by Louise Dawn
Striking Blow
Louise Dawn
Copyright © 2021 by Louise Dawn
All rights reserved.
Striking Blow
Cover Design by Sweet ’N Spicy Designs
Editing by JRT Editing
ISBN: 978-1-7363041-1-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of Louise Dawn’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, people are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book contains elements of: Assault. Violence. Murder. Kidnapping. Threats of violence. Sex (consensual). Bad language. Guns.
Created with Vellum
Contents
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Introduction
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
Epilogue
Tender Strike
Acknowledgments
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About the Author
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To Toni Anderson
* * *
Without such a lovely friend, where would I be?
Far away from this winding but joyous path.
* * *
Thank you for your guidance and kind support.
Introduction
As a teenager, Pearl escaped her small Colorado town for a glamorous career as a model. Now, a decade later, she’s a divorced single mother, with a target on her back. Hiding from her ex-husband—a war criminal—will take all of her efforts.
But, she’s not alone—her tiny daughter is not alone. A hardened diplomatic agent steps in to help and Pearl finds comfort in his sheltering protection.DSS Agent, Antonio Torres, doesn’t do sentimental, sweet, or angelic. His brutal past and militaristic lifestyle leave little room for tenderness.
When a friend asks for a favor, escorting the terrified woman and her child to the States, Antonio cannot refuse. Despite their heated attraction, getting involved with the pretty socialite and her tangled past is not an option. After escorting Pearl Bandara to the US, he’ll walk away. Job done and favor repaid. So why does he feel like he’s throwing her to the wolves?
As their world turns upside down, Pearl and Antonio struggle with their heated desires. And a mercenary army in pursuit forces them to flee. The odds are stacked against them, and the capable agent will give up his life to save both mother and child. Will they survive the hunt?
Chapter One
Colombo, Sri Lanka.
* * *
Pearl needed directions—a map—a freaking GPS back to herself. Finding her worth again meant starting with a physical transformation. For starters, the blonde princess staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t her, and it was time to pack “Socialite Barbie” away in a dark drawer; time to step away from the two-hundred-dollar haircut and her designer lifestyle.
Of course, that wasn’t the reason for the hair clippers clutched in her nervous grip or the box of Brown Sable hair color on the counter. Returning to her natural shade would help to hide her identity. Pearl’s monstrous ex-husband wouldn’t be happy with her escape or deception, and she had to protect their precious daughter.
She’d already handed over the evidence to the American Embassy. Had spent hours with the U.S. Ambassador, explaining how her child had discovered the secret drawer under Rajin’s desk while playing one afternoon in his study. Aysha had brought home a video cassette, and after watching the horrific tape, Pearl had returned to Rajin’s mansion to find that drawer. She’d found years of torture, casually hidden in a wooden lair. Unable to ignore the horrors, she’d run to safety—to the U.S. Embassy.
Was running back to the States a good idea? Would they be safe with her parents in Colorado? Pearl knew the answer, a resounding “no.” Years ago, as newlyweds, Rajin and Pearl had visited her family on a trip to the States. He’d been to her family’s farm and had spent a week in her hometown. While he was a threat, Pearl could never go back to the Colorado farm. But she would return to the American continent.
“I also want a haircut,” Aysha whined as she rubbed her eye. The little tyke must be exhausted. It had been a harrowing day when Pearl had rushed home, packed their bags, and ran her child over to the U.S. Embassy. Now, they waited for Aysha’s temporary passport and their upcoming flight in a first-floor apartment—an obscure “safe house”—in the quieter Borella district.
“You’ll get one, and then you’re hopping into bed.”
“Will you shave mine too?” Aysha asked with wide eyes.
“That’s a big, fat no!” Pearl grinned and waggled the clippers. “You’ll get a bob-cut.”
She couldn’t bear chopping off Aysha’s incredible mane. Her kid might have Pearl’s deep blue eyes and mouth, but the rest all came from her father—his black lashes and thick hair. As much as Pearl now feared the man, they certainly had made a beautiful daughter.
“Will you be bald, Mommy?” Aysha eyed the clippers warily.
Pearl chuckled. “No, Ladybug. I’ll try out a pixie-cut.”
“You want pixie hair? Will you also have pointy ears?”
“I hope not!” Pearl grinned and pulled a funny face.
Aysha giggled and then turned serious. “I like your hair. You look like a fairy princess.”
“It’s just hair, honey. It can grow back.”
Back in her modeling days, Pearl had worn her hair short. Thanks to her excellent bone structure, the short hair had landed her a big contract in Milan. There are very few experiences in the world that can compare to modeling in London, Paris, and Milan.
