Striker (K19 Security Solutions Book 6)

by Heather Slade

  She watched as Stuart pulled his truck out of the driveway and drove away. She was tired, but she doubted she’d sleep easily. Instead, she walked through the house and out onto the deck. Even though it was getting chillier at night, Aine still tried to end as many days as she could, looking out at the ocean she was so fortunate to live with a view of.

  It calmed her, grounded her, gave her a sense of peace like nowhere else she’d ever lived. Maybe her mother was right about the money being compensation for her father’s evil deeds. It had paid for the house she never would’ve been able to afford otherwise.

  Aine closed her eyes and settled her mind on the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. That, and the smell of the sea, soothed her like a glass of warm milk did for her mother when she couldn’t sleep.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head, sensing like she had in the restaurant that Striker was near. There, on the trail right behind her house, he stood with his hands in his pockets.

  “Hi,” she said, almost wondering if her imagination was playing tricks on her. How many times had she wished that the person knocking on her door was him? Most often it was her sister, or Stuart.

  Striker walked closer.

  “Where’s the plumber?” he asked.

  “He went home,” she answered. “How did you know…never mind.”

  He shrugged. “Word gets around.”

  “Mmm hmm. Do you want to come up on the deck?”

  “Were you getting ready to go inside?”

  “Not yet. I like to spend a few minutes out here before I go to sleep.”

  Striker climbed the steps, and she opened the wood gate to let him in.

  “Does this work?” he asked, pointing to the gas fire pit that sat in the center of several chairs.

  “It does,” she answered, flipping the switch that ignited the flame.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all,” she said, sitting in one of the chairs and pulling the blanket she’d brought outside over her. “Are you warm enough?”

  Striker nodded, holding his hands closer to the fire. “I think so, although I might just be numb.”

  “It’s colder here than people think.”

  He nodded. “It’s the ocean.” He looked out at it and then back at her. “You like it here.”

  “I do, and it’s more than because Ava is here. I’d want to live here anyway.”

  “You’re making a life for yourself.”

  Aine thought about his words for a minute. “I guess, but lately I’ve been feeling like it’s pretty small.”

  “What? This town or your life?”

  “My life. As you know, I graduated from college, but haven’t done anything with my degree.”

  “Are you still considering continuing your education?”

  “I’m not sure. I mean, to get the kind of job we’ve discussed in the past, I’d probably have to get my Ph.D.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Time. Sam.”

  “Your nephew?”

  Aine nodded.

  “What about the University of Oregon?”

  “I looked into their Cognitive, Computational, and Systems Neuroscience Program.”

  “They have a good reputation for their Behavioral Analysis programs.”

  “Griffin…never mind.”

  “Tell me what you were going to say, Aine.”

  “It isn’t important.”

  “It is to me.”

  She stood and flipped the switch to turn off the fire. “It’s getting late.”

  “You’re angry.”

  She clenched her fists inside her jacket pockets, turned back toward the ocean, and closed her eyes.

  “Why do you know so much about the University of Oregon’s neuroscience program?” She opened her eyes, turned, and went inside without looking at him or waiting for him to answer.

  Aine didn’t care if it was rude. She locked the slider, went straight into her bedroom, and threw herself on the bed.

  They’d talked about her field of study several times and about the fact that if she was to continue her education, it would be with an emphasis on psychology and behavioral analysis. He’d even mentioned once that if she did choose that course of study, she might make an excellent profiler.

  They’d never gotten far enough into it to talk about schools she might consider, which meant Striker would have had to look into the U of O on his own. But why would he spend the time on something like that if he didn’t want her in his life?

  4

  Striker knew better than to do what he’d just done to Aine. He’d let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was keeping tabs on her, and that was something he had no right to do.

  He shouldn’t have taken the trail from the hotel back to her house. He shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to join her on the deck. He shouldn’t have insinuated himself back into the life he’d walked out of so abruptly.

  It had been eight months since he told her they needed to talk. Eight months since he stood back and watched her sadness turn to humiliation when he refused to tell her the real reason they couldn’t continue seeing each other.

  Aine had taken the blame for the relationship’s demise squarely on her shoulders, and he’d done nothing to dissuade or reassure her. The angrier she was at him, the better, he’d thought at the time. If she hated him, never wanted to see him again, maybe he could force himself to stay away.

  Now he’d done the very thing he knew then that he couldn’t do. In the span of only a few seconds, he’d given her hope. Thankfully, her anger came to the surface quickly, and she stormed away from him, saving them both the embarrassment.

  He took his time walking back to the hotel. The exhaustion he’d felt earlier had faded away, leaving him with what he knew would be another sleepless night.

  When the sun rose, Striker was still awake, staring out at the same ocean he had been watching since he sat on the deck with Aine the night before.

  He hadn’t talked himself in or out of anything in the hours in between. He still knew he wasn’t good for her, and yet he still knew that as long as he was in Yachats, he wouldn’t be able to resist talking to her, wanting to be around her, hearing her voice, and seeing her smile.

