Striker
Heather Slade
K19 Security Solutions Book Six
STRIKER
© 2019 Heather Slade
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-942200-58-1
ISBN-10: 1-942200-58-7
Also by Heather Slade
K19 SECURITY SOLUTIONS
Available Now!
Book One: Razor
Book Two: Gunner
Book Three: Mistletoe
Book Four: Mantis
Book Five: Dutch
Coming Soon!
Book Seven: Monk
MILITARY INTELLIGENCE SECTION 6
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Book One: Shiver
Coming Soon!
Book Two: Wilder
BUTLER RANCH
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Book One: Brodie
Book Two: Maddox
Book Three: Naughton
Book Four: Mercer
Book Five: Kade
COWBOYS OF CRESTED BUTTE
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Book One: Fall for Me
Book Two: Dance with Me
Book Three: Kiss Me Cowboy
Book Four: Stay with Me
Book Five: Win Me Over
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
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About the Author
Also by Heather Slade
1
Striker was ready to throw his phone against the wall of the office in his McLean, Virginia, condo.
“Why are you surprised? I told you this would happen when you allowed Ghafor to go to Colombia,” he shouted at Kellen “Money” McTiernan, the man who had taken Striker’s job at the CIA when he left.
“The United States’ relationship with Colombia is stable now and was then, Griffin. There was no reason to refuse to let Ghafor go wherever he wanted to, as long as it wasn’t back to Pakistan,” McTiernan shot back.
There were at least three things in Money’s statement that pissed him off. Telling him anything about US–Colombian relations was his first mistake. Striker Ellis had been the CIA’s resident expert on not just Colombia, but all of South America before he left the agency.
Calling him Griffin, rather than Striker, was his second error. There were very few people who got away with calling him that, and Money wasn’t one of them.
Finally, saying that there wasn’t any reason Ghafor, former leader of the Islamic State, should’ve been permitted to go anywhere that wasn’t a prison cell or a morgue, made Striker’s blood pressure skyrocket.
“Where do you think he is now?”
“We’re not certain he’s in Pakistan.”
“You’re not certain. Is that what you just said? I thought you were supposed to have a genius-level IQ. Evidently, that is a misconception. Of course he’s in Pakistan, you idiot.”
Abdul Ghafor was the shit beneath the shoe of the worst scumbag on the face of the earth. He was personally responsible for the deaths of several American operatives, along with playing an integral role in the fraudulent presidential election that had resulted in a man who never should’ve been elected to one term in office, let alone two, taking oath.
That man would soon be impeached, and if the universe didn’t screw it up somehow, once he was out of office, he’d also be prosecuted and sent to prison.
It didn’t matter to Striker that Ghafor’s testimony had led to several other indictments of election fraud and money laundering; that the State Department let the man live was an affront to everything he believed in. Shipping him off to Buenaventura, Colombia, a hotbed of Islamic fundamentalism, was akin to asking for another catastrophic attack on US soil.
Striker put his hand over the mic on his phone when Owen “Ranger” Messick walked into his office followed by Caleb “Diesel” Jacks.
“Money thinks Ghafor might have returned to Pakistan.”
The look on both Ranger’s and Diesel’s faces clearly conveyed that they shared the same opinion of McTiernan Striker did.
“You’ll receive the briefing tomorrow at zero eight hundred,” Money said right before he disconnected the call.
“That sonuvabitch hung up on me,” said Striker, once again tempted to throw his phone. With his luck, he’d put a hole in the wall, and it would be one more thing he’d have to repair before he sold the condo he rarely lived in. At least not since he and Aine McNamara had broken up.
“You ready to head out, boss?” asked Diesel, propping his feet on Striker’s desk.
Before he could do it himself, Ranger reached over and knocked Diesel’s feet off.
“I’m not your boss,” grumbled Striker, although at times like these, he wished he’d never left the agency. No way in hell would Ghafor have disappeared on his watch.
“What’s Doc told you about the meeting?” asked Ranger.
“Only that it’s tomorrow in Yachats.”
Just saying the name of the small coastal town in Oregon made Striker’s chest hurt.
Why the hell did Doc Butler need them to meet there of all places? K19 Security Solutions’ senior partner had a wide range of options when he called a meeting of the other senior and junior partners—like Striker was. In the past, they’d always met on the Central Coast of California, where all four founding partners owned houses even if they didn’t live there full-time.