Pearl smiled at the memories. At twenty-nine years old, those days sat in the rearview mirror. Pearl was no longer a stick-thin model walking the runways. She’d gained a little weight and was now a mother living a complicated life. Pearl kept her fear well hidden from her daughter. “Fear” wasn’t the right word— “terror, horror and dread,” were better descriptors for their new life on the run.
The doorbell rang, and Pearl jumped before placing the hair clippers on the bathroom counter. She cautiously approached the door, expecting and hoping for Martin—the U.S. Embassy’s Regional Security Officer. He had promised to return with Aysha’s documents.
Aysha skipped happily behind Pearl as she eased up to the door. “Who is it, Mommy?”
“Hold on, Jitterbug.” Pearl used the peephole and let out a sigh of relief before unlocking and pulling open the door.
“Martin, that was quick.”
“Yeah, well, your safety is a primary concern.” He stepped in and handed over Aysha’s new tr
avel documents. “Your flight is at three forty-five in the morning, so you have a couple of hours to rest. This is Agent Antonio Torres.”
Martin stepped aside, and Pearl stepped back, unprepared for the man who slid into the room, with a suitcase, and closed the door. The first thing she registered was his height. The man was tall and stood well over six feet.
At five-nine, she wasn’t short herself, and still, she had to look up to meet his eyes. Dark, turbulent eyes scanned her and the room before settling on her daughter. The agent shifted and folded his muscular arms before returning his gaze to Pearl’s. The guy looked uncomfortable and almost unapproachable.
Contrition quickly replaced her sudden irritation. Agent Torres was doing her a favor, not the other way around. Clearly, off duty in his jeans and t-shirt, he looked as tired as she felt.
Pearl extended her hand and opened her mouth to say hello.
“Mommy is shaving her head! Do you wanna watch?”
Agent Torres raised his perfect eyebrows and his brown-eyed gaze shot to Pearl’s hair. Lord help her. That’s what happens when you have a chatty kid. His brows weren’t the only perfect feature on that handsome face. His carved lips were a thing of beauty, framed by sexy stubble. His slightly Romanesque nose had character and sharpened his attractive features.
“Um… I’m Pearl. Thanks for helping us out. I’m sorry if we’re a great inconvenience.”
He grasped her hand in a firm grip. “We’re on the same flight, in the same row. That’s what counts, and I won’t let anything happen to you. Call me Antonio,” he spoke softly.
“Agent Torres was due to fly back in a couple of days.” Martin smiled. “A slight change in plans. You’ll head over to the airport with him.”
The men exchanged goodbyes, and Martin addressed Pearl. “You have my card and the ambassador’s direct line. If you need anything, call.”
“Thank you.” Her voice trembled, and she inwardly cursed. Once they got back to the States, they’d be fine. Rajin had an extensive network, but she’d be a long way away from the war criminal. Her biggest fear would be his reaction to losing his child.
Rajin loved Aysha with his entire being, and they had a great father-daughter relationship. Pearl would smash their love to dust. She hated her new role—as the parent who got to destroy her daughter’s happy life.
Martin left, and to avoid an awkward conversation with the attractive agent, Pearl headed back to the bathroom as he closed the door.
“Chop! Chop! Chop!” Aysha danced up and down the passage. “It’s fun to get a haircut. Doo, doo, doo! Spikey boo, boo-boo. Curly roo, boo-boo.”
“Get in here, Bugaloo,” Pearl called.
“I’m not a bug!” Aysha poked her head in the door and grinned.
“You’re my lovebug.”
“And I love my mommy back!” Aysha shouted and twirled.
Aysha had no idea what was happening. At four years old, all she knew was that daddy was “away for work,” and she’d be going on vacation with her mommy. Life was one big adventure.
An adventurous nightmare that had started earlier that day when Pearl found Rajin’s hidden camcorder cassettes filled with torture and killings.
The kid had a pair of lungs on her. Antonio blew out a breath and collapsed on the tired-looking sofa. The past few weeks had been long and had placed him behind a desk while dealing with a massive workload. Antonio didn’t do well in an office setting for extended lengths of time. He was a field guy—an action-type field guy. That’s why Antonio had applied for an MSD position with one of the teams. He liked living on the edge.
That had been his life working with the 5th Special Forces Group as a Team Commando. He’d spent years in the Middle East and North Africa, and the sand, bombs, and killings were tattooed onto his skin—his heart. Antonio was born for war. The U.S. military had molded him into a fighting machine—a combatant that never gave up.
Even the past few years with Diplomatic Security couldn’t stamp out his savage past. Antonio needed to be actively saving lives and destroying monsters to function. He wanted more. Coming from a long military line, the urge to hunt was literally in his lineage. His American mother had met his father in Madrid. Antonio had grown up in the NATO community in Brussels and watched his Spanish father climb through the military ranks to his current position as a respected Brigade General.
