by Beth Rhodes
It seemed almost too perfect. She hated that Cortez was messing with her paradise. This was her special corner of the world. Could Michael Richards really be Cortez? It was hard not to believe. Like Hawk always said, there is no such thing as coincidence.
“Cortez is tying up loose ends and finishing what he started.”
“Finishing what he thinks you started…” Stacy's laugh came forced. “This is great, isn’t it? I was just thinking about how boring this trip was starting to get.”
Hawk grunted, too distracted to take in her sarcasm.
“I knew something was off. Why didn’t I listen to myself? As if a man like…any man is going to want a thirty-something year old.”
“You should go home,” he said.
“We talked about this. We were on the same page.” She threw the car into park and shook her head because no matter how annoying it was, she'd fallen in love with this bossy man long ago and had made him bossy husband by choice. “No way. I'm not leaving now. I'm not leaving Belize until you're on the plane with me. This is our time, our company, our fight. I've waited an entire year to be in Belize again, and I’m not going to let Cortez scare me away.” She gripped the steering wheel. “We'll do this one together. I'll watch your back, you watch mine. That’s how we work. You won’t send me home.”
Hawk considered her with a frown then gave in silently. “So, we go dancing then.”
“What?” her voice rose in exasperation. “You don’t want to play spy and hide behind pillars? Confirm Cortez from a distance?”
“I want to take my thirty-something, hot-ass wife dancing.”
“You don’t even like—”
“I do too,” he interrupted.
She looked at him then. “Really? In public? Because the only dancing I've seen you do is behind closed doors.”
“Oh yeah, baby.” His grin blinded her.
Groaning, she bit the smile from her lips. “Not that kind of dancing.”
Even with the weight of concern pressed against her, she chuckled.
Her laugh faded. They'd survived in this business without any major repercussions. Now someone was haunting him. Hunting him.
“So we go on our own hunting expedition.”
“If we start hiding now, it’ll look like we know something. We don’t want to scare him off…if it’s him.”
“What are we going to do when we see that he is Cortez?”
“Truthfully? I’ll probably kick his ass, and then hand him over to the police.”
“But he hasn’t done anything wrong that we can prove.”
“If he’s Cortez, then he won’t be able to avoid a confrontation. We just have to connect him to all the stuff that’s gone on since we’ve been here.”
“You want to provoke him.”
A group of vacationers moved in front of the car, from the beach trail toward the cabins. Young people who would spend the day on the beach and then dance and drink into the early hours of the morning. They used to do the same.
“I want him to stand in front of me like a man and…yeah, have his say. Get whatever it is off his chest.” Hawk rested his elbow on the door’s window sill and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “What happened was awful. God, it was…crushing, and not just for him, but—for him—a thousand times more than what I felt, watching that woman die with a baby in her arms. And it doesn’t matter that his family wasn’t supposed to be there. It doesn’t even matter she was hit by his bullets. We can’t be sure what’s going on in his head, Stacy.”
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “I’m scared.”
“I would never let anything happen to you, Stacy.” His defensive tone spoke louder than his words, and she couldn’t blame him.
“I'm not concerned for my physical welfare, geez. I’m worried about you, worried about the team. How did Cortez get by us?” He wouldn’t like that she was questioning, especially in this new territory where their foundation was slightly off kilter. “I, I wonder if we need a break―”
“We’re on a break now, Stacy.”
“I don’t mean another vacation—”
“Wait, you mean as in, we need a break?”
“Jeez, no. Unless, do you think we need a break?”
He frowned at her. “I thought we cleared that up.”
“Yes. We did.” For some reason—okay, for all the reasons—his confirmation that they were okay made relief flood through her. “Yes. I mean, from work—”
She broke off when he tensed in the seat beside her. He loved his work. Her suggestion might be more of an offense than the two of them breaking up.
“Great. We'll have to think about that.” His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned forward and picked up her purse from the floor at his feet, tossing it to her as he opened the door. “Can we get going?”
“Hawk, wait—”
He closed the door, cutting her off. She rolled her eyes, and got out of the car, not surprised in the least to find that he was still standing there, waiting for her. “Old habits die hard, eh?”
“You’re a target, Stacy.” Hawk drew her to his side. “Get used to having me around, at least until this is over.”
Until this was over.
“That’s not what I meant,” she argued.
He took her arm as they walked, done listening for now.
***
Cortez leaned against the railing on the small deck off his suite. He drew in a puff of his cigar, the tip flaring to life. He watched the couple cross the parking lot and head down the path to the beach houses.
He tapped the ash aside.
“Trouble in paradise,” he whispered. Hawk and Stacy were at odds. Twenty years was a long time. Mid-life crisis, boredom. She showed the signs by cozying up to him so easily. Young people knew nothing about longevity. Sticking it out. The statistics proved that.
People didn’t know how to make a good thing last anymore. If his Nina were still alive, he’d have had thirty years…Thirty years.
Perhaps killing them both would be a mercy. Unfortunately—for them, he wasn’t feeling very merciful.
“Everything is ready.”
