Strike Zone (Hawk Elite Security Book 3)

by Beth Rhodes

  John sighed. “Even if we do help, there will still be waiting.”

  “Active waiting is better than sitting in my goddamned living room. For how long? Hours? Days?”

  “They have hostage negotiators.”

  “You can talk to her, John. You and Bobby. You always had a way with her when she was at her craziest.”

  But still John hesitated.

  “We’re wasting time,” Tyler yelled, throwing his arms wide. Josie ducked, just in time to avoid getting clipped on the shoulder.

  Malcolm stepped up, restrained Tyler, and threw him down, wresting his arm behind his back.

  “Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Malcolm stood and lifted Tyler to his feet, which was almost comical, since Malcolm was short—er.

  John got in Tyler’s face. “You almost took out Josie. Get it together, man. Keep your head, or I’ll be the one to call the police.”

  “What’s going on?” Hawk entered through the front door on the heels of Tancredo.

  “Tyler’s got an issue. Possible hostage. His wife took Jenny and is holed up in her apartment, wanting a ransom.” John had a thing about family, though. And Tyler had saved his butt a time or two. “I suggest we check it out. Maybe she’s cooled off and will let one of us in.”

  Hawk nodded. “You take lead on this one, John.”

  “Thanks.” He found Emily staring at him. This was going to be her first assignment. “Let’s meet in conference room B. Malcolm, you’ve got business with the West Coast. So you’re out. Emily. Bobby. Tan.”

  “I’ve got a meeting with my mother’s lawyer, actually,” Tan said, looking at his watch. “I’m out on this one.”

  “Craig and Marcus.” John waved the two men back. Tyler went as well.

  The interview process was straightforward. John asked about the apartment and building, the last twenty-four hours, and what had led to this major cliff jump. They’d have to get through it—no mistakes, no incidents. “Hawk would you call your contact with the police. If things go to shit, we’ll need backup. We’ll need that sanction.”

  “You got it,” Hawk said from his position in the doorway, arms over his chest. “One sanction, coming right up.”

  “Emily, this will be your first go-around with the team. You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  John paused. “It’s only been a week. If you have any doubt—”

  She looked at him, and she looked pissed. “I’m doing this. I agreed. No matter the reason. I’m here. Are you doubting me?”

  “No, geez—”

  “Then don’t ever question me. Especially in front of the entire team.”

  She’d put him in his place, rightfully. He nodded. “I apologize.” He took in everyone’s gaze. “Okay, we’ll go in one hour. Everyone, gear up.”

  Despite the tension of the situation, excitement raced through his veins. He’d been waiting two years to work with Emily Rogers, sharpshooter.

  He was finally getting his chance.

  The apartment was in the building south of her. An older, circa-1970 aluminum-sided four-story building. The sun was starting to set, which was messing with her scope, so she pulled her sunglasses over her eyes and stepped out of the window frame until orders came through.

  So far, in the past hour, had John called to the apartment. He’d gone up and knocked on the door, even yelling through it to get the woman’s attention. Keisha hadn’t budged. She wanted money and she wanted it right away.

  Hawk was working that angle with the police. But Emily knew, from past experience, their options for a good outcome were becoming slim to none. Eventually, either the police or John would force an entry and take Keisha Williams out. From her lookout, Emily had a clear view of the small corner apartment.

  Voices continued in her head as negotiations heightened and orders were given. They were going to move in, John leading the way.

  She moved her scope back in line with the apartment window.

  Keisha was still crying. Manically. Anger mottled her face.

  Flashes of Emily’s father’s angry face struck unexpectedly. She blinked back the long-forgotten memories.

  It was her job to get Jenny out…

  The little girl sat quietly, her gaze going from her mother to the far corner. She’d squeeze her eyes tight and tuck her face into her knees. Fearful, as if something was back there. “Damn,” Emily whispered as she moved again, taking her rifle and setting it at the window on the southwest wall. If only she could see. Just a bit more of an angle. She strained, as if her will could make that corner visible. Were there two adults when everyone thought there was the one? Perhaps another child?

  “Hold off, John,” she said low into the mic. “Give me another minute.”

  “She’s starting to lose it, Em.”

  “I’m going to the next room over,” she told him, hoping he would trust her. “I need fifty seconds.”

  Her earpiece went silent as she scrambled out of the room and into the next—another empty office. She opened the window, struggling to push the weight up, and set the tripod on the flat surface of the window sill. She held her breath in that moment before lining up her scope…and then felt relief when she found the apartment and indeed, the west side of that room.

  “Shit,” she said. “John, she’s rigged the place with a bomb. Far corner of the living room. I couldn’t see it from the other window. It’s crude, but it’s going to leave a mark. She’s got an entire bin of shrapnel loaded to go up with the explosive. The timing mechanism is old school, on a clock.” This was what Jenny kept looking at. “Two and fifteen, John.”

  “We’ve gotta go in,” Tyler said from the van where he’d been confined after losing it on Hawk.

  “There’s another circuit, John.” She moved her scope slowly. “From the IED to the door. Stay where you are. Repeat, do not enter the room.”

