by Beth Rhodes
He didn’t bother with an answer, knowing she was just pulling a string or two. And really, wasn’t it his fault that there were strings there to pull at all?
When the music finally changed to something slow, he found the small of her back with his hand and pulled her close. He let his fingers linger against the edge of her shirt, guiding her through one turn and then another as they both relaxed.
Stacy tucked her right arm under his jacket and curled her hand up onto his left shoulder, leaving his holster unencumbered and his right hand free.
“Mmm,” she hummed against his chest, rested her forehead on his shoulder. It was as if they’d been made for each other. Always, this complete fit, puzzle piece to puzzle piece. She knew his instincts to protect her and knew to let him.
With a look around the activity room, he shook off the distractions. It was time to focus on the mission at hand, not worry about next week or next month. If they didn’t stop Cortez, the entire worry would be for naught. “Have you seen him?”
She leaned closer and lightly ran her fingernails down his neck. He could tell she was alert, though, and that in itself was a huge turn on.
“No. I haven’t seen him.”
He kept his own eyes open, finding the task more and more difficult as the evening progressed. They were trying to create an air of normalcy, and Stacy was so good at normal.
As if they were a couple on vacation, enjoying each other’s company and using dance as the foreplay it could be because as soon as this was over he was going to take her back to their room and strip her down. He cleared his throat.
They turned to the edge of the dance floor; without words, agreeing to stop. Her breath on his neck sent tendrils of lustful need straight to his groin. When her hand slipped into his back pocket of his slacks, he swallowed a groan.
Focus!
“He’s not coming.” Stacy released his pocket only to take his hand.
They found a couple of chairs in the corner opposite Jamie. He had his Marguerite at his side, a small, gorgeous Hispanic woman he’d picked up in Nogales about eight years ago. Without a word, he’d just left for a month and returned with this feisty, Spanish-speaking girl.
And Hawk had feared, too much of a girl. She’d looked barely out of her teens. Fortunately, she’d been a sharp young woman with enough brains to bury his objections and enough sexual pull to seduce Jamie. Or that’s what he’d thought at the time. Eight years was a long time, though. More than just a fling.
Hawk wondered about her, her background. Who was she? Jamie had asked him not to do a background check, so he hadn’t. The years had passed and the affection between his friend and this woman grew.
In all these years, he’d never gotten rid of the feeling that Marguerite was hiding something.
He’d done his own digging because, like now, he had more than himself and his team to worry about. He kept apprised of the happenings in that small corner of Mexico on the border to Arizona. Just in case.
“Do you think we should leave?” Stacy spoke from the seat next to him, her hands busy on the glass in front of her. “I wonder if Michael figured out that we know.”
Hawk sat back as thoughts of Jamie and Marguerite were pushed aside. “From here on out, we assume the worst.”
She laughed harshly. “Been there, done that.”
“Hey.” He forced her to look at him, leaned in, and spoke succinctly. “This isn’t about you. Don’t let him shatter your confidence. He came with a plan. He planned to seduce you. He wants to make me pay. You didn’t stand a chance, Stacy. This was never about you.”
She snapped her mouth shut as if an invisible vise pulled her back. “Wow. That’s almost insulting.”
“What?” He frowned. “Insulting? How?”
Jamie was holding back a chuckle.
“That’s the second time you’ve implied you’re the reason a man would like me.” Stacy lifted her brow. “Don’t you think I can attract my own attention?”
“Oh! Of, course. I mean, yes. You definitely warrant attention—”
“I’m kidding,” she said.
“I know that,” he answered then gave her a look that he hoped conveyed just how much attention he was going to give her as soon as they were alone. She blushed, proof that she got the message.
The night wound down with no sign of Cortez.
They sat at a table with Jamie and discussed the travel plans for the team and how to get them inserted without much ado. Wouldn’t help to show their hand if Cortez was nearby. And Hawk assumed he was. Maybe it was a long shot, but he’d rather be wrong later. And safe.
Stacy leaned back in the chair next to him and rested her hand on his thigh. He put a hand over hers, squeezed it. “Stacy and I should go.”
Jamie nodded. “We should go, too. Set up for the guys’ arrival.”
“Good. We’ll have everyone rounded up by midafternoon tomorrow.”
“Roberto mentioned there’s been no activity in Richards’ suite since this morning. Tomorrow, he’ll send the cleaning crew in and get us a report.”
“It’s all we can do for now.” Hawk stood, shook Jamie’s hand, holding on for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “Watch your back.”
“Sure thing.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You're quiet.”
“I’m disappointed that Michael didn’t show up.” Hawk cursed his faded vision. He walked the path in front of him more by memory than sight and took his wife’s hand. A cool breeze urged them along from behind, and he could feel her gearing up to stay something―the deep breath and the quiet hum at the back of her throat. “It’s the proof we need that he’s Cortez.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Michael is a social character. He took the dance classes every afternoon. He’d sit at the café and talk with the other vacationers.”
“Yourself included.”
She paused.
Hawk grimaced. “Sorry.”
