Strike Fear (Hawk Elite Security Book 2)

by Beth Rhodes

  She snorted a laugh, and the sound startled him so much he turned back to her. A blush rose to her face, but she lifted that chin along with her brow. She had moved on with her life. Maybe she’d even put the worst of her past behind her, but would she really refuse her father’s wishes when they were meant to help her? “No wrestling either?”

  At the slow, deliberate shake of her head, aggravation burst through him. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You don’t care about your safety?”

  He’d read the report, knew her dad’s concern was real. It was every father’s nightmare to be faced with the release from prison of his daughter’s attacker. Did he still hold a grudge? Would he come after her again? Tan had spent two hours the night before digging through everything Malcolm could pull up on his sweet little computers. If he was going to protect her, he was going to be prepared for anything…

  Except one: a noncompliant client. He held his annoyance in check.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  He took in her painted nails and the hint of sparkling jewelry at her throat, wrists, and ears. Someone didn’t think so, and despite her athleticism, her history as an athlete, which obviously spilled into present day, he had to agree. Just because she could run or bench press or even twirl through the air didn’t mean she could defend herself against an attacker. “Unfortunately, you are not the client, Ms. Whitney. Your dad is, and he seems to think you need a refresher course.”

  He waved her toward the office. They’d wasted enough time on the meaningless back and forth; it was time to get down to business. He could hardly do his job if she didn’t cooperate.

  “Mister—”

  “Just Tan,” he interrupted, turning to guide her through the doorway. “Have a seat.”

  “Justin,” she continued. “My father means well even if he is on the overprotective side, but I’m no ninny. I have five brothers. I meant I’m well versed in self-defense—officially and unofficially.”

  “Tan.”

  “What?” The word came out short and resounding in frustration, the lines of her forehead pressing her brows together.

  “The name is Tancredo Byrnes. Tan for short.” He straightened the already straight inbox on his desk and wished, for the first time, he wasn’t such a neat freak. Then he’d at least have something to clean up. “I’m aware of your background.”

  She sat with her hands folded, trying so hard not to make waves, not to be a nuisance. She maintained her manners even when irritated.

  “Look. I’m not trying to be a jerk. But, your dad is worried, so before we get started on training, it would make me feel better to know what you can do—officially or otherwise.” He watched her move from the seat, a bundle of nervous energy as she took in the small details of his office, stopping in front of the large dry erase board where he kept track of his employees’ hours and schedules.

  “I thought you worked for Hawk Elite Security.”

  “I do.” He came around the desk and leaned on the edge, biting back a sigh. He really hadn’t expected her to pull this procrastination routine, didn’t expect her to be so nervous. Lots of women came to the gym to learn self-defense, nothing to be ashamed of. “I oversee one small part of the operation.” Somedays it felt like the babysitting part. “And I run the gym.”

  She was a bundle of nervous energy, and from what her dad had said about the ex, being out of prison, he didn’t blame her. “You do have other options.”

  “I do?” She looked at him skeptically.

  Heaven help him if she agreed. “We could do this arrangement as a bodyguard contract. Me, by your side, twenty-four seven.”

  Her eyes went wide; the pulse in her neck fluttered. Resignation came over her; her shoulders fell. If she was putting him on, she was good.

  “Uh, no. No. Maybe you are right. A little wrestling, perhaps?”

  Tan pointed to her outfit. “In that?”

  “Oh, no.” She frowned. “I have a bag. It’s out on the bench.”

  Well, this was going to be fun. Now she was mopey, like he’d kicked her dog. “It’s not going to be so bad. I promise. Some women like to learn, and most keep coming back, if only to practice and work out.”

  She didn’t seem convinced. “We’ll see.”

  She left his office, shoulders back, head held high. A real princess.

  He sighed. He liked women, he really did. He dated occasionally, never taking anything deeper than the surface. There had always been too much on his plate with a job in the military. And sending his paycheck home to Mom and his sister had kept him from stumbling into anything long term.

  And his focus had been best utilized at work. Until now. Until he’d taken the position at the gym and begun to manage personal security, anyway. During an operation, he was part of a team. Sometimes, his new position left him alone—for long stretches of time. He found he had way more time with himself than he wanted. To think. To analyze. To regret.

  He shoved aside those thoughts as she made her way out of the locker room in her black leggings—holy long legs—with swirls of glittering rhinestones and sequins all over them. The tank top matched—black but, thankfully, free of all the crap that would scratch the hell out of him. Her shoes were tiny little white canvas boppers, also covered in shiny shit.

  At least she’d had the sense to remove the expensive stuff. Her ears were bare as were her neck and wrist. “Where do we start?” she asked.

  “You do realize you might get sweaty, right?”

  “I’m ready when you are.”

  Tan shrugged.

  They stretched first. And he let himself be impressed by her flexibility, the obvious attention she paid to her muscles. “Do you still skate?”

  “No,” she answered quickly, not expounding, as she lowered her head once more to her knees and let her hands dangle over her feet.

  The job had been handed to him less than twenty-four hours ago, with little to go on except for the father’s concern and some background. Apparently, she wasn’t going to talk either…yet. But he’d learned, sometimes it takes a while to get the client talking.

