Strike Back: Hawk Elite Security, #1

By Beth Rhodes

Hawk Elite Security, a group of dedicated men and women. 
Moved by duty and honor.
Dedicated to being courageous in the face of adversity.
Passionate about life.

~*~*~

He would let her go if it would keep her safe…

Strong, self-reliant Nathan Hawkins—owner of Hawk Elite Security—can't fathom a world in which he can't protect the ones he loves. But the ticking time bomb of scar tissue in his head threatens to end his career and his marriage, even his life. But the scar tissue is nothing compared to the twisted enemy from Nathan's past who returns, wanting Nathan to pay for his transgressions, pay with his wife.

As the bonds of her once rock-solid marriage disintegrate, Stacy Hawkins is ready to strangle her distant husband if that's what it takes to break down the barriers. Then she meets a man who makes her feel special again, one who makes her long for what she's lost with Nathan.

…she would give anything to reach him.

A vacation to their favorite spot in Belize isn't enough to draw Hawk away from the team, especially when it seems that each mission in the past six months is rife with misfortune. And when Stacy becomes the target of a deranged killer out to punish Nathan, they must confront their own personal demons before they can triumph over the evil intent on leaving them dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Rhodes
• Release date: Dec 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540119056

Beth Rhodes

Country music Love Junkie. Boxing and low-carb Health Addict. Birdwatcher. Garden Grower. Adorer of God and His son, Jesus. Married to my own soldier Hero. T1D Warrior. Add six children. My Life.

Book preview

Other Books by Beth Rhodes

Available at your favorite online Retailers

Love Beyond Reason Series

Letters From Home

Outside the Lines

Hawk Elite Security Series

Strike Back

Strike Fear

Strike Zone

Strike Force

Novellas

For Love or Duty

The Perfect Confidence

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the men and women who serve our nation.

And to my husband. He is the forty-something, kick-ass hero who doesn’t give up on a dream, even when the going gets tough. Stay strong, babe.

I’ve always got your back, just like you’ve always had mine.

Prologue

The call had come in fourteen hours ago, putting Nathan Hawkins’ ass on a plane and sending him across the Pacific to the Philippines. Manila.

Now, the ride from the airport to the outskirts of town reacquainted him to the humidity. By the time the Jeepney arrived at the rendezvous point, sweat soaked through his tough canvas gear—his cargo pants and cotton t-shirt.

He tugged at his collar and rolled that bad feeling from his shoulders, putting his head in the place it belonged—the present. He forced thoughts of his home and his family from his mind as he stepped out of the mid-size diesel truck. Focus.

Boss. His partner came up from the side, sliding out from behind a group of trees as if he’d just taken a walk through the jungle.

Tan. Hawk nodded and they walked through the flapping doorway of the tent. A terrain model sat in the center, and Hawk approached. What have we got?

Tancredo had been in the region doing a series of security maintenance checks when Barba had contacted Hawk. Now, Tan pointed to the landscape of the area, crudely represented by whatever was handy—clothing, boxes, sticks, and a few bricks to represent the building that were Cortez’s compound. We’ve got one guy on the inside, feeding us intel. His access as a local delivery boy is limited, so there’s been some guess work.

What’s this over here? Hawk asked, circling his finger over a brick sitting in the far northeast corner of the table.

The main house. Front door is here.

Family?

A wife and two kids. Out of town.

The gathering sweat dripped down Hawk’s forehead and gathered at his temple. He rubbed his face against his shoulder as he considered their entry point. Personnel?

On the exterior walls—two perches—at the Northwest corner and the Southeast—armed. One office at the gate—three men inside. Tancredo stood with his hands on his hips. He wasn’t quite as tall as Hawk, but the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his muscled black arms made him an intimidating figure. So far we’ve been able to identify Cortez and seven men.

Hawk hummed in response. Seven to his five. Julio has men he can add to our five.

The five can handle it, Hawk.

He knew they could. They’d been working together so long they practically lived in each other’s pockets. Is John at one hundred percent?

He’s refused the painkiller for a month. And has kept up during physical training.

Is that a yes or a no?

Yes, sir. I believe John is up to the task.

The other three ducked in from the back. Boss, Jamie said as he braced his feet next to the table. Julio will be here at 1100. His men are stationed around the property—back up. No one has entered. All is quiet.

Hawk spent fifteen minutes detailing how they’d go in. Remember. Stay low. In and out. And we meet back here. With Julio’s daughter. Let’s keep our cool, guys. Remember. There’s no reason for Cortez to even know we’re there.

This mission was no different from a dozen others the team had completed over the years.

His connections in the Philippines were strong, respected. He did business with so many on the islands. Except for in five years, this Cortez had risen from nothing. The man’s business, moving drugs through the islands from Jakarta to Manila and on to the States, centered on textiles—import and export, to cover up the real business. His reputation for cruelty among the locals created just the fear he needed to obtain and maintain power.