  After the K19 meeting, he planned to get a flight out as soon as possible, even if it meant flying commercial, which he didn’t mind doing at all. In fact, there were times he preferred it, especially if the rest of the team took a private plane.

  The meeting today wasn’t until zero eight hundred hours, which meant he had two hours to shower, get some coffee, and check his email to see if McTiernan had anything else to report on Abdul Ghafor’s whereabouts.

  Whether he did or not, Striker had no intention of telling him what he knew or what he’d seen in Razor’s office yesterday. The CIA couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing where Ghafor was concerned. The K19 team, he knew, would do whatever it took to neutralize the bastard.

  When he walked into the conference room where Ranger texted they’d be meeting, he surveyed those in attendance. Doc was there with his wife, Merrigan. Razor, Monk, Onyx, Ranger, and Diesel were there too.

  Missing were Gunner and Mercer, aka Eighty-eight, the two other founding partners, along with Mantis, Alegria, and Dutch. Maybe Doc would give a rundown of why those missing weren’t there.

  The first person he greeted was Merrigan. Back when the two of them were starting their careers, him with the CIA and her with MI-6, they had had a brief affair. It was hard to imagine now, since he thought of her more like a sister than even a colleague.

  “How are you, Striker?” she asked, kissing one cheek and then the other.

  He pulled back and studied her. “Nowhere near as good as you are, by the looks of it.”

  Merrigan smiled. “I’m a very happy woman. I suppose it shows.”

  “It looks good on you,” he said, turning to shake Doc’s hand when he approached.

  “Why are we meeting h
ere?” Striker asked once they’d gotten their greeting out of the way.

  “That’s my fault,” answered Merrigan without elaborating.

  “We had a few days on our own,” explained Doc, causing his wife’s cheeks to pinken. “We turned our trip here into a mini-vacation.”

  Striker really didn’t need or want any further information, so he excused himself, went to the breakfast buffet, filled a plate, and went to sit next to Monk. That way he wouldn’t have to hear an unnecessary side commentary about whatever it was that Doc was going to brief them on.

  As he’d hoped, Doc started out by saying that given Gunner and Zary’s baby, a little girl they’d named Lia Orina, was only three months old, Gunner sent his regrets for missing the meeting.

  “Mantis and Alegria’s baby boy was born last Tuesday. They named Ian after Mantis’ brother who, we all know, was killed on September 11.”

  It didn’t matter that neither was at the meeting; the group applauded anyway.

  Doc added that Mercer, who was married to Doc’s daughter, would be joining them at the next stage of the mission, which they were about to discuss, and finally, that Dutch was also on a leave of absence.

  “I’m happy to report that both Ranger and Diesel have signed contracts with K19 Security Solutions, and while she isn’t here presently, Corazón has also signed a pilot contract.”

  Doc looked at Onyx, who smiled and nodded. Striker wondered if he was happy to have an additional pilot on board, or if it was more that the pilot was a woman he’d been linked with romantically.

  “What’s the status of Tackle’s and Halo’s offers?” asked Razor.

  Doc looked at Merrigan. “They’ve been extended, and I’m waiting to hear back. We decided it was premature for them to attend this meeting.”

  Striker was glad Razor had asked. Both Landry “Tackle” Sorenson and Knox “Halo” Clarkson had been part of his team since they joined the CIA. They were good men whom he still worked with occasionally as private contractors.

  “Anyone else we should be discussing?” asked Razor, smirking.

  “Not yet, asshole,” answered Doc, shooting a look back at him.

  That spiked Striker’s curiosity. “Who else, Doc?”

  “Copeland.”

  Striker felt his blood pressure rising. Money McTiernan was Copeland’s boss at the CIA. It was bad enough that they were considering making him an offer. If K19 extended one to McTiernan, Striker would resign, effective immediately.

  “Shouldn’t this be something the partners agree on prior to offers being extended?”

  “I’ll answer,” said Merrigan. “Striker, I would agree if we were extending partnerships, but we aren’t any longer. The four men and one woman have all received offers of employment. As I’m the managing partner, I make those decisions.”

  “Understood,” he responded, appreciating that she didn’t point out he’d only spoken up when he opposed the individual mentioned. He’d wait and ask her about McTiernan privately rather than put her on the spot in front of everyone. Although, if she said they were considering making the man any kind of offer, Striker still planned to walk.

  “Anything else on team members?” asked Doc, looking around the room. “Moving on, our next topic of discussion should raise the heat level in the room—Abdul Ghafor.”

  Striker had plenty to say on the subject, but he had no intention of doing so. He’d much rather get everyone else’s take on it first.

  “We’ve confirmed he’s in Pakistan and that he’s stockpiling weapons,” said Razor.

  “What about soldiers?” Doc asked.

  “That’s the thing. There’s very little sign of feet on the ground.”

  “Weapons mean money,” said Monk.

  “Shit,” said Razor, clutching his chest. “Raise your damn hand or something when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Talk.”

  Monk flipped him off and then looked over at Striker. In fact, everyone was looking at him.

  “What?” he asked, like Monk had.

  “Fill us in,” said Doc, sitting down next to Merrigan as if he was settling in for the remainder of the meeting. “Where’s the money coming from?”