Doc’s choice of Yachats for this meeting was baffling, particularly since Razor Sharp was the only member of the team who had a permanent residence there.
Regardless, Striker’s main hope was that during the short time he planned to be in town, he could manage to avoid running into Aine McNamara.
Whatever information he’d anticipated getting in advance of the K19 team meeting was thwarted by whom Razor had sent to pick up him, Ranger, and Diesel from the airport.
Rhys “Monk” Perrin was the least talkative man Striker had ever met. Usually, it didn’t bother him. It seemed like most people talked more to hear the sound of their own voice than to say anything of importance. When he needed information though, it was irritating as hell.
What Striker really wanted to know wasn’t about the meeting. He wanted to know how Aine was, although even if Monk were a chatterbox, he never would’ve asked him about her.
He had his own man on reconnaissance, someone he’d worked with at the agency who did private investigation work on the side. Striker had hired Halo to make sure Aine didn’t get herself into any dang
er. When he received word that she was dating a local guy, he’d thought about backing off, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to. He told Halo to limit his reports to essential information only, not because he wasn’t concerned anymore; it just hurt too much to think about her with another man.
“Why did you turn here?” he asked, realizing Monk had made a left onto the street that would take them to Razor’s place rather than to the hotel.
“Going to the house.”
“I figured that. What I want to know is why?”
“This is where Razor told me to bring you.”
Striker didn’t bother looking at either Ranger or Diesel sitting in the back seat; he could hear them snickering.
—:—
“What did you say?” Aine asked her twin sister, Ava.
“The K19 team is meeting here tomorrow.”
“Here? At the house?” While Aine didn’t live with her sister and brother-in-law, she lived in the house next door, which was close enough.
Ava shook her head. “No, at the Overleaf. I think that’s where everyone’s staying.”
“What do you mean by everyone?”
“I don’t know whether Griffin is coming or not.”
Aine would tell her sister that wasn’t what she meant, nor did it matter if he was coming, but there was no point in lying.
“It’s inevitable that we’ll see each other,” she said instead.
“Maybe.” Ava shrugged. “What did you and Stuart do this weekend?”
“Dinner and a movie.”
Stuart was a great guy. He was handsome, well-educated, ran his own business in town—granted, it was a plumbing business—but still, it was his.
Was he the hottest man she’d ever dated? No. Did he make every nerve ending in her body stand up and take notice? Never. However, he also hadn’t broken her heart, and it was likely he never would. Stuart made no secret that if he thought there was any chance at all she’d say yes, he’d propose to her tomorrow.
“Aine?”
“What?”
“I asked you a question,” Ava said with a hand on her hip.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“What movie, and where did you go to dinner?”
“Um, some spy movie, and we ate at the brewery. Listen, I’m supposed to meet Mom for a pedicure. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Aine wasn’t supposed to meet their mother until this afternoon, but it was the only thing she could think of to get away from Ava and give herself time to think.
A year ago, she and Griffin Ellis—whom she should start calling Striker like everyone else—were embarking on what she thought was going to be a serious relationship. They’d spent Thanksgiving together, and even though he had been on a mission, he made it home on Christmas Day to be with her. Between then and the end of February, she’d all but moved into his McLean, Virginia, condominium with him.
At the beginning of March, things fell apart. Aine still had a hard time processing what had happened, not that it mattered now. It was over, and while her heart hadn’t accepted it yet, her brain was at least partially on board.
She only hoped that she could manage to avoid running into Striker Ellis while he was in town.
2
“I thought we weren’t meeting until tomorrow,” Striker said to Razor when the man opened the front door and welcomed them in.
Razor ignored him but shook hands with Ranger and Diesel. “Did you review the proposal Merrigan sent over?” he asked each of them.
While Striker didn’t know what the proposal said exactly, his assumption was that Doc’s wife, K19’s managing director, was offering each of the former CIA agents a job. Maybe that’s why Monk brought them here instead of the hotel. If that was the case, Striker wondered if he could beg off and go to the Overleaf on his own.
He was about to ask when Razor turned his head. Striker followed the man’s gaze over to where his wife, Aine’s identical twin sister, sat, holding a baby. Her likeness caused a heaviness to settle on his chest.
“How’s he doing, Avarie?” Razor asked.