  “Hell. Emily, what about the second window?” John asked.

  She immediately moved her scope to the window opposite her northern position. “Yes, the window is clear…if you’re interested in climbing four stories.” Her gaze went back to the bomb. “I think I can defuse it from here.”

  His silence was neither critical nor accepting, so she explained. “I’ve seen this kind of device. It’s crude enough. If I can split the wire from the detonator…it would render the device safe.”

  “What about the door?”

  “The wire for the door splits off away from the detonator. It’s not backup but a second choice.”

  A bead of sweat ran down her temple. “Forty seconds, John.”

  The fact that no one else spoke was a tribute to how this team worked. Each knowing when input was necessary. And no one had to question the final say. The trust ran deep.

  “Go.”

  In moments, Emily had her tripod back up and her rifle engaged. Through her scope, she targeted the thin wire that ran across the room. The woman continued to make a ruckus, big wails that racked her body. The little girl’s shoulders shook.

  “Stop crying,” the woman screamed, and strode toward Jenny, clearing the line of Emily’s fire. She slapped Jenny, hard, making Emily blink. She forced her brain to focus.

  Emily took a deep breath, let it out, and let the world around her disappear as every cell in her body woke up and vibrated with lost energy. She squeezed the trigger.

  The line to the device split and Emily about laughed in relief as sweat dripped down her temple.

  The woman whirled around and glared out the window—catching Emily with those dark, angry eyes. The surprise of those eyes finding her so quickly had Emily rearing back. “Jesus.” She patted her chest. “Clear, John. Clear. Get that poor girl out of there.”

  In the next instant, the door was thrown open. The team rushed through and took the woman down.

  John slowly approached Jenny and crouched in front of her. Emily’s heart melted a little. He was so good with kids and families. He was an oddball in this industry. But so were most of
the men at Hawk Security.

  She sat back on her heels, lightheaded. Her hands shook in the aftermath. She’d forgotten what doing this kind of work did to her. The adrenaline that raced through her made it hard to breathe, hard to swallow or hear or do anything.

  “Answer, damn it.” John’s voice finally broke through the fog.

  “We did it,” she responded.

  “You did it,” he said. “Meet at the van.”

  “Shit,” she whispered as she switched off her earpiece. Emily turned and sat, sliding down the wall until her rear touched the floor.

  She hadn’t been sure until today. Not until the moment she’d pulled the trigger, until she’d thought outside that box and avoided the kill. The woman was so messed up and had wanted to take her own life, would have taken her daughter’s as well.

  But today…

  Emily had done something good. She’d stopped violence instead of being the cause of it. She got up, packed her gear, and went downstairs to the front door.

  It swung open as she approached, and John came through, a grin on his face, as he lifted her into a bear hug. She couldn’t stop the smile, even as she hid her face against his neck and breathed in the scent of him.

  “You were awesome, Emily.” He set her back. “Badass, taking out the IED with your fucking rifle. Shit, you’ll be the talk of the teams for months to come.”

  Heat rose on her neck and she shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Just doing my job?” She laughed. “It was no big deal. Seriously.”

  “Yeah, well, I know it was more than that to you,” he said, cupping her cheek with his hand. “You saved Jenny’s life…and her mother’s life.”

  “Yeah, it feels good.”

  “Come on. We’re all meeting over at Hawk’s.”

  When she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, John took it from her hands.

  She rolled her eyes, but let him take it. As it happened, her arms were still shaking anyway.

  He led her out.

  And for the first time in years, Emily felt part of a team. She’d missed it.

  But no matter how much she missed it, she feared it far more. If this was a lucky break, what would happen to the next guy caught in her crosshairs?

  Chapter Eight

  “How does Nathan Hawkins do it?” she asked John when she came over, straddling the bench of the picnic table to sit in front of him. “Most people would give up. Blind, and running a company like this? It’s probably unheard of. Who would trust a man who can’t even see?”

  “We see for him when he needs it.” John spread his legs and loved how she so easily scooted into the space and turned her back to him. “I swear, it’s like he doesn’t need eyes half the time, though. He knows stuff.”

  “I heard how he took out Cortez.”

  “What? You heard about that in your little town on the coast?”

  “I might have maintained a few friends over the years.”

  “Ah, confessions of a former sniper.”

  She chuckled. “Maybe.”

  “Not so unaffected as you claim, then.”

  The sky was beginning to dim, and Willy—Hawk’s youngest child—ran around with sparklers. The middle one, who’d been kidnapped, yelled to her brother to be careful. Hawk talked about how she still had nightmares. And John had to wonder if there was ever really an “over” in this business.

  When Emily shivered, he rubbed his hands up and down on her arms.

  “You okay?”

  “What’s going to happen to Jenny and Tyler?”

  “Hopefully?” John took a pull from his beer. “I don’t know. The police will make an investigation, of course. We’ll probably see them again in the next week—”

  “You mean more questions?”

  She’d already been questioned up the wazoo. “Part of the job?” he answered.

  “I’m not used to working in the private sector. It’s different.”

  He nodded. “You get used it.” He hoped she would get used to it.

