Strike Fear (Hawk Elite Security Book 2)

by Beth Rhodes

  STRIKE FEAR

  Hawk Elite Security Novel

  Book Two

  By Beth Rhodes

  www.authorbethrhodes.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Beth Rhodes

  Cover Design by Elaina Lee at For the Muse Design

  Edited by Jessa Slade, Red Circle Ink

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to the woman who feels no worth. You are beautiful. You are important and precious. You can do great things.

  Your Glory is inside you.

  Love.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  ~ 1 ~

  ~ 2 ~

  ~ 3 ~

  ~ 4 ~

  ~ 5 ~

  ~ 6 ~

  ~ 7 ~

  ~ 8 ~

  ~ 9 ~

  ~ 10 ~

  ~ 11 ~

  ~ 12 ~

  ~ 13 ~

  ~ 14 ~

  ~ 15 ~

  ~ 16 ~

  ~ 17 ~

  ~ 18 ~

  ~ 19 ~

  ~ 20 ~

  ~ 21 ~

  ~ 22 ~

  ~ 23 ~

  ~ 24 ~

  ~ 25 ~

  ~ 26 ~

  ~ 27 ~

  ~ 28 ~

  ~ 29 ~

  ~ 30 ~

  ~ 31 ~

  Epilogue

  Back Matter:

  Acknowledgements

  Coming Soon

  About The Author

  PROLOGUE

  Rain fell from the sky on the day the prisoners were released.

  Dark clouds covered the morning sun, sending shadows onto the road and deep into the trees.

  Covered by a layer of wet, even the brick of the building glistened. The grounds were soggy and the blacktop puddled. A cleansing. A second chance.

  Only the tall, shiny, silver fencing stood as a reminder that sometimes what went in didn’t come out. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.

  Watching, the woman’s heart beat harder as the small group of men crossed the yard to a twelve-passenger van. They were going to be free. Free. She blew out a breath, grabbing her raincoat and pulling it tightly around her neck. A shiver ran up her spine. From the cold?

  No.

  Because there was one missing from this group. One who should have a second chance.

  But he’d been gone a long time…

  Because of her. A woman of lies and deceit. A story to protect phony dignity.

  A spasm of coughing seized her.

  One of the men in line looked up and, seeing her, smiled. He waved.

  She rested a hand against her heart, smiled back. Gabriel had always been a good one. So sweet, gentle. He wouldn’t harm a fly. He was an angel, named after an angel.

  Just like her son, who hadn’t made it out.

  She clenched her shaking fist. Time had changed nothing.

  Today she faced the injustice all over again, because if her son had lived, he might have had a second chance as well.

  Falsely accused. Unfairly convicted.

  …left to die behind bars.

  A single tear left a trail down her cheek, and she wiped it away.

  She was done crying. After all these years, it was time to move on…

  Time to put her sadness aside, do what was right.

  ~ 1 ~

  Tancredo Byrnes swung open the new custom door on Hawk Elite Security, shoving it aside with one hand. It was bulletproof now and etched with the familiar logo of the company he’d been employed by for over ten years. More than employed. He’d been one of the founding members of this team, along with Nathan Hawkins and Jamie Nash.

  Three soldiers, coming to the end of one contract, looked for another. Only this time around, they were in charge. He liked it that way. Gave him the freedom to stay close to home.

  …or leave.

  “Hey, Handsome.” Josie looked up from her computer. Her glasses sat slightly skewed on her face. Her plain brown hair was pulled back into a bun. She ran the office like one of his drill sergeants from basic training. And she kept everyone happy. “Don’t you look nice?”

  “Meeting a client,” he answered, suddenly uncomfortable in chinos, which felt too tight because he was used to wearing workout clothes or BDUs. Tan tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, wishing he could unbutton and roll the cuffs.

  “Relax.” She smiled. “You look great, and Mr. Whitney is easygoing. He makes furniture for God’s sake; he’s not a snake lawyer like your last client. He’s nice.”

  “Thanks.” Tan shook off the discomfort and walked down the hall to the conference room. He knocked quickly before entering and found Hawk sitting at the square table with an older man.

  Brad Whitney stood, shy of six feet and wide through the middle, but a man who had most likely been strapping twenty years ago. He wore his suit well, held his shoulders back, and didn’t let his extra weight stop him from being intimidating. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Byrnes.”

  “Please, call me Tan.”

  “Very well, and you can call me Brad,” the man answered. Firm grip. Direct eye contact. Honest.

  “Thanks for coming in, Tan,” Hawk greeted.

  “No problem.” It had gotten him out of another round of let’s-clean-mom’s-basement-of-all-the-clutter.

  “Tell us about the trouble you’re having.” Hawk gestured to them to sit back down then took a seat himself.

  Brad set a manila folder and a newspaper on the table. “Like I said on the phone, my daughter could be in danger, and I would like some help keeping tabs on her.”

  Tan sat forward and flipped open the folder. “Do you mind?” he glanced at Brad.

  “No, please. I brought everything I have on this guy.” Brad wiped a hand over his mouth. “Three years ago, he attacked my daughter.”

