Strike Back (Hawk Elite Security Book 1) Page 8
“Yeah.” She sighed.
“I’m sorry you had to find him.”
She waved his concern away. “I was with a friend. Michael.”
Jamie lifted a brow.
She had to believe it was her conscience and subconscious that made her say that. Really, maybe she’d been feeling off about it. After this morning, needing to rely on someone…Stacy hadn’t liked that one little bit.
“You’re thinking again.”
“I’m strong, Jamie, aren’t I?”
He came up to here and used his thumb and finger to feel her bicep. “Sort of.”
She nudged him and laughed. “I mean inside. I can handle seeing a dead body, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” he answered without any hesitation. “Don’t you remember our time in Colombia?”
“Oh, shit.” She started to eat the food, and “Oh, my God. This is so good.” She waved her fork. “Not like that time in Colombia.”
“No kidding. Stranded for three days on that river?”
“It was the getting out that really made our mission harrowing, bloody.”
“Dangerous,” he added. “You’re not good enough, Stacy—”
“Hey.” Her heart fell a little.
“You’re good. You’ve always been an integral part of the team.”
Slowly, she chewed her food and studied him. “Why are you saying all of this?”
“Because you want back in and Hawk wants to keep you safe.”
“He does? He said that?”
Jamie shrugged. “Not really, but you know it’s true. And for good reason.”
She frowned. “Not good reason.”
The look he sent her was full of disappointment, and she scowled, getting up from the table to walk some of the restless from herself.
“He’ll come around.”
He offered her hope.
“Have you talked to him yet?”
She shook her head. “It’s in the middle of the night over there.”
“You think he cares?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.” She threw her hands up. “Fine, not.”
“That’s better. I have to go over to Thomas’ mom’s house. You want to come with me?”
God, no. She didn’t want to face that kind of pain. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s go.”
***
Finding that kid worked almost to perfection.
Stacy had been putty in his hands. She’d leaned on him. He’d felt powerful, ready to take his life back.
Miguel walked by the market Stacy frequented. He’d been following her and every day, she’d come here to Pablo and Francesca’s stand. Because, like his Nina, she was kind. She’d taken the death of that stupid boy very hard. He felt bad about that.
But it had been necessary.
Miguel walked the main road for a short distance. Dinner was going to be his turn. Time to up the ante. Time, of course, was running out.
She might be friendly with him. She just hadn’t realized yet how much he could do for her. And he was a good-looking man. He drew women in.
He’d drawn her in. They were friends now because he demanded it.
And soon, he would have her, too. And finally, after ten years, his revenge would be filled. And Hawk would feel his pain and pay—for the rest of his life.
Approaching the main doors with his bag of fruit from the market, he could see Stacy at the desk, laughing with the concierge. She wore form-fitting running shorts, which hugged her rear, and a tank top. He tilted his head. Yes, she would do well for the little time he’d have with her.
Toned muscle covered her smaller frame. Perhaps smaller than he liked on top. Her full backside made up for it. Not too big, of course…a slim neck. Having his hands there—tight against her pulse.
“Oh, excuse me.” A pretty girl bumped into him, broke into his thoughts. Her smile, an invitation. “Hey! I’ve seen you around. You going in?”
Miguel shrugged, pulled down on his fedora hat in a nod, and grinned. He crooked his elbow. “May I escort you?”
“Certainly.” She took his elbow.
Stacy waved to him as he came through the lobby, and he lifted a hand in greeting because Michael would.
“You know just about everyone, don’t you?” The blonde drew his attention back to her. “Must be those good looks.”
“Looks are for youth, my dear.” He sent her a side glance, saw the rapid pulse in her neck, and satisfaction filled him. “Charm and action win a woman over beauty, every time.”
She snuggled her arm deeper into his and pressed against him. Each curve beneath her soft cotton clothing a promise. “Mmm, charm. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
She threw her head back in a laugh free of inhibitions that screamed sex. She reached into her pocket, manipulating the shrug and revealing the generosity of her breasts, and pulled a key card. “My afternoon is free.”
The woman slid the card down the front of his silk shirt, over his abdomen, stopping just short of his waistband. Desire tightened in his gut. It would be so easy to take her up on the offer. Relieve the tension building inside of him.
Miguel drew a finger over the swell of her breast, caught the stark look of desire in her gray eyes.
Too easy.
Silently, he sighed. “Are you here with someone?”
A slight flush rose on the woman’s neck as she laughed. “With someone? No. I— of course not.” Her indignation grew. Her chin lifted, and a spark flared in her eyes.
“Well, that, at least, is something. Unfortunately, I have my eyes set on another.”
“Unfortunately for you.” The woman thrust her card into the key slot and pulled on the handle, opening the door part way. “Good day.”
The door slammed in his face. And for a moment, he regretted the loss of her fire. She would, no doubt, be a tiger between the sheets. But meeting her, feeling the rage of his own needs, made him realize.
There was only one for him now.