Hawk dropped his small notepad to the table and checked his watch. Three minutes.

His men were ready for action. They’d all taken it personally when Cortez retaliated in such a manner against Julio’s determination. They wanted justice for Barba—a friend.

Tan, you follow me to the girl.

You got it.

They’d all studied the maps and knew exactly where to go; each part doing what it took to make the operation a success. Two in the front, two in the back, and one left behind to assist with the extraction. Let’s go.

The compound sat over the rise and down into a clearing, making their stealthy approach almost impossible. The tent had kept them hidden until now; it was one of several that made up the small village like atmosphere along the creek that ran past Cortez’s estate, and the darkness of the new moon would take over as they reached the house.

At the border of the clearing, Hawk held up a hand to the three men at his back. They waited for the sweep of the spotlight to cross their path and then, like clockwork, Jamie and Bobby crouched and ran the edge to the north where they would disable the first of three power boxes.

Hawk waved Tan on and they headed for the gate to the left and reached it a second before the spotlight swept behind them. He took a breath, let it out, let his heartbeat slow. Tan did the same behind him.

And in front of Hawk, big as his flipping head, was the brightest blooms—red, pink, yellow, orange—jutting from a stack of rectangular planters that were set along the wall next to the gate. The scent threw him back home, to his wife’s efforts in their own home, filling the house with the scent of flowers all summer long. And someone here cared enough, just like Stacy. Someone here was innocent and had more inside them—a touch of humanity.

Here, where humanity was disregarded for the greater need of power, disregarded for running drugs and kidnapping children.

His heart beat, a loud thump in his ears, and he took a breath, blew it out slowly. Counted.  3, 2, 1...

The lights shut down.

Silence.

Ninety seconds. Go.

Tan pried the gate open. Hawk crossed first, turning and going in low. Tan followed, going high. Clear, he whispered.

He moved along the inside of the exterior wall, south to where Isabel Barba was being held. Ahead, a guard stepped onto the darkened path. He looked right and then left. Hawk came to a silent stop, but instead of setting off an alarm, the man merely flicked his lighter to life and lit a cigarette.

Hawk pressed his body to the wall, staying as still as possible.

The guard looked their way again...

Then he turned, going back the way he came.

Behind him, Tan let out a breath, barely relaxing.

They moved forward, and Hawk slowed when he reached the path to the right in case the guard had merely stepped out of sight to wait. The way was clear, and he took the last yards to the outbuilding, Tan close behind him.

There. Hawk whispered, just a breath of words—too quiet for anyone but Tan to hear. Single story stucco, no windows, one door on the west side, with an access point from the breezeway corridor.

Around the corner of the small building, Hawk met with the now-present guard. The cigarette hung from his lips and the M16 was slung over his back so loosely it rested near his ass. Not a military trained soldier.

Hawk, moved in, and with one sharp blow to the back of the neck, the man dropped to the ground without a sound. Tan opened the door behind them and slipped in while Hawk stayed watch for a moment. From inside, the slight rustle of two men fighting, a grunt of satisfaction, and silence. Hawk turned his back on the darkened patio and followed Tan in, stepping over the unconscious guard as he did.

Lifting the guard, he dragged him out of the way, and used a zip tie to bind his hands behind his back. Then he stood and looked around. Not like a prison. More like an office. A large desk sat center, with one wall covered in shelves and books. An initial scan found books on philosophy and theology, a few history as well. Great. We’ve got ourselves an educated criminal.

Or a faker.

Or an asshole faker.

Hawk continued past the shelves to the glass partition, just a window like the ones inside interrogation rooms. Only opposite him was a small girl with dark hair lying on a cot in the corner.

Isabel. Relief at finding her as well as could be expected—alive—rushed through him.

The lock on the door was just as they’d expected, and Hawk stepped aside. Tan reached into his breast pocket and pulled what looked like a flat billfold, removing a long slim tool. In seconds the door sprung open, and Hawk entered.

Mother of— He coughed, blowing out a breath. The stench hit him first. In the corner was a small pot where Isabel had relieved herself since her arrival. Next to it was a tray of food. —fuckers.

Hawk crouched next to the small figure and shook her shoulder. Isa, he whispered.

She blinked, her eyes widening first as if she expected one of her guards. Recognition immediately dawned in her dark brown eyes. Tio.

Yeah. I’ve got ya. Hold onto me.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung like a drowning victim. He gently rubbed at her back. Taking you home now, honey.

He glanced up and found Tan watching. With a nod that they could retreat, Tan led them back the way they came.

Before they crossed into the patio, Hawk slowed. I need you to be very quiet, okay, Isa?

She nodded against his shoulder.