  “Elizabeth Whitney is a figure skater,” Hawk provided.

  “It took her an entire year to get back on her feet. Another year of barely living. She lost everything when he beat her, beat her so hard he broke her leg.” Brad broke off, stood to turn away from them.

  Tan glanced at Hawk, who was indeed looking back at him. His vision was in some working order today. Tan pushed a photo of the guy across the table to Hawk.

  “That’s Gabriel Sands,” Brad spoke as he leaned over the table. “He went to prison. Class E felony. Assault with a deadly weapon. Three years. That’s all that fucker got, and guess what?”

  Hawk let out a sigh next to him. “He was part of the early release program they implemented this month. A new form of rehabilitation.”

  “Yes. He gets to walk free.”

  “Only certain prisoners were approved for the program. They had to pass tests, do psych evaluations, show exemplary behavior while incarcerated. They didn’t let just anyone out,” Tan said, playing devil’s advocate. In this business, it was a hard truth to reconcile, though.

  “She’s been through so much. And she’s worked her ass off to come back—” Brad stopped again.

  “What?” Tan looked up sharply at the man’s censure. “Anything you can tell us will help us protect your daughter.”

  “She still won’t get back on the ice.” Brad admitted. “By looking, you’d never know what happened to her. She shows the Whit
ney strength, but I know it must come back to her. How could she truly forget? Heal? Yes. Forget? No. I want her to feel safe. I want you to teach her to fight, teach her self-defense. Help her see that what happened before will never happen again.”

  ***

  “Jay. I swear. One more word out of you, and I am going to walk straight past this place and let you deal with Dad.” Elizabeth Whitney could usually put her foot down and get her way with the men in her family. This time, not so much.

  Jay snorted a laugh.

  “I can’t believe this,” she muttered with an intent look through the front windshield. She narrowed her eyes. Rundown-looking, graffiti-sprayed along the outer walls and two tiny little prison-sized windows where side wall met storefront, this place didn’t give her a sense of security, personal or otherwise. “Did Dad even see this place?”

  “You scared?”

  Her heart stuttered, but she scoffed. “Of course not.”

  Show no fear. She’d grown up repeating the mantra as she fell asleep each night. Her five brothers loved her. She had no doubt. They’d made sure she was smart, strong…and tested. “I can’t believe this is happening all over again.”

  “He won’t be able to get to you.” Jay braked at the curb in front of the gym where she was supposed to learn self-defense and laid a hand on her shoulder. He turned her. The look of disappointment on his face told her a lecture was coming. “I know how much you want to fight this, but Dad’s right. It can’t hurt to stay on top of your game.”

  But it wasn’t a game either. And she hated how fear was being dealt into her life so soon after she’d finally come into her own. “Maybe he rehabilitated. This might be completely unnecessary.”

  “Dad doesn’t agree, and frankly, I’m on his side.”

  “Oh, you’re never on his side,” she argued, feeling ridiculously betrayed. And frustrated. She had too much to do to be stuck here with some dumb jock who thought fighting was the answer. “I have to get back to the shop,” she whispered as she grabbed her gym bag from the floor of the truck. “One hour. This guy has one hour, and I’m outta here, Jay.”

  “Whatever, sis. I’ll let Dad know you made it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Since when has that been an issue?” She questioned. But there had been that one time…

  “Never.”

  “Don’t forget I’ve kicked your butt before.” Elizabeth slammed the door shut because sometimes having the last word was all she could get. She reached the grimy glass door at the front of the building and was pulling it open when her brother rolled the passenger side window down. There was no mistaking the squeaky sound of rusty levers and gears.

  “I was five!” He revved the engine and pulled away, leaving her grinning.

  The heavy door swung out when she opened it and grimy glass gave way to dim lighting. Paused on the big blue entry mat, which had the image of a hawk woven into it, she considered other options. What the freak was wrong with Gold’s Gym on the other side of town? Her frown deepened at the sound of leather on leather—the easy thwap of glove hitting bag, a speed bag, the rhythm oddly lulling and familiar.

  Brothers.

  Her entire life surrounded by boys and then men.

  Blowing out a breath, she really looked at the place. Clean floors, well-maintained equipment. Nautilus machines. Lifting benches and racks with rows and rows of dumb bells. Okay. She felt a bit like she’d walked onto a movie set. A cheesy eighties movie set at that.

  When no one approached her, she dropped her bag near the door and slowly made her way along the outer wall to the back corner where a man worked out. He wore black shorts and no shirt. Of course, no shirt. He was bald, but she couldn’t tell if it was an age thing or preference. She was betting age, though, by the way he wore the dynamite sweatbands around his wrists and head. Totally tubular, dude.

  As she came around the edge of the empty boxing ring, her opinion changed with the view. Rock abs and lean, muscular legs. Could be thirties or forties. With a tilt of her head she decided to forgo any more speculation and merely enjoy the view.

  “Fifty-two,” someone whispered behind her.

  Her heart sent an extra strong pump of blood through her body. She shook off the unexpected tremor of fear and turned slowly to a man with the prettiest face, framed by loose, dark curls. He was part black American, the olive tone in his skin giving away something a little more Mediterranean.