One who could satisfy not just his flesh.
His satisfaction required retribution and revenge.
For his wife.
For his daughter.
He found her in the pool, doing laps, pleased at her unending store of energy. From running, finding dead bodies, to swimming within a day.
He dropped his towel on a chair, his bottle of suntan oil on the table, and stripped off his shirt.
Rain might have been in the forecast for tomorrow. Today showed no signs of it. The sun beat down, and the temperature had risen steadily through the morning. He felt good about today, which would lead to tomorrow, and then, who knew?
At the side of the pool, he dangled his legs in the water and waited for Stacy to finish.
She must have seen him before pulling through her next stroke because she stopped mid-lap and smiled at him. “Michael.” Another smooth stroke had her treading water beneath him. The ache of arousal that hadn’t quite disappeared made itself known.
Miguel took a deep breath, releasing that tension.
The first woman might have been too easy. This one was too soon. Not while Hawk was MIA. No. When he took her, it would be with Hawk watching.
“How has your day been?” he asked, softly splashing her with his foot when she came close enough.
A sweet blush rose on her cheeks, and she swam to the edge. “I’m still processing. I met his mother. She was destroyed.”
The regret that filled him was real.
“He had a little sister. He supported them.” Her hands gripped the cement edge. “It’s not fair.”
“You are right.”
“You know,” she said, surprising him with her intuition. No, alarming him. Her eyes held compassion.
“Yes. I know about unfairness. Life. I lost a loved one once.”
“I’m so sorry, Michael.”
His heart pounded the first beat of true affection. The kind he’d felt only once before. “I was married. A long time ago.”
“She was killed.”
“Oh, no!” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
He smiled, placed a hand over hers and then let go. There was chemistry here. His heart beat a little harder at her touch. “It was a long time ago. Perhaps the pain never goes away.”
“One day at a time?”
Yes, the connection. “Indeed. One day, one relationship, one more trip to another spot on the globe where reminders of her don’t exist.” He shrugged, felt the brush of her arm on his again. “Love so true is hard to find.”
“And some never get the chance to find it at all.” She was thinking of the young boy. He could see it in her eyes.
“True.”
“I can’t imagine my life without Hawk. It’s true, we’re not perfect, and God knows right now things are…difficult, yet finding him once was beyond me, more like a miracle. To have to find that again? Well, I think it would be fair to say, that’s impossible.” Stacy shaded her eyes from the late afternoon glare.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Miguel used his sympathetic face. “Of course, I wondered. You speak of him on occasion. Maybe soon, I meet this superman of yours. Yes?”
She studied him, her eyes so stark in their bluish-purple color. He could see her hesitation. He clapped inside. He’d hit that target, confirming his beliefs. Trouble in paradise.
“We’re just regular people sometimes. He wants to protect me.”
He’s going to do a piss poor job of it.
“I want more.”
I could give you more. But he couldn’t say those words. He couldn’t fulfill them. He knew, deep down, she would just be a tool. Too bad.
“It’s natural for a man to protect his home, his family.”
She gave him a sound of disbelief and rose from her seat. Then she stopped and turned back to him. “Maybe you’re right.”
He took her hand, looking up into the glow of the sun to see her face. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand and the pulse in her neck fluttered. She swallowed, as if suddenly uncertain. He let go and slid from the pool deck into the water. “Go on. I’m going to swim a lap or two before I get ready for dinner.”
She stood above him, gloriously ripe, toned legs that were a gorgeous contrast to her perfect hourglass shape. And his hands itched to hold, squeeze, take.
As she walked away, he let life wash through him and exhumed the buried rage. He saw that day with the clarity of a big screen television. He had spent millions to protect his business and in one afternoon realized he should’ve protected his family instead.
His body automatically turned at the end of the pool. Years of holding onto his control allowed him to work the anger through his muscles and release it into the air and water.
He had plans for Nathan Hawkins, and they included that sentimental wife. With all he’d learned on this excursion, his idea had grown.
He had to plan. He had to think.
He took the ladder to the pool deck and watched a young man approach.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He smiled as he wrapped a towel from the shelf around his waist. “What can I do for you?”
“A fax came in.” The boy handed over the paper.
Taking it, he thanked him. He slipped into his sandals and took the stone path to the side door of the lobby and entered. “Ah, Mr. Richards.” Roberto gave a polite, customer service smile. Miguel had seen him with the Hawkins, though, and was disappointed again when the man refused to warm up to him. “I’m so glad to hear that your son will be joining us. Please. If there is anything I can do, let me know.”
Miguel frowned. “I expect my communications to be taken with discretion, Roberto.”
“Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir. Faxes do come through an open line, Mr. Richards.”
Miguel scanned the message first, double-checked the number, and didn’t recognize it.
Checking-in in two days. Why didn’t you tell me your lady friend was with you? I could have joined you much sooner. Wouldn’t you say it’s about time you finished this thing? Tied the knot? Haha. Don’t get started without me, though. I can help you make it real tight.