  Loose now, and obviously comfortable in her own skin, Elizabeth kept her muscles warm by moving. She shook out her arms and paced. Fluid grace.

  “Let’s start with a stalker scenario.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Easy. I’m going to cross the street…and probably run.”

  “Maybe this guy can run, too.” Tan twisted at the waist, stretching the muscles of his lower back. “He gets you from behind. Come here.”

  She rolled her eyes but did as requested.

  “You’re running and he gets your arm.” Grabbing her arm, Tan pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her chest and giving her a lift off the ground. Wow, she was light.

  Immediately, she threw her head back, catching the side of his jaw. He grunted, the surprise making him drop her. She slammed her foot onto his instep, elbowed his gut, which left him breathless, then turned and kneed him in the groin.

  He moaned and slowly lowered himself to the floor so he could lie in the fetal position. Holy crap. Taken down by a sparkling princess. Thank God he was the only one around today.

  She leaned over, and her hair brushed against his cheek. “How about you tell my dad I passed, and we’ll call it even?”

  Not in a million years, he promised as she picked up her bag and walked out the door.

  ~ 2 ~

  Breathing hard, the woman lifted the gold chain and hung it on the wall above the lifeless blonde. She hadn’t meant to kill the girl, only scare her a little. Teach her a lesson.

  Either way, the girl had learned her lesson. The hard way.

  She’d had clear blue eyes. Until the last moment, anyway.

  The eyes faded last. First the confusion. Then the panic. Then nothing.

  Retribution had a feeling, and when the panic in those eyes fla
red to terror, the blood pumped through the woman’s heart, pounding so hard, it deafened her. And then nothing. A gnawing abyss, making the world right again.

  At the deep utility sink in the corner, she ran cold water over her hands and arms.

  “Oh.” She picked up the edge of her shirt and wiped at the dark stain. Darn it. The woman lifted the shirt and pulled it over her head. She rubbed soap against the pink cotton.

  The shirt was special, her favorite because he’d given it to her before he left.

  She frowned. Now it was ruined. She scrubbed harder, turning the water to warm and bending over the sink. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

  The water ran red then pink, but still the stain didn’t disappear.

  Maybe if she let it soak.

  Filling the sink, she poured a little bit of soap into the water, like Mommy used to do, then dunked the shirt. “There.”

  Upstairs the front door opened and closed.

  Only four thirty.

  “I’m home!” Muttered grumbling and the sound of pans being pulled from the kitchen cabinets set her tongue to tisking. Dinner. She’d meant to get dinner on.

  “You said you’d have dinner ready today.” The grumbling continued.

  In the corner where the washer and dryer sat against the cement wall, she grabbed an extra shirt and pulled it over her head. The movement sent pain up her side. She frowned. The whore must have got in a punch.

  She gripped the rail, winded by the time she finally reached the top. Guilt over the forgotten dinner rested against her breastbone. So much to remember, so many things to do.

  Next time, she’d try harder to do the right thing.

  ***

  Liz dropped her bag on the kitchen counter inside the back door to her father’s large home and called out, “Dad,” as she shed her jacket and hung it on the hook behind her.

  She ran a hand through her not-quite tame hair and pulled the length of it into a bun on top of her head. A haircut definitely needed to be added to her list of things-to-do. She’d been short a time or two, but never while she was skating. Maybe now was a good time to start something new.

  “Maggie?”

  “I’m right here, dear,” the woman who had come in and filled the hole her mother left all those years ago, stood at the island, flipping through an old recipe book. Liz walked around and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hi. Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s out until later this evening. Everything okay?” Maggie closed the book for a closer look at Liz.

  The added attention was expected and not resented, but the frustration tightened around her chest anyway. “I’ve come to make my objections.”

  “Your father wants you to be safe.”

  “I am safe.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Probably. Maybe. All the boys are worried, though. And it doesn’t hurt to reassure them by taking an hour a week to refresh some of the skills.”

  Dad had gotten to her, convinced her.

  “You’d be at the gym anyway, working out.”

  “Not that gym,” Liz objected weakly.

  “Are you a snob now, Elizabeth Whitney?”

  Liz sighed. “No. It’s just—”

  “How’s the work for the Premier Skating Expo coming along?”

  Liz took the reprieve. “Good. Not fast enough, if I’m honest.” She paused. “I think I need help.”

  “Like you want to hire someone?”

  She hadn’t quite formulated the thought until this very instant, but… “Yes.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow at her and Liz could feel a blush rise on her neck as the closest thing she had to a mother got a little teary-eyed. She hurried around the counter and hugged her. “You’ve come a long way, Dear. Your dad will be so happy.”

  “I haven’t been so bad, have I?”

  Maggie stepped back and took Liz’s shoulders, glaring at her with that frown. “Ever since Gabriel hurt you, you’ve done everything alone—therapy, psychological and physical, and work, and play. You have no friends, dear. You work to the bone with one goal in your head—to succeed. To win. To be independent. No one blames you for needing your independence. But we live in a world where accepting help is frowned upon. And that’s the true shame. I’m proud of you.”