Cortez nodded. His son was stepping up to the task. He was purpose driven now that he’d been given his head. And his hate ran deep enough for both of them.
He hadn’t seen that until now, and it pleased him. “Then we’ll lie low.”
Daniel scowled.
“Patience.” He crossed the patio and ground out the tip of his cigarette in the ash tray that sat on the glass-topped table. “Give them a chance to relax, drop their guard.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
In the doorway, Miguel turned back to his son. He lifted his brow, the earlier feelings of pride buried by this obstinate side of his son’s impulses.
It wouldn’t hurt to check on the work at the house, either.
No mistakes. Nothing left to chance.
And tomorrow, he would take it all back.
Chapter Sixteen
Hawk was irritated, and part of him understood it wasn’t fair. He’d wanted her to see how life was going to be if he lost his sight. And losing their work was definitely one of the outcome possibilities.
The feeling of betrayal that ripped through him left him raw.
“Hawk! What is wrong with you? Slow down.” Her shoes slapped the pavement next to him, until she finally just stopped. “Oh, just go. Go to your fancy hotel room with your fancy temper,” she muttered.
He stopped. “Let's make a deal,” he declared. She wanted them to have a break; he could give it. “We have five days left of vacation. If Cortez hasn’t shown his face, I'll find him. Once he's been taken care of and we’ve put this element of danger out of our lives―”
Stacy's brow rose.
“—you can have your break.”
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying, if you want a break, we'll take a break,” he snapped. They reached their door, and he opened it with the card key. “Wait he
re.”
“Wai―”
He went in, pulling the .38 from his boot harness at the same time. He took in the silence as he'd been trained. The air was still. The potpourri Stacy had set out near the front door still lingered in the air and moonlight shone through the skylight marking a pale trapezoid on the grass woven rug of the living area. Down the hall light spilled across the floor.
Trailing the walls, he checked each room as he went.
Nothing.
The patio out back was also empty. Stacy's beach sandals littered the shower area along with her shampoos and sunscreens. She entered the kitchen behind him on a whisper of a breath.
“I told you to wait.” He turned as he spoke, lifting his gun and snapping the safety into place.
The shadows disguised her age, reminding him of when they'd first met. Slim and supple then, she'd hardly changed except for the gentle softness around her waist, the bit of graying in her hair and the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.
“I did, and when I didn't hear any thrashing about or yelling, I figured it was clear and came in.” It was true, she could handle herself in a fight—this last encounter with her break-in guy notwithstanding; he'd trained her himself.
He wanted to devour her right there in the kitchen.
“What?” Her voice questioned his silence.
He shook off his melancholy, shook off the need to cross the room and touch her in the dark. His heart pounded. He lifted the switch―click―and light flooded the room. The flash filled his vision then dimmed, and he knew. His sight had given out again. “Damn it.”
She was a silhouette, and he marked her movements as she found the refrigerator and opened it. “Your eyes?”
“Yes,” he answered, and realized it was the first conversation they were having about his sight as if it was normal. His world righted, somehow.
“Would you like something to drink?” She opened the fridge and bent over.
He rubbed his eyes, because…yup, he didn’t need to see at one hundred percent to be turned on by his wife. “Got any juice in there?”
Ignoring the hard on, he found the cabinet with the glasses and pulled out two tumblers. “Are you going to have something?”
“Yeah, actually I'm filling mine with Jack.”
Hawk chuckled and brought the cups to the island counter. He set them carefully, amazed that Stacy was taking his predicament so calmly. Why was he amazed though? They were good together, and she had always been the strong one.
They could handle just about anything.
Could they handle the job? His hand fisted, a flash of anger, sneaking up on him. With a deep breath, he forced his hand loose. He pushed one of the glasses toward her. “Here, drink lightly. We need to be sharp tonight. I don't want any surprises.”
He lifted his gaze to hers and saw the outline of her face, the tilt of her head. She poured his juice for him then set the container down and rested her hand close to his.
He opened his hand and took hers, enjoying soft skin against his calloused palm. “You ready for this?”
“You’re not going to have second thoughts every time we work, are you?”
The ache in his head thumped at his temples. “God, I hope not. I hate not knowing what to expect, though. Is it Cortez? Would he make a move in public, against us? Do we need more backup?”
“Call Tan to come down. You’ll feel better.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we are too old.”
“Shit, Nathan. You argue me on that one, not the other way around, okay? You’re the one that has kept us young all these years. Look at you, while I’ve gained weight, had babies, lost weight, and regained again. You’re the one who is still in fighting form.” Laughing, Stacy picked up the wrinkled paper that still sat on the counter. “Senior dance. Fifty and over. Good thing the lady said we could go. We need an age waiver.”
“We're not that far off anymore.”
“You aren't!” She laughed again. “I told you, you shouldn't have robbed the cradle.”
He loved her laughter and was even more surprised when she came around and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll go make that phone call to Michael,” she determined. “Then I need a quick shower before we head over to the dance.”
His phone rang. “Tan,” he said to her before he answered. “Hey Tan.”