  He sat in the twilight as the air cooled around them. When her head fell back onto his shoulder, he glanced down into her face. Closed eyes. John checked his watch. “Twenty-two hundred. No wonder.”

  “Mmm,” she said, but didn’t move.

  “I can drive you back to the house—”

  The negative sound she made stopped him.

  “Drive you back to my place?” Like hell he was going to lose the opportunity to get her on his turf.

  “Hey, guys. Look at this.” Craig was on the back porch, watching the television above the outside bar. The eleven o’clock news was on, and John could see they were featuring the hostage situation from earlier today.

  Emily sat up straighter in between his legs, turning slightly to catch a glimpse. Her entire body went tense, and she slowly stood. In the aftermath and cleanup, word had leaked to the press and they’d dealt with some of the local reporters. The images weren’t close up, but in the middle of it all, Emily stood out. The only blonde. One of very few women. There one instant and gone the next.

  A stricken look came to her eyes. He cursed the luck. She wouldn’t be used to this part of working in the private sector either. “It’ll blow over quickly. I promise.”

  Her gaze went back to the television, but the worried look remained. “I should go. I’m tired anyway.”

  “I’m sorry, Emily. I should have warned you.” But he hadn’t thought about the secretive life of a sniper or government sharpshooter.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s just—” She shrugged. “A little scary, to be honest.”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  They said goodbye to Hawk and Stacy. And the guys, too.

  Stacy pulled Emily into a hug that would have been funny because of their height difference except that Stacy hugged everyone—all the time. It was her thing. No biggie to her if she only came up to Emily’s collarbone.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in all sincerity. That was the other thing about Stacy—she was sincere, truthful. And most of all, she was kind. “Hawk will work on the press angle. We protect who is ours. Okay?”

  Still looking a little shell-shocked, Emily nodded. “Thanks.”

  John drove her back into town. “So your place or mine?”

  “I think…mine, but mine mine, not yours mine.”

  He laughed. “Got it, I think.”

  She smiled halfheartedly.

  Her eyes were closed when they arrived, and he shut the car off and gave her a little nudge. She stirred, humming as she woke up. “Thank you.”

  John got out and went around his truck to her door. “Would you like me to stay?”

  Her sleepy face turned up in a smile. “Is that a come-on?”

  Heat rose on his neck and he cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, well, it’s more an offer of moral support.”

  She tilted her head and looked into his eyes, a question in hers.

  He shrugged, too uncertain with where he stood, where she stood, and how things would work out between them. Besides, it seemed wrong right now. He hated himself for that…

  There were times he wished he could jump in with both feet and not think.

  Instead, he cupped her face with his hands and kissed her.

  She wrapped her arms around him, and he realized his mistake. He didn’t have to jump in; she would drag him under and pull him down as she dove. He moaned when she nipped at his lips. And he gripped her arms, pulling her tightly against him.

  Her tongue teased his mouth open and then he was drowning, completely and utterly.

  Making out with Emily Rogers on the street in front of the safe house.

  He’d dreamt of it, or something like it, and he fantasized. But the reality was so much better.

  She tugged at his shirt.

  John pulled away, breathing hard. “Holy crap, woman.”

  She wiped a hand across her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don
’t be.” He took her hand and wouldn’t let go when she wanted to pull away. “Don’t. I want to kiss you. Believe me.”

  Her hand stilled in his and then squeezed it, and he walked her up the path to the front door.

  “Will you come over for breakfast in the morning?” she asked.

  “I’d love to.” He’d scared her off. Apparently, he was good at that. She’d be accusing him of mixed signals next. He wasn’t trying to; he just knew that as soon as he dove in with her, it was going to be for everything.

  He wanted it all, not only this visceral reaction to the job and the adrenaline rush.

  It was too clichéd.

  No. When he finally made love to Emily Rogers, it was going to be the best thing that happened to either of them.

  After a night sleeping like the dead, Emily woke to thoughts of John and their goodbye the night before. As she did a full body stretch, she grinned. Wanting to express that basic instinct, that need to release the adrenaline rush through physical contact, would have been her outlet before meeting John.

  But for the first time in years of doing her job, her mind was clear the morning after.

  A laugh escaped.

  The strangest thing was that she liked the fact that he might—could possibly, if rumors were true—be a virgin. She was still having a hard time believing that a man like John made it through college without getting laid.

  But there was something in his touch, his kiss. And it made her nervous as hell.

  “Just ask him, you dolt,” she whispered to herself as the coffee streamed from the pot in her hand to the large mug on the counter. “This is the twenty-first century. Two consenting adults. ‘Have you ever had sex?’ See?” She rolled her eyes. “No problem.”

  In her back pocket, her phone rang. John’s number showed on her screen. “Where are you? You’re supposed to be here for breakfast.” Intimidated by his alleged celibacy or not, she liked him. His presence calmed her.

  “I’m stuck at headquarters.” But his voice wasn’t calm now. He sounded annoyed.

  She took that first sip of coffee and groaned.

  “What? Are you okay? What’s going on over there?”

  “Coffee.”

  Silence met her response.