  “I’d say that’s obvious.”

  Doc motioned for Striker to stand, and he did.

  “Look, it’s no secret that I vehemently disagreed with the CIA’s decision to exile Ghafor to Colombia. I have little doubt that the money is coming directly from the Islamic fundamentalists who have taken a stronghold in Buenaventura.”

  “Led by whom?” asked Merrigan.

  “They’re doing a damn good job keeping that a secret.”

  Razor had his laptop open and was scratching his chin. “Let’s reopen dialogue with the Cuban.”

  Striker nodded. In March of the previous year, a Cuban national had been arrested in Bogotá for an alleged “terror plot” to kill American diplomats on behalf of Islamic State extremists. The plan had been for the man to blow himself up inside a restaurant popular with US Embassy staff and other foreigners in the Zona Rosa region of the city. K19 had played an integral role in neutralizing him before he could put his plan in action.

  “Is he still alive?” asked Razor, still staring at his computer screen.

  “To the best of my knowledge, although I doubt for long. Colombian officials amassed a trove of evidence against him.”

  From the seized cell phones, they’d learned that the Cuban had been calling and sending encrypted text messages to at least three other terror cell members in Morocco and Spain in the weeks leading up to his arrest. From what Striker understood, those suspects hadn’t yet been located.

  “It’s your mission, Ellis. What do you do?” asked Doc.

  “Hypothetically?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Striker put his hands on the table in front of him. “What I’d want to do is assassinate the bastard. However, in doing so, I’d lose the money trail along with his connections to the terror plot in Bogotá, as well as the lesser knowns.”

  “First phase?” asked Razor.

  “We watch. Concurrently, we get someone on the money.” The words were out of Striker’s mouth before he realized he’d been set up. “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Don’t make any assumptions just yet. Eighty-eight is damn good at tracking financials,” Razor told him.

  Eighty-eight, as Razor had called him, was renown for his forensic accounting abilities.

  “You mentioned at the beginning of this meeting that Mercer would join us for phase two of the mission we would be discussing. Is this the mission?”

  “Affirmative,” answered Doc.

  “What’s phase one?”

  “That’s up to you, to a certain extent anyway. Let’s nail down the basics. While Razor has a badass new setup here, the logistics of keeping everyone in Oregon are a nightmare. Therefore, I propose we work out of what is quickly becoming K19’s Central Coast headquarters.”

  “Do we have any others I’m unaware of?” asked Razor.

  “No, but at the rate we’re growing, we’re going to need to think about that,” answered Merrigan.

  Striker was all for moving the base of this operation down to California. Today, if possible. As far as other bases of operations, he, Ranger, and Diesel were all East Coasters, as were Tackle and Halo. Dutch was living in South Carolina, and Onyx was from the Southeast too. Maybe they should consider a setup in Virginia or somewhere else close by.

  “Back to phase one,” said Razor, looking at Striker.

  “We watch, and we’ll know when to make a move.”

  “Roger that.” Razor stood, picked up his computer, and walked over to where Striker was seated. “We’re teaming up on this one,” he said. “But it’s your mission. I’m number two.”

  “Who’s on our team?” Striker asked.

  “Your call, but for the time being, I say we put everyone on standby. Between the two of us, Monk, and Eighty-eight, we can handle
monitoring the surveillance. If anything changes, it’s easy enough to call in the cavalry.”

  “Agreed.” If that was the plan, they didn’t necessarily need to leave Yachats, but Striker didn’t point that out. If only for his sanity, he needed to separate himself from Aine McNamara and the life she was making without him.

  —:—

  “How long will you be in California?” Aine asked Ava, who had just told her they’d be leaving in the morning.

  “At least through Thanksgiving. Maybe longer.”

  Their mother wouldn’t be back from her month-long cruise until the middle of December, and now Ava was leaving too and taking Sam with her.

  What would Aine do with herself? Maybe she could start looking into the program at Oregon University she and Striker had talked about the night before.

  Aine shook her head. What was she doing? They hadn’t talked; he’d dropped a handful of bombs designed to make sure she was aware that he knew what was happening in her life, including her relationship with Stuart.

  “You’re going too,” said Ava, pulling diapers from a box and putting them into a suitcase.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, bending down to pet Dasher, the dog Tabon had given her sister for Christmas.

  “You aren’t going to stay here alone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Aine, come on. Be serious. Can you really be away from your nephew for an indefinite amount of time?”

  “It didn’t sound like I was invited.”

  Ava set a handful of diapers on the bed. “You’re always invited.”

  “I wouldn’t make such a blanket statement if I were you. Tabon might not appreciate having his sister-in-law in tow everywhere you go.”

  Ava shook her head. “He loves you.”

  “Loving me and wanting me to be a constant in your lives are two different things.”

  “Wait until he gets back. I’ll let him convince you.”

  They both headed toward the nursery when they heard Sam wail through the baby monitor.

  “You can get him,” said Ava, holding back.

  “No, he’s your son. I’m sorry.”

  Ava folded her arms. “I’m not being noble. I have a lot to do.”