She shrugged. “Yes. Myself included. It just seems like if he is Cortez, he would show his hand, reveal who he is. He wasn’t…isn’t shy. More like…charming. Outgoing.”
Hawk gripped the tight muscles at the back of his neck, praying his vision didn’t disappear with the added tension. They had a photo of Hernandez. All that got them was a confirmation that Michael wasn’t who he said he was—
A sound over his right shoulder made him stop, straining to hear. His instincts right on, he pulled Stacy behind him as a body pummeled toward him through the trees, knocked into him, and almost took him down. He braced his legs, shoving back, and felt the cool slide of a blade against his side. He turned, blocking the weapon with his arm, and thrusting his elbow into the guy’s face.
Their attacker grunted and turned with a sidekick, catching Hawk’s leg before he could evade. Hawk went down, for an instant and surprise drove anger through him.
“Again?” she asked, looking the guy up and down before moving in. That’s when Hawk realized this was the kid, the hooded villain.
She swung a leg out in the most basic yet efficient karate kick, hitting him in the abdomen. The kid bent over, the knife went flying. Hawk was up then and sent a left hook to the kid’s head, before shoving him down to the ground.
He looked up at Stacy, found his vision had fucked up again.
“Of all the stupid little shits,” Stacy muttered, not even out of breath. She stomped her foot against the pavement and knelt beside the boy. Yanking his head back by his dark hair, she got right in his face. “You’re outnumbered this time.”
The kid sneered and spit in her face. “Bitch.”
Hawk straightened and pulled his sidearm. “Don’t move.”
The dumbass moved. Grabbed his wife’s ankle.
Stacy wrenched her foot free, dropped her knee to his back and struck him in the back of his neck. Poor kid was down for the count.
“Nice one, babe.”
“He just wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
>
Hawk huffed out a breath. “Well, he wanted to hurt you.”
“We should call the police.”
Roberto arrived with security in a matter of minutes. “My apologies, Señor. We pride ourselves on keeping our clients safe while they are with us. This is appalling. I’ve never had anything like this happen before. I will have this person taken care of right away.”
At a nod from Roberto, the security guards took the half-conscious young man down the path toward the main building. “The police will come for him. They’ll want to speak with you.”
When his eyes went to darkness completely, his throat tightened on the panic. “We’re going back to our suite—” He started then stopped. “Can we come down to talk to him? Give us a few minutes with him, would you, Roberto?”
“For you, sí. Don’t take too long. I can’t hold off calling the police for more than a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Hawk said, grasping Stacy’s hand and turning to leave.
Damn, he needed his freaking eyes. Unease tormented him, a crashing disappointment to the thrill of victory from moments ago. He’d gone down too easily. Never that easily before.
He pulled her back toward the lighted path. When a young couple fell, laughing, from the bushes along the side of the path, Hawk's heart jumped and his pulse pounded.
She didn't question his taking the shortest route through the pool area where there were swimmers enjoying a late-night dip. They passed the dirt road that led to the docks where water lapped against the wooden braces.
The red hibiscus at the corner before their suite brushed his cheek. He took three steps and turned.
Stacy squeezed his hand as they came to the front porch.
The card slipped twice before inserting and opening the door. He let them in and with a quick glance behind him―useless as it was, he closed the door and turned to Stacy. “Jesus, I can’t see a damn thing, and this is the worst it’s ever been.”
What if it doesn’t come back?
When she rested her forehead against his chest, fear strangled the words from his throat and pounded against the beat of his heart as the need to flee overcame him. He set her away from him, gently touching her face before backing away.
“I need—” What? He didn’t know.
Stacy frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I need to...” He couldn’t finish the thought. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Run. Get away. Fool! All this time, the truth was right in front of him. He’d refused to see it.
He would have to quit the life he knew.
He stepped back then turned and walked to their suite, straight past the bed and the little sitting area just inside the sliding door.
“Hawk, wai―”
He stepped out, allowing himself to be swallowed by darkness, and hit the sand in three long strides to stand on the beach.
The door behind him slid open on the track.
He didn’t turn because turning wouldn’t help. He couldn’t see her anyway. His chest felt tight, and he rubbed at it.
“We should go talk to him before the police get here, Hawk.”
He nodded.
The blindness was almost complete.
He was about to find out how it felt to face an enemy—sans vision.
***
They were about to go into the back room, the one behind the front desk at the resort, when Hawk’s phone rang again. Stacy leaned against the door jamb and waited when he answered.
The attack had unsettled Hawk. She’d never seen him quite so shaken.
She’d actually thought they did well. They made a good team. She didn’t know exactly when his vision had worsened, because she hadn’t noticed any deterioration of his abilities. He was a man with a lot of pride and a lot of responsibility.
Only a fool would make light of those things.
“Thanks Malcolm,” he finished, touching his phone and moving through the apps to his email. He leaned in toward her. “He apologized it took so long. Said there was a hole in the intel, and he had to dig through alternates sources before he could find a photo of Cortez. This one is ten years old.”
