Strike Back (Hawk Elite Security Book 1)

by Beth Rhodes

  Strike Back

  A Hawk Elite Security Novel

  Book One

  by Beth Rhodes

  Copyright © 2016 Beth Rhodes

  All rights reserved.

  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.

  Acknowledgements

  I know you are anxious to get to the story, but the prelude to this story must be acknowledged. My Hawk Elite Security books came about eight or so years ago. They aren’t my first conception for Romantic Suspense, but they were written early enough in my career that I was still practicing plotting. I didn’t have cool tools like the workshop I took through Entangled Publishing—The Trope Driven Plot—or fun articles about personality and characterization. Therefore, I must first acknowledge my awesome editor, Jessa Slade. She hammered through this manuscript [probably wondering where the heck I went wrong] and helped me refocus so much about this story that was ‘eh.’ Let me tell you, changing the motivation and goal of a character in a 70,000 word story takes a lot of time. So much time. Time I didn’t have this year because my husband and I were moving the family across country.

  Which brings me to the acknowledgement of my writing partners in crime—Cindy Skaggs and Jennie Marts. They have been here, pushing me along and forcing me to get work done, even when I just wanted to go eat ice cream and drink beer instead.

  Speaking of ice cream and beer…in this story, you’ll get to meet Stacy Hawkins. She’s the mother of three and a thirty something, comfortable wife paired up to her kick-ass, military husband. And when I first wrote this book, I thought she wanted to take a break from their work in a dangerous business. I couldn’t quite imagine myself [or any mother] being physically strong. But, I’d like to acknowledge my sister, Katie, who was that mom with all those kids who refused to give up. She worked her butt off and proved that even a slightly overweight yet active mother can turn herself into a kick-ass woman late in her thirties. She made Stacy a reality for me.

  Acknowledgements go out to all the professionals who worked on this book with me. Elaina Lee at For the Muse Design for the gorgeous covers in the entire series. All of my Passionate Critters! And copy-editor, Wendy Ely.

  I have to acknowledge my family, who puts up with a little bit of crazy in order to let me pursue my dreams. And to my readers, THANK YOU! Thank you for reading, for reviewing, for sharing my stories with your friends. You make this journey possible.

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  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 the 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 kne
w 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.”