“Hawk. Looks like you might be right about Cortez. Malcolm is sending a photo of Richards. Have you made any contact with the guy yet?”
“No. We’re getting ready to go out now.”
“We? You got Jamie with you?”
There would probably be some tension over Stacy back working with the teams. That was just a matter of caring about what happened to her—in that male chauvinistic kind of way that would make her crazy, not an opposition to her abilities. “Stacy’s going in with me. And I need one or two of you down here—just in case. Can you get a small team together?”
“You got it.”
His life was his team but even that was still second to Stacy and his family.
An email notification came through on the phone. “That’s the photo, Tan. Call me when you’ve got travel itineraries.”
Jamie arrived at the same time as Stacy was getting out of the shower, so he quickly changed and met them all in the living area of the suite where Jamie was lounging on the couch, watching television with his latest girl. “Hey, Marguerite.”
“Hola, Señor Hawkins.”
“Hawk,” he corrected before slipping by the two with a grin and finding Stacy in the kitchen. “Did you get ahold of Michael?”
“No luck; no answer.”
“Malcolm sent the photo of Richards. You ready for it?”
She gripped his sides “Let’s see it.”
Taking out his phone, he swiped through to his email app and opened the attachment from Mal. An old man with white hair grinned at them.
“That’s not the Richards who is here.”
“That’s also not Cortez.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Hawk shrugged. “Stalemate?”
“It means this guy you’ve been hanging out with could be Cortez,” Jamie spoke from the living room. He’d stood, and was studying the two of them. “Right?”
“It’s likely.”
“Well, let’s go find him then.” Stacy’s voice held an edge he hadn’t heard in a long time—determination. “How are your eyes doing?”
“Back to normal…for now.”
“Good.” She placed one more kiss on his back and then let him go.
They made their way around to the community center. Grateful when he didn't bump, trip or fall into anything, his eyes relaxed under the night sky. His vision continued to clear. Sensitive to the light change, he stood outside the glass door of the building and waited for his eyes to adjust to the brightness streaming through it.
A touch of panic skidded over his nerves. What a fool. Without vision, he was just plain screwed. “Shit,” he whispered as fear flooded his veins. His hands shook, his spine tingled with awareness, and a bead of sweat ran down his neck. The urge to run away came swift and hard.
If keeping Stacy safe meant letting her go, he would do it in a second.
Yet with Cortez, no one was safe, least of all Stacy.
She held the door, waiting for him, as if she knew, and after the moment to let his eyes adjust, he stepped through the doorway. Even so, the bright fluorescent lights caused his eyesight to diminish.
Stacy stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Watch the door for Michael, okay? There’s just the one way in. And it looks like we’re one of the first people here. I’ll be right back.”
“Where you going?”
“Restroom.”
Hawk scowled. “Hurry back.”
Jamie and Marguerite followed them in. “Go with her Marguerite, would you?”
She followed Stacy toward the bathroom without a word. Jamie took the right flank and found a t
able to sit at that faced the door and the dance floor.
He relaxed, knowing backup had arrived.
He kept his eyes open, on the doors and then scanning the large room. A few minutes later she moved back across the floor towards him, and he noticed she was wearing a new skirt. He hadn’t noticed it at the suite. She stopped to talk with the other vacationers as she made her way back to him. He reached for her and cupped her elbow. “Hey, babe.”
“Excuse me?”
Oh, shit. The deep husky smoker's voice was definitely not Stacy.
His arm fell to his side. “Oh. I'm sorry.”
The woman turned and warm brown eyes peered over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The hair was a shade too dark, he saw now. Her perusal was a mental licking―a compliment, no doubt―not exactly what he was looking for.
“Don't be,” she purred. “You must be Hawk. I was told you and Stacy might be here tonight. She did make it, didn't she?”
Hawk cursed his vision and looked around, hoping for another glimpse of someone who looked like his wife. “Yeah, she's―she's here somewhere. I thought you were Stacy. If you'll excuse me?”
“By all means. I'm flattered.” Her hand rested on his arm as she took a quick look around. “I think you'll find her at the punch bowl.”
He looked up and saw another short-haired blonde. This one wearing red―his favorite color. His breathing eased when the figure turned toward him and moved forward. His.
The woman next to him waved. “Hello, Stacy. I was lucky enough to meet your husband.”
“Liza, it's good to see you again.” Stacy leaned in to hug the woman.
Hawk wondered how he could have mistaken this Liza for his wife.
“You two better start dancing. The night ends quickly.”
He smiled without feeling it and guided Stacy to the floor. Stupid. Stupid. He stumbled along for a few moments, the mariachi band striking up another quick-paced tune.
Something slow and easy would be nice.
“You're irritated.”
“This was a dumb idea,” he said, finally looking into eyes of blue framed by dark thick lashes that blinked away his harsh statement. “I can say that because it was my idea.”
He recognized her sigh and the brow that rose while her lips thinned―a very dry, unamused look. “You're more than welcome to go back to the suite. I'm sure some single, older man would love to share a dance with me. And when Michael shows up, if Michael shows up, I’ll be happy to invite him back to our suite for some questioning.”