As next in line in a family of warriors, Antonio became a West Pointer and had thrown himself into a military career. His brothers had followed in his footsteps. Action was the language of success, and Antonio’s family was all about the fight.
Sinking back into the cushions, Antonio stared at the ceiling and thought about the blonde beauty in the next room. He’d picked up on her distress immediately, hidden behind her forced smiles. A rational response to finding out that your ex-husband was a war criminal who took pleasure in torture. He wondered how the delicate socialite would cope now that her wealthy existence had been snatched away. Her contrived, upbeat attitude would only take her so far before reality slammed in.
Antonio would escort her and the kid safely to the States, and then they’d go their separate ways. He ran through potential complications before pulling out his phone and studying the airport’s layout. Next, he pulled up the intel and took his time dissecting the details, going over Rajin’s file and history. When he was done. Antonio glanced at the time and shoved the phone back into his pocket. An hour had passed.
Shit, it would be a long night. Antonio cracked his knuckles.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” The little girl with wide blue eyes stood near the couch. How had she snuck up on him? Antonio wasn’t comfortable around kids—he hadn’t spent much time around tiny humans.
“Does what hurt?”
“Your hands?”
“You mean when I do this?” Antonio cracked a finger.
“Eew. That’s gross.” The girl frowned, looking nervous. God, he was coming across like a fucking ogre.
Antonio forced a smile and placed his hand on the armrest. “It doesn’t hurt. Promise.”
Sticky fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he froze. Her hand was so tiny—like a small doll’s hand. It looked so fragile against his muscled arm, and Antonio’s protective instincts rose. This little tyke was oblivious to the brutal threat stalking her and her mother.
“Is that your bag?”
He cleared his throat—it took a second to answer. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It looks heavy. I wanted a bigger bag—I don’t have half of my toys.”
“Sorry… that’s tough.”
“Mommy says I can get new toys after the plane ride. Sometimes she gets me a toy on an airplane. I do have my favorite teddy—his name is Shreddy. Would you like to see him? Do you have a teddy?”
“Um…” Antonio shifted his arm away.
“Aysha, stop annoying Agent Torres. It’s your turn for a haircut.” Pearl Bandara walked out of the bathroom, and Antonio sat up and almost swallowed his tongue. With her long blonde hair, Pearl was attractive in an ethereal, untouchable way. Now, with her short hair… fuck.
Antonio had always had a thing for women with short hair; the way it showcased their pretty necks and gorgeous cheekbones. Not only had Pearl expertly sculpted her hair into a short cut, but she’d dyed it a warm brown, which highlighted her deep blue eyes. She kind of looked like Demi Moore in the movie “Ghost,” but better, way better. He felt a pull and shoved the attraction aside. Her situation was way too complicated, and the last thing she needed was a hungry agent wanting to slide into her bed.
Her transformation would work well in her favor—keeping her under the radar if Rajin Bandara sent out his minions. Antonio had read the file on Pearl’s ex-husband and seen the gruesome videos. The bastard needed to pay for his brutal crimes. What would Rajin do if he ever found his ex-wife? Would he torture her? Antonio’s blood heated, and he clenched a fist against his sudden anger.
Pearl traced her neck. “Does this look okay?”
“Amazing.” He growled the word as their burning gazes locked. “How did you do such a good job?”
“I worked as a hairdresser for a year—in my early twenties. Beauty school drop-out.” Her wide smile lit up her face and felt like a physical punch.
Yep. Pearl struck a blow to the heart, and Antonio felt ambushed—velociraptor-screwed with nowhere to run. This was going to be a long night.
Rajin’s brain would split apart. He moaned against the pain and rubbed a hand over his hair as he eased into a sitting position. He sat on his large leather sofa in the main sitting room. The room spun as he held onto his aching head. Closing his eyes, Rajin took slow breaths. The house lay quiet—too quiet—aside from the ornate grandfather clock ticking in the corner.
What time was it? What day? Fighting past groggy thoughts, Rajin glanced around the room. Two empty wine glasses sat on the table beside a bottle of red wine, a Chateau Grand-Puy_Lacoste Pauillac from the Bordeaux region—one of his absolute favorites.
Memories stirred.
His ex-wife had swung by—the bottle clutched in her hand. As usual, she’d looked beautiful. Her thick blonde hair was perfectly curled. Her make-up was impeccable.
Rajin remembered greeting her at the door. “Pearl. Where’s Aysha?”
“She’s coming down with a bad cold. I don’t want you getting sick.”