  Liz sat on the stool behind her. “Wow. People see me as distant, cold? I don’t mean to be. I love my brothers for wanting to help. But after that year, I knew I needed to break out of the habit of leaning and stand for myself.”

  “Of course, you did.” Maggie patted her hand and then reopened the recipe book. “No one blames you, dear. But,” she lifted a finger to make a point, “I know your dad will be relieved to hear you’re looking to hire someone.”

  Resting her elbows on the counter, she let the nerves attacking her stomach do their thing for a minute and then embraced her courage. “Gabriel Sands stole too much from me. My chance at another gold. My sense of security. I won’t let him steal anything else. He might be out of prison. And maybe his freedom should freak me out, but you know what?”

  “What, dear?”

  “It doesn’t. It makes me angry. It makes me annoyed with myself for holding back.” She stood and braced her hands on the counter. “No more. I need to hire someone, and you know what? I know exactly who to call.”

  “See? Wonderful.” Maggie’s grin wasn’t the affection of a mere housekeeper, reminding Liz of how much this woman meant to her.

  Liz hugged her. “Thank you for everything.” And she meant so much more than just being here to listen. She owed Maggie a lifetime of gratitude, for her mothering, her disciplining, her sympathetic shoulder…even the way she had her father’s ear. “Tell Dad to go easy on me, eh? He might come home a little pissed off…”

  “What did you do?” Maggie asked, raising her brow.

  “Oh, nothing, which I’m guessing will be the problem.” Liz laughed. “I might have made a little bit of trouble at the gym this morning.”

  “Oh, Lizzie.”

  Contrite, she shrugged. “I’ll be better. As a matter of fact, I’ll call him and apologize. I’ll even set up the next training session.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes and turned to the fridge. She opened the bottom freezer drawer. “You hungry? I’ve got these somewhat mediocre eggrolls from your dad’s business meeting I can heat up.”

  Liz snorted a laugh. “He wouldn’t let you cook again?”

  “Thinks I need to get dressed up and host. I belong in the kitchen. Have since the day he hired me.”

  “You’ll always be more than the cook and housekeeper, Maggie, especially if you don’t quit warming my father’s bed.”

  “You hush!” Maggie blushed, biting back a laugh. “Jiminy cricket, child. You always have been precocious.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  When a worried look crossed Maggie’s face, Liz hurried to her side. “You’ve been the best companion for my father. And I love you.”

  “We should get married, I suppose.” She bit at her lip. “But your father. He keeps refusing. And I don’t have the heart to leave. God knows he’s been through enough…” Maggie sighed. “Ugh! Enough of this maudlin talk with you. Enough,” she added, pointing at Liz. “It’s none of your business.”

  And it hurt a little that in all these years, Dad still hadn’t let Mom go. Liz hugged Maggie again. “Please don’t leave us.”

  “Maybe for Stephen Amell, I might.”

  Liz laughed. “Can I go with you?”

  “Yes, we’ll go together.”

  With a kiss on her cheek, Liz went back for her purse and jacket. “I need to make a few phone calls. Since Dad’s out until later, would you let him know I stopped by? I really want to get on this hiring thing.”

  “Of, course. You need to move forward. Put the past behind you.” Maggie waved her out the door. “See you later, honey.”

  As Liz left, she thought of all the years Maggie had been there for her family. Liz had put off truly investing in her business and truly
believing she could make a difference. Why? She’d always thought their motto was Whitneys Never Quit. But, looking at how her dad had been stringing Maggie along since…well, hell—she didn’t want to think of how long her dad had been doing the horizontal mambo with Maggie…but, however long that was, it was too long.

  Maybe the Whitney motto should be Whitneys Never Commit.

  But she was one Whitney who was done living under the radar. A year ago, she had tentatively committed to this business venture.

  It was time to set aside those tentatives.

  She wanted success…and more; like a guy to share it with and maybe someday a family. A house outside of town. With bikes in the yard. She wanted it all, and she wasn’t going to get it hiding behind her father or being intimidated by every feather ruffle, which came her way.

  So if that meant appeasing her father and finding the time to do a self-defense course over the next week, she would do it.

  ~ 3 ~

  Tan pulled into a parking spot on the alley half a block from his building when his phone rang. An online image of the former Olympic champion, Elizabeth Whitney, came up on his screen. The image didn’t do her justice. Her face had a matured look now, a little hollower in the cheeks, more defined brows—prettier, even…and a harder light in her cold, green eyes.

  “Hey, Princess.”

  “I want to meet for a second session this week,” she said without preamble. “Are you available this afternoon?”

  Not quite an order, but he could tell she expected to get her way. And his desire to get her back in the gym was the stronger pull than putting her in her place. “As it happens, I’ll be there from fourteen hundred until closing—eighteen hundred hours.”

  “Good. I’ll be there at four.” She hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  He could almost hear the perfunctory nod of her head and then she was gone.

  He laughed, and the sound bounced across the brick walls on either side of him. He pocketed his keys, turned toward the street, and stopped at the sight of his mother waiting for him, leaning against the wall.