Your devoted son. Daniel
The flash of anger seared him. Daniel could ruin everything with his loose tongue.
Even if he was a good boy usually, he needed some guidance. His anger was in the right place. Miguel would have to teach him how to use it—for good.
***
The more she didn’t hear from Hawk, the more nervous she got. It had been twelve hours since she talked to him last, two days since he’d left. Why was it taking so long? Why was he deliberately keeping her out of the loop?
Dinner had seemed like a good idea this morning, but talking about Hawk with Michael reminded her of where she belonged. Maybe Michael had done that on purpose. He did seem to be sensitive to the fact that she was married, never truly crossing over the line of friendship.
She’d blown off the warning signs of her own human weakness because…
Because she was ridiculously thirty-something, she was obviously not the available—or desirable—kind. No one wanted a thirty-something-year-old mother, even if she had lost fifteen pounds and was in the best shape of her life since twenty-five.
Except, she’d seen something in Michael’s eyes today.
Though she could be sure of her own feelings, her own thoughts, she wasn’t sure of his. Having the undivided attention of a man had been lacking in her life, but leading Michael on was definitely not what she wanted.
She owed Michael an apology. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
One thirty in Belize was in the middle of the night for Hawk. He had a meeting with Julio Barba first thing in the morning. She shouldn’t call.
She wanted to call, wanted to hear his voice.
As she approached her suited, she dug through her bag for the key. She went to put the card in the door, and it swung open. Her heart gave one long thump as she paused, her hand mere inches from the doorknob.
That’s when she heard it. The definite click of a door closing inside the bungalow. Someone was in there, and for a heart-soaring moment, she wondered if Hawk had come home early.
She quickly set the thought aside. He’d never surprised her in ten years in the military nor in their ten years in the business. Yeah, no. Hawk didn’t do surprise homecomings.
She crossed the threshold with care and immediately went to the small lockbox just inside the door to retrieve her Kel-Tec and a full clip. She stalked down the hall, keeping her back to the wall. When she reached the bedroom door, she paused, held her breath.
Someone was definitely in there.
Glancing back toward the front door, she had the urge to run. Fear. She sucked it down. She’d trained, months of training to make herself operational. As equal as she could be to the men on the teams. And if not equal then respected.
Not being a dumbass, either, she quietly slipped her phone from her pocket and dialed the emergency line. The sound of crashing glass sparked anger to life, and it burned through her. This was her place, her quiet spot.
Stacy pushed the door open. It flew back at her. The intruder swore, as if surprised to see her.
She faced him, gun out. “Don’t move. The police are on their way.”
He wore a hoodie, his face obscured by a mask. Just a kid, a shade away from scrawny. His wrists came out of the sweatshirt like sticks, and only his eyes showed through the dark sweatshirt opening—glittering. He braced, ready to attack.
She tilted her head. “Don’t do it, please.”
She did not want to shoot this kid. A kid. Like her son, like Thomas.
“You need some cash? Are you in trouble?” She lifted her hands, never loosening the grip on her firearm. “I can help you.”
The boy hesitated. His eyes narrowed. He was tense with only G
od knew what. Drugs? Desperation? And she thought, in that minute, he might change his mind and leave her alone.
Yet just as quickly, he lowered his stance and charged.
Chapter Nine
Her back hit the wall in the hallway, hard, and then her head did the same. She regripped the stock of her gun and blinked a few times as she struggled with the gangly, long arms. She used her weight to take him down to the floor where his elbow jabbed her in the side, and the gun finally scattered out of her hand.
She blew out a breath. Damn it. “Come on. Give up,” she grunted, leaning into his side as she snaked her arm under his leg and threw him on his back. She leapt for the weapon. Enough was enough. He reached for her and caught the back of her shorts. Her shorts slid off her hips, and his hand slapped her thigh as he tried to stop her forward movement.
“Hey!” She fought with renewed energy—both the young man and the panic.
Thank God for the extra training she’d been doing. She sent a side kick to his head
She skidded over to her gun, grabbed it, and held it on him. “Stop.”
A soft beeping noise sounded through his sweatshirt, distracting them both, and the eyes inside that hoodie blinked and a look of uncertainty crossed them, reminding her he was just a kid. “Go home,” she said to him.
Her hesitation cost her, and he came at her one more time. Throwing her back into the tall dresser. Her head cracked against the hard wood. Her vision faded on the edges, and she grabbed the dresser, trying to stay up. “Shit,” she whispered as he decked her.
###
“Stacy.” Someone’s hand pressed a cool, wet cloth to her forehead.
She moaned, rolled to her side. “Jamie?”
“Yeah.”
She’d yet to gather enough courage to open her eyes and took a mental assessment of her body—ribs, head, wrist—pain. The kid had left her alone after knocking her out. She was still dressed, thank God. Relief flooded through her at the same time as a stark vulnerability raked her soul. She wanted her jeans on and her warm, Kitty Hawk sweatshirt.