  And the hazel eyes, a cold brown, yellow, and green combo… She could make a costume with the glitter from his eyes. But no smile, and men tended to smile at her, at least at first.

  He wore a T-shirt, a tad too tight, and running pants and shoes.

  She was staring. Her heart pounded, only it wasn’t exactly fear now. Oh, no. The package of a man in front of her awakened a four-years-running libido dormancy.

  He looked at her through the tops of those eyes, waiting, and then his brow rose. “You were wondering.”

  “Maybe,” she answered, a blush rising on her cheeks, and turned away.

  The man with the gloves stopped. He tilted his head, like a dog listens…like someone who doesn’t have vision?

  “Hey, Hawk,” the curly-headed guy addressed the boxer, “I’d like you to meet my new client, Elizabeth Whitney. Liz, this is Nathan Hawkins. He owns the place.”

  Her frown for the nameless man at her side came from years of dealing with bigger guys who liked to be in control. Wouldn’t it be nice to work with the older guy? The one who wasn’t getting under her skin? “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hawkins.”

  “We’re not formal around here,” Nathan assured her with a smile. “My friends call me Hawk.”

  “Very well, Hawk.” Liz glanced at Curly Hair, who was watching her, studying her, and making her nervous. He was waiting for her to make a mistake. She didn’t know how she knew, but…it was in those eyes. Turning back to the boss, she went ahead to kill the cat. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been blind?”

  The man grinned. “Couple years now. I have some sight and light perception on a good day. And I have good people. I don’t want you to worry. We’re a team here. Your protection is our priority, nothing will stand in the way.”

  Horrified, she spoke quickly. “I don’t doubt it. No. My inquiry is curiosity alone. My brother had a teammate years ago…after a hockey accident, he lost his sight. He is still not over it. He started drinking, let himself go. It’s sad, but it must be hard to lose something so crucial to your job. He went from the top of his game, making good money and having scouts looking at him for the NHL, to nothing… Not that sight isn’t important in life—in general. But, I know what it’s like to be cut off from the most important thing. Or what I thought was the most important thing. Not that your work is the only reason worth living. What I mean is, you’re an inspiration.”

  Curly hair was staring at her, biting back a grin.

  “I’m rambling,” she conceded. “And I’ll shut up now.”

  “Hawk’s been at this a long time, long before he started losing his sight. Now we do the things he can’t, but he still runs the place. He still trains the new guys and runs strategies and works out the orders. Blindness doesn’t make your brain stop working. And Hawk has a gift.”

  My God, did they have to pass a good looks test to get a job here?

  Hawk removed his gloves, pulled a sham from his waistband and rubbed the back of his neck. “What I have is a wife and three kids. And speaking of the wife, I need to get cleaned up. Keep me posted. I’ve got a conference call this morning. It might go long, but I’ll be at the house by four, so if you need anything, Tan, call me.”

  As they talked business, Elizabeth stepped aside and browsed the wall where picture frames hung in rows along the cement block. The collection was eclectic. Pictures of soldiers from years ago. Family vacations. Boxing events, here and some in other gyms. A few pictures in tropical places. And one of Hawk with a slim woman at his side. The wife most likely, by
the way they glowed with contentment and love. She peered closer. And the wedding bands.

  People said she’d been married to her skating. Men she dated claimed she was cold and too focused. What they’d meant was not focused on them. And she’d considered them babies and moved on. Never apologizing. No regrets…

  And no fear.

  The biggest lie she was still telling herself three years later.

  ***

  Tancredo’s new client turned on her heel.

  He was close enough that a whiff of air brushed his cheek as she stumbled back, but he grabbed her arm to hold her steady. Firm, toned arms.

  He admired the glint of irritation and challenge in her eyes, and he held up his hands, a sort of surrender, to give her space. She obviously didn’t like his being too close. And that was okay for now, but by the end of her lesson, close was going to be her middle name.

  Leaving her where she stood, he went to the equipment closet and opened the door.

  Her silence behind him caused a smile as he rummaged through a pile of old gloves. She hadn’t come ready to work out. Her jeans were too cute and had rhinestones on the back pockets. Perhaps he had a bit of work cut out for him after all.

  “I’m not boxing with you,” she stated dryly, her arms crossed over her chest.

  He lifted the gloves, letting them dangle between them. “Daddy wants you to be able to protect yourself.”

  Pleased laughter came out of her pretty mouth. He’d missed the joke. What he didn’t miss was the crazy pull at the back of his brain at seeing a smile on her face. Okay. A little attraction, he could handle. He cleared his throat.

  “So, what you’re saying is, if I’m—say—out for the evening and I get a funny feeling I’m being followed, I should pull my boxing gloves from my purse and wait for the bell?” She shook her head, her shiny blonde hair shimmering in the bulb, which hung from the ceiling. She waved away an explanation he didn’t have and continued. “Whatever you teach me, I have to be able to do in my street clothes…and heels are likely.”

  He cringed inside. It was his curse to be surrounded by girlie girls and prissy women. “Point taken. You’d rather wrestle. Awesome. Let me get a few mats out and we’ll go at it.”