adrenaline raced through her veins. By sheer force of will, she gazed into this boy’s eyes, forced herself to see him instead of relive the nightmares of her past. She pulled at his sweatshirt then heard the soft thud of her phone coming out of her pocket.

  Her fingers reached for it and found the small circle button. She pressed it, knowing without a visual, she might as well be holding her niece’s plastic toy phone. The world was going black, and she gave her screen one last desperate swipe as spots filled her vision, scaring her like nothing before.

  He wanted to kill her.

  On a burst of pure survival instinct, she wiggled her arm through his, released the lock in his elbow, and shoved him to the side. Air whooshed into her lungs, giving her an added boost.

  He fought back with renewed gusto and clipped her in the chin with a tightened fist, but she’d broken his winning streak coming back. Stars filled her vision even as she went for his junk. Knees, elbows, hands, reaching and grabbing for anything she could get her hands on as they tumbled across the floor. He hit his head against the glass counter. Her legs kicked out the free-standing clothing rack inside the doorway, knocking it on top of him.

  “Fuck,” he hissed and sent one solid blow to her temple, which knocked her close to unconsciousness. A moan sank through her. Darkness narrowed her vision as he threw her aside.

  The bell from her old-fashioned cash register sounded above her head.

  A five-dollar bill fluttered to the floor in front of her.

  Stupid.

  As her thoughts sank beneath the fog of unconsciousness, Liz listened to the rage of destruction in the back room.

  All her work…

  For a few measly dollars.

  ~ 6 ~

  At first he thought Liz had butt dialed him. An unfortunate butt dial during some serious getting lucky time. He’d almost hung up. But the heavy breathing had turned…sinister. The almost eery silence until the sound of glass rattling and a voice whispering the word Fuck. Then more heavy breathing. He’d grabbed his keys and left. The worse that could happen was she was fine and getting it on with her…whatever.

  Tan parked in front of the store. It was dark inside. Only a light upstairs sent a glow into the dark, foggy night. “Shit,” he whispered. Second thoughts were screaming at him to leave her alone. It was none of his business who she was sleeping with right now. And he certainly didn’t want to get on a weird uncomfortable side of things, not after they’d do
ne so much better yesterday in their second session.

  Fuck.

  No. He put his car into park. Those hadn’t been the sounds of consensual sex, and he never ignored a gut feeling before. He wasn’t going to now.

  He approached the heavy wooden front door and grabbed the handle but found it locked. He leaned in and cupped the glass. It looked quiet. Empty.

  Until a movement caught his eye back near the counter.

  On the floor, Liz pushed herself onto her hands and shook her head.

  He knocked on the glass. “Liz!” His heart beat faster.

  She lifted a hand to touch her head, as if she hadn’t heard him. The street light shone through the glass and revealed a dark smudge marred her cheekbone.

  Tan pounded again and called out to her. “Open the door, Elizabeth.”

  He shook the door against the lock.

  Her gaze found him, and she frowned.

  “Open. The. God. Damn. Door.” Tan kept all senses on alert and scanned the street as Liz came to her feet and stumbled toward the door. “That’s it, Liz. You got it. Open the door.”

  “Hey!” A portly, older man from across the street hurried over. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here, or I’m calling the police.”

  Tan turned and lifted his hands to the obviously protective and grandfatherly neighbor. Tan gestured to Elizabeth’s front door. “I’m trying to help.”

  He let the old man push him aside.

  “Oh, dear Lord.”

  Liz fumbled with the lock a moment before liberating the deadbolt and finally opening the door. The man from across the street rushed in. “Ms. Whitney. Are you okay?”

  She looked uncertainly at Tan, and he stepped up to her, took her chin in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Oh, damn,” he whispered.

  Blood flowed from a gash above her ear, and her hands shook when she reached up self-consciously to fix her hair.

  “We should get you to a hospital.”

  “No,” she spoke sharply. “Please.” Her voice was strained and her eyes took on a bit of a wild look. “I’m fine.”