“From the time you were there.” Stacy was ready. More than. “Let’s see.”
Hawk put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up into his face, frowning a little. “He also said he was able to trace Cortez to his son, Daniel. He’d be eighteen now.”
Stacy looked around her husband and into the room where the kid sat, waiting for the police. “You think this is Daniel.”
“Only one way to find out.” He lifted his phone, showed her an image. A little blurred from age, the man on the left, no question, was Michael Hernandez. She brushed at the photo, forcing back the feelings of incompetence, of guilt even. She’d let loneliness be her weakness.
And this man had used it.
“That’s him.”
“Okay.” He cupped her head with his hand and kissed her brow. “Now we deal with it.”
She nodded and followed him in. He set his phone on the table in front of the young man. “Daniel.”
Daniel looked up and blinked as if realizing he’d already given himself away. Shrugging, his gaze found her. It was just as cold as it had been the night in her rooms. A shiver ran up her spine.
The white walls, despite the warm hues in the art on the walls, emptied her of any remaining warmth. The harsh light overhead wasn’t bad for a hotel. It could have easily seconded as an interrogation room.
“Where’s your dad, Daniel?”
The kid shrugged again.
Hawk dragged his fingers along the edge of the table. “The police are going to take you. They’re going to connect you to the scooter incident—”
“Accidents happen,” he said.
“Yeah? Was the break in an accident too?” Her husband leaned in. “Did you know they found a print?”
Daniel frowned, even as a flicker of doubt crossed his face. “You’re lying.”
“Am I? Or were you just that careless when you had to fight off my wife?” Controlled fury ran like lava beneath the surface those words created. “Did you kill Thomas as well?”
When the kid looked sharply at Hawk, Stacy knew that must have been Michael.
“I didn’t kill anyone…yet.” Daniel’s empty gaze focused in on Stacy before a small grin played at his lips.
“Your dad wasn’t getting the job done, was he?” Hawk asked.
A flicker of recognition came to Daniel’s eyes. He shrugged. “Dad has his ways.”
“And you have yours.” Stacy finished for him, standing away from the door. “He was seducing the enemy, falling for a woman, for me. He’d lost track of the plan, hadn’t he?”
Anger flashed behind those hooded eyes.
“He did nothing! And you,” the word on his tongue, filled with hostility, aimed at Hawk, “you killed my mother, shot her down like a worthless dog. And she bled out without a chance. And he ran, ran like the coward he is!” Daniel’s hands gripped the table. “She died! He will pay. You will pay.”
Hawk glanced her way; his vision at least part way restored. The look in those eyes was pity. He turned a chair at the table and sat in front of the young man. He rested his elbows on the table, clasped his hand in front of his mouth. “I didn’t kill your mother, Daniel.”
“I was there—”
“You were just an eight-year-old boy.”
“I was old enough! I helped my father kidnap that girl.”
Stacy’s heart broke a little.
“I remember you.” Hawk spoke softly, his words an odd balance of compassion and threat. “You ran out into the patio that night. It was dark. Your mother knew the danger. She went after you. She saved you. Your father’s men were shooting, though. And the bullets hit her by mistake.”
“You are a liar!” Daniel screamed, trying to stand up from the chair. Sweat dripped down his face, his eyes were wide… “Your men came in the night with their big guns. You stole from us.”
; Stacy watched his agitation grow. His eyes held not the cold, blank stare she’d seen when he thought he was taking revenge on his mother’s death against a mere woman. They were filled with rage. He didn’t remember enough, and because of that, perhaps his anger would be directed closer to home.
The presence of another person in the hall had her glancing over her shoulder. Jamie.
“I remember your father, too, Daniel,” Hawk said. “He called out to his men to cease fire.”
Daniel frowned. His memories had holes. Ten years would do that to a kid, as would living with the grief of losing his mother. Pity, sympathy, it all roiled around inside of her. What kind of upbringing did revenge and anger propagate?
“I jumped out to grab your mother and sister.” Hawk unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled the material over his shoulder, revealing the mess of scars. “I was hit two times.”
Daniel was looking now. His face held the uncertainty of a child. And she wondered if he was putting pieces of the puzzle together.
“There was a big man who picked you up. I remember that…” His gaze went beyond her, to Jamie. “You were there, weren’t you?”
Jamie nodded.
“Tell me where your father is, son.”
“I’m not your son.” Daniel’s hands were tightly clasped in front of him, and when he lifted his chin to look at them, cold settled into Stacy’s soul. “And you can’t have him.”
Frustration came swiftly, and Stacy stepped forward. This time she was the one who leaned in. Hawk put a hand on her arm, and she shook it off. “Do the right thing, Daniel. Your father killed a young man, no older than you. He needs to answer for what he’s done.”
“He’s mine.” He laughed then and shook his head. “I think my ride is here.”
Stacy glanced behind her, and found two policemen in the doorway. She scowled, crossed her arms, and backed off. Hawk put a hand at the small of her back. On to the next round, apparently. They just needed to get Cortez.