Good girl. His hand automatically went to her head and neck, and pressed her gently into the corner of his neck.

Movement and the low murmur of voices on the far side of the patio revealed company.

A small contingent of Cortez’s men stood on the south corner just beyond a little pond. Plants circled the pool and grew wide, lush leaves across wrought iron topped walls that separated outside from inside.

Cortez stood in the middle, giving orders. He murmured words Hawk couldn’t understand, until he said the name Barba. That he understood. Tan nudged him, gave him the familiar signal for helo—his hand up in the air and circling a pointed finger, and Hawk heard it. The distant flap of rotors.

Cortez looked up into the sky, and in that instant, Isabel hiccupped in his arms. The man’s eyes went directly to Hawk’s—in the dark, like a freaking cat stalking its prey in the pitch dark alley off MLK boulevard.

The man’s arm came up, stopping at his back first, before he aimed his .357 straight at Hawk. Bienvenidos, amigo.

When Cortez opened fire, his men followed suit. Hawk leapt behind the closest pillar, shocked by the feel of a bullet slicing through his calf. A quick check showed it had gone right through. From the corner of his eye, he saw a small boy run against the smooth tile in his bare feet, followed closely by the shadow of a pretty Hispanic woman, hair flying—reaching for the boy as he slipped through her fingers.

Stay here, Isa, he said, and then leapt from his hiding place, lunged through the spitting bullets, and grabbed the woman in the same instant Cortez screamed for a cease fire. A burst from the ancient M16 echoed through the courtyard and caught him in his shoulder. The woman in his arms fell limp as they both dropped to the pretty pink tile.

His head bounced, jarring him, edging him closer to unconsciousness. He struggled pulling at the rope up that edge, not wanting to lose it now. At the smallest movement in his arms, the familiar wiggle of a tiny body, an infant, focused his attention on the pair in his arms. Shit, he whispered, blood pooling in his hands. He shoved the woman back, grabbed the shawl from her shoulders, and tightly wrapped the small body. His hand shook, his hands barely worked the way his brain was telling them to, and he knew he was so close to going under.

Shit.

The family had been home. And Cortez’s men had shot them.

A sharp report of a rifle cracked the air, and Hawk was lifted from the ground and draped over a set of shoulders. The rifle kept up—cover fire—as his vision faded, the jostling sending jabs of pain down his back.

...family.

Chapter One

Punta Gorda, Belize

The unexpected flight of the Diet Coke-filled Styrofoam cup from her husband’s hand froze Stacy Hawkins in the doorway. She saw it coming but had no defense, and she shrieked as it landed like a grenade against her chest. The cold struck her. Ice fell into her shirt. She sputtered, backing up. Shit, she hissed, breathing and pulling at the shirt that clung to her breasts.

I’m sorry.

A few stray pieces of ice fell to the floor at her sandaled feet. Cold. Cold. The super-charged air conditioning of the hotel didn’t help. Shit— She backed up, sputtering.

Her husband, Hawk—Nathan ‘Hawk’ Hawkins—came toward her, the remnants of anger wiped clear of his face. I didn’t see you there. Whoa, he said as when she glowered at him and raised a hand to his approach. I’m so sorry.

She let herself take in his contrite expression, the agitation on his furrowed brow. I just came by to tell you I was headed to the suite, and I’ll make dinner.

Fine. That’s good. Okay. The worry in his eyes was so familiar, but she didn’t let it make her feel sorry for him. If he was going to throw shit around, he could at least make sure the area was clear of innocent bystanders.

Stacy. His voice carried down the hall as she hurried away. She couldn’t turn around, not even to reassure him. On autopilot, one foot in front of the other, she made her way toward the suite. She would change her clothes, shower, obtain her cool.

An accident was an accident, yet she deserved a little recovery therapy on this round. Freaking accident. Freaking Diet Coke. Couldn’t have been Sprite. Nope.

Stacy took the first turn into the lobby and crashed into another guest—full body, no-hesitation, throw-her-back-on-her-ass confrontation. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.

The man, not much taller than she, was broad in the shoulders and slim to his waist.

What an idiot I am. Oh, she said, finally focusing on his face and seeing the amused look.

Are you okay? I stepped on your foot.

She became hyper aware of his hand on her arm and her shirt sticking to her skin.

His gaze never left her face, his dark brown eyes smiled into her own, and the urge to smile back came unbidden. He was older than she thought at first.

And she relaxed, shrugging. I’m okay.

I expected to see someone chasing you, he suggested, joking, with a look behind her and a grin. He moved to put a hand on her shoulder, a friendly gesture—she knew, but the years of protective instinct kicked in, making her tense. He patted gently. If there’s anything I can do...

He trailed off, leaving his offer open-ended. And when she looked into his warm brown eyes, she saw kindness.