“He’s fine. I guess I shouldn’t have eaten that leftover Indian food for lunch. Could you hold him for a minute?” she asked.
“Come meet the guys,” Razor said, taking the baby from her arms and walking over to where Striker stood with Ranger and Diesel.
“This is Tabon Samual Sharp VI, who we call Sam.”
Neither of the other two guys seemed to know what to do any more than Striker did.
“You wanna hold him?” Razor asked him.
No, he didn’t want to hold a damn baby. WTF?
Razor laughed out loud. “You should see your face right now.”
“I got a nephew who’s six months,” said Diesel, sounding as awkward as Striker felt and Ranger looked.
“Sam is four months.”
Striker shifted on his feet, wondering how long they’d have to talk about a little human who was presently drooling so much that the neck of his tiny shirt was wet.
Ava came back and took the baby from Razor’s arms. “How are you, Striker?”
“Good, thanks. Do you know Ranger and Diesel?”
Ava nodded and said hello before turning back to him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” he said, following her into the kitchen. “Look—”
Ava held up her hand. “Before you say anything, I just want you to know that Aine is seeing someone.”
The heaviness Striker had felt before, thinking about how much Ava and her sister looked alike, now felt more like a boulder on his chest, realizing how much they sounded alike too.
“I hope she’s happy,” he responded after enough time had passed that Ava was staring at him.
“I hope so too.”
“I won’t be in town long” he added, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe so she could reassure her sister.
“We’ll make that decision once Doc and Merrigan get here,” said Razor, joining them.
“What’s with all the mystery?” asked Ranger, saying out loud what Striker was thinking.
Razor motioned them out of the kitchen then went back in and kissed Ava’s cheek and the baby’s head.
Striker turned away but not before he saw the sweet smile Razor’s wife gave him. Aine had the same smile, and the warmth he felt when she looked at him that way was probably how Razor was feeling right then. God, he missed it.
“I’ve got a new setup downstairs I want to familiarize you with. It’s also in the house in Cambria, almost identical to this.”
The last time Striker had been downstairs, there had been a large workout room, a small office, and a huge storage area. Now the “office,” if it could be called that, was three times the size of the workout room, and the storage area appeared to be nonexistent.
“Wow,” he muttered, marveling at all the equipment packed into the space. There were times K19’s technology budget blew his mind. The fact that they didn’t have to jump through hoops for funding meant the equipment they had would be what the agency might acquire months from now.
“Come on, show it off,” Razor said to Monk, who was already sitting in front of one of the monitors.
“What software is this?” asked Diesel, leaning in.
“Same technology used for the drones,” answered Razor.
“What are we looking at?”
“Ghafor’s compound in Pakistan.”
Striker shook his head. He’d had no doubt that’s where the bastard was, not that the CIA was willing to admit their mistake.
“Can you zoom in there?” Striker asked Monk, pointing to the screen.
“I thought he was out of money,” said Ranger, noticing the same thing Striker had. The man was stockpiling munitions.
“He’s been receiving regular shipments of arms at this location. Which means somebody’s funding him.”
Striker’s disgust at the CIA’s decision intensified. Allowing Ghafor to pick his place of exile had
to be one of the stupidest moves he’d ever seen them make. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the Islamic fundamentalists also living in exile in Colombia gave Abdul the money he needed to get back on his feet. The Islamic State appeared to be gearing up for something significant, and until he could figure out what, they needed to wait and watch the bastard.
Razor looked at his watch. “Doc and Merrigan should be here within an hour.”
“Then what?”
“Dinner.”
—:—
Aine was in her sister’s kitchen with their mother, who was holding Sam, when she heard voices from the other room. One voice in particular sent a chill up her spine.
“I thought you said they were staying at the Overleaf.”
“They are, but we’re having dinner at the house tonight.”
“I see.”
Ava sighed. “Aine, you dated him for what, four months?”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, you’re seeing someone else now, and you aren’t a four-year-old. Get over it.”
Aine didn’t bother responding. Instead, she leaned down, kissed Sam and then her mother’s cheek, and hugged her. “Have a great time on the cruise. What time is Stan picking you up?”
“A little before seven in the morning. I’ll try not to wake you.”
Aine nodded, hugged her mother again, and then walked out the back door of the house without saying another word to her sister. She was about to go in her own front door when she saw Stuart pull into the driveway.
Striker (K19 Security Solutions Book 6) Page 1