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Since he didn’t have his own army—or a death wish—he had no intention of causing any problems. As far as he was concerned, the meeting could go on without a hitch. He was, in fact, happy that it was taking place. It was the aftermath of the meeting that most concerned him. Because in there, in the midst of the meeting of evil, there were answers. And he was damn well going to get them or die trying.
Knowing any kind of sudden movement this close to the building would attract attention, Hawke ducked into an alleyway. He still had a good line of sight, but any lookouts wouldn’t be able to spot him from here. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms and waited. The meeting was likely about to commence. Who knew how long it would last? Hell, he wasn’t completely sure what the meeting was supposed to accomplish. He knew only that the Gonzalez cartel had envoys inside, and one of them was about to have a really bad night.
Shifting his leg, he winced at the twinge in his knee. Last night’s workout had been rougher than usual. His physical therapist had warned him not to overdo, but it had felt good at the time. Now, not so much. A twisted, bitter part of him relished the pain. It was a grim but good reminder of everything he’d lost and every single lie he had believed.
His eyes stayed focused on the third floor. He could see shadows moving by the windows—guards, most likely. He spotted a few on the ground level. Their cigarettes glowed like beacons in the dark. Arrogant idiots thought they were invisible.
An hour later, he spotted more activity. SUVs rolled in front of the building, and multiple people piled inside. Hawke inched closer. Thanks to his informant, the vehicle his target was driving would have a fluorescent glow on the left rear tire.
If one individual knew the goings-on of the major new player in drug trafficking, it would be the head of security for the Gonzalez cartel. The man would have attended every meeting. He should be able to tell Hawke exactly where the cartel was getting its funding and who was running the operation.
His stride swift but steady, he stayed in the shadows and moved toward his target. Ten feet away, he spotted him. Dressed in dark clothing, his head covered with a hoodie, the man definitely didn’t want to attract attention. Two odd things struck Hawke simultaneously. One, the man was surprisingly smaller than he’d anticipated. The guy couldn’t be over five seven or weigh more than one thirty soaking wet.
Second, this was way too easy. The man was alone—all other security personnel had sped away. Was this a trap? Had he been set up once again?
He had a split-second decision to make—call off this op and try again some other time, or take his chances and complete the capture. There really was no decision to make, though. This had been going on for way too long. He wanted answers, and this man had them.
Hawke sprang into action. Grabbing hold of the man’s arm, he jerked him backward and threw a hood over his head. The man let loose a string of muffled curses and kicked back. Hawke managed to avoid a groin kick, but the kick to his knee almost took him to the ground.
Growling furiously, he said, “Calm down, or I’ll knock you out.”
The man stopped struggling and went ominously still. Hawke didn’t loosen his hold, but a new knowledge was hitting him, and his mind scoured for answers. Before he could comprehend the ramifications, a sharp elbow jabbed his gut.
Cursing softly, he held his captive tight with one arm, and with his other, he grabbed the syringe in his pocket. He hadn’t planned on being this gentle. A concussion, bloodletting, or a few broken bones had been part of his plan. Not anymore.
His hold tight, he pressed the syringe into his captive’s neck, making sure only half its contents were dispensed. At half the weight he’d expected, the smaller dosage should be more than enough to ensure unconsciousness for several hours.
As the body in his arms slumped, he loosened his hold and then lowered his captive to the ground. His curiosity piqued, he ripped off the hood, wanting to see just who he had captured.
What the hell?
Breath caught in his lungs, and a gnawing pit of dread developed in his gut. While a whole new set of questions whirled in his thoughts, the question of whether he would have to return from the dead had just been answered.
There was no way he could stay away now.
CHAPTER TWO
Charlottesville, Virginia
They say you heal. They say that over time, the pain somehow lessens. They say you eventually remember just the good times, that the jagged edge of agony is diminished and softened. Wounds heal. They scab over and form scars. There’s evidence of past pain, of trauma, but the agony of the wound no longer exists.
They say that someday you’ll smile again and be grateful for the time you spent together.
Olivia Gates knew all these things very well. She’d read the books, watched all the self-help videos. They had said a lot of things. That didn’t mean they were true. Not for everyone. Especially not for her.
Death was part of life. It came to everyone, and we either accepted it and moved on, or let it destroy us. Olivia knew exactly where she was on that particular spectrum, and it wasn’t on the good side.
Her mother, on the other hand, held the opposite position. She was a big proponent of the moving-on philosophy. When her husband, Glen, Olivia’s father, had been killed in the line of duty, Iris had continued working as though nothing untoward had happened.
Olivia was not her mother. That was something she had strived to avoid her entire life. But in this instance, she actually wished she had a little more of Iris Gates’s coldheartedness inside her. It would have been very helpful, especially right about now.
Her hands shaking, Olivia had to concentrate to get the key into the lock. When it finally clicked and she turned the knob, the tension lessened in her muscles. It was almost as if the house were welcoming her home after all this time. No one lived here. The house had been empty for weeks, had been on the market for months. The family who had lived here had relocated, leaving it in the hands of a realtor. The downturn of the economy promised that it would likely stay empty for a while longer.
She pushed open the door, and in her mind’s eye, she could see everything the way it used to be. The way it had been before all was lost. Even though the living room was empty, she saw the massive sofa in front of the fireplace. The sofa had been so large that two grown adults could fall asleep in each other’s arms. Snuggled together in front of a roaring fire, they could forget the world existed. Something they’d done numerous times. As long as they’d had each other, they hadn’t needed anything or anyone else.
A chair had sat a few feet away from the sofa, a small table with a good reading lamp beside it. Back then, she’d been a voracious reader, and that had been her reading spot. Directly across from that chair had been a large recliner, one that a big male body could sprawl out on and catnap after a long hard day. How many times had she been reading and looked over to see him snoozing in that chair?
It all sounded staid and boring, but it hadn’t been. Their jobs were demanding and dangerous, so when they were home, comfort and relaxation had been their top priority.