I’m so sorry. I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Stacy. They’d been coming to this little private resort for so long, she felt more like it was home sometimes. It was easy to ignore all the strangers that came through.

And easy to keep her distance from people after all these years in her husband’s business.

Michael, he said, offering his hand at the introduction. Michael Richards.

I appreciate the offer, Michael.

No trouble. He smiled with a shrug and turned. He caught her eye, looking far more deeply than she thought was possible of a stranger, the kind of look that made you wonder if a person could read the mind.

Do you believe in fate? he asked.

Stacy's heart stuttered unexpectedly. I—

I believe fate has brought us together. He smiled, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze as he continued, For now, I'm off to my tango lessons. He stomped his feet. Cha, cha, cha!

Nerves, air conditioning, and the lingering scent of sweet cigars were why her stomach jumped and her hands tingled as she made her way to the side exit and the path that led to her beachfront suite.

Did she believe in fate?

Not until today.

THE SCENT OF PASTA and homemade sauce wafted on the air, hitting Hawk as he walked through the door to the suite. Made the way he liked it, with a blend of basil and garlic. He detected the distinct aroma of red peppers and heard the crinkle of burnt skin being peeled away from sweet red flesh as he came through the doorway.

Stacy? he called out as he dropped the Luzon assignment folder on the table inside the door. Babe?

In the kitchen.

He followed the hallway to the back of the small little beachside bungalow. There was something cozy about having access to a kitchen, the extra bedroom, and, most importantly, the beach. He loved the water. He loved it here...

He hated that he had to leave, and coming into the kitchen and seeing Stacy at the stove in those hip-hugging capris that showed off her slim ankles made the ache even worse. He wasn’t sure what would hurt more—the actual leaving or telling her that he had to leave.

He didn’t like pissing her off, and it seemed he’d gotten very good at that lately.

There’s my trebuchet, she spoke from her spot next to the stove and raised her eyebrow.

Haha. I’m really sorry about that. I got a bad call and the drink went flying. By mistake. I didn’t see it when I started gesturing—

You do have a way with your hands. She cut him off. She’d always been there for him, always had his back. There were times he didn’t know that he deserved her. But he loved her, which made his predicament pretty damn shitty. Don’t worry about it.

He rubbed a hand over the ache in his head. Damn headaches plagued him. He smiled anyway. I have to tell you something.

Oh, my God. She gasped with a laugh. You’re having a steamy affair with Angelina Jolie.

You just dated yourself. He chuckled, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer. It was Scarlett Johanson—I like her short blonde hair. He twirled a finger through her hair, And she said she wanted me to bring my hot wife with me. We’d make it a threesome...and live happily-ever-after.

Ha. Yeah, right. She elbowed him, creating space and leaving him bereft of her touch to go back to making dinner. She gave a stir then carefully tasted the sauce. Her tongue came out to lick her lips. Mmm. Perfect.

Hawk cleared his throat. This was harder than he thought it was going to be. Actually, I have to go back to the office tonight. Coward. He’d promised her this would be a real vacation. And he was trying, really he was. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could go into the office and clear up the trouble over the phone. Then he wouldn’t have to go at all.

No point in upsetting her for no reason.

Stacy froze for an instant. Oh, bugger. Need any help?

Nah. I shouldn’t be too long. Just one last thing to take care of in Manila.

She placed the spoon against the side of the pot and turned to him. Her hands circled his neck and found that point at the back, just below his hairline, and rubbed her agile fingers against the tension there. Better?

Mmm, he murmured and let his head relax forward and rest against her forehead.

She kneaded the muscles then traced her fingernails against his skin. In an instant, comfort turned to desire, and Hawk took her face in his hands and tilted her head up to meet his. Thank you, he whispered, brushing his lips against hers.

Any time, babe. She heated him even as his headache returned full-force. He ignored it for the taste of her lips.

Let’s eat, she breathed harshly as her mouth broke away from his.

Hawk gently kissed her cheek and let his thumb caress the smooth skin of her collarbone. Yeah. Let’s eat.

Chapter Two

Five years ago, an explosion had embedded bits of shrapnel in his brain. Hawk joked that he was more like one of the characters in the sci-fi novels Stacy liked to read because, though the doctor had made him like new, he still had pieces up there they hadn’t been able to get out.

Calling that time rough was a gross understatement. Stacy had handled it like a professional, even if it had taken too much out of her, emotionally and physically. He had to wonder if those days of being physically unable were coming back to haunt him.

Better yet, how could he stop it from spilling over into what he and Stacy had built for themselves?

Dinner was over and they sat together in the small dining area, legs entwined beneath the table. He tapped his foot against her calf. What are you thinking?

A breeze blew through the open bay window and the curtains fluttered against the floor. She sighed. It was nice to talk to the kids.

"Yeah. John sounded excited about