Trust in Me (Hawkeye Book 2) Read online

  Trust In Me

  Hawkeye Series: Book Two

  Sierra Cartwright

  TRUST IN ME

  Copyright @ 2018 Sierra Cartwright

  Edits by Jennifer Barker

  Proofing by Bev Albin and Cassie Hess-Dean

  Layout Design by Shannon Hunt

  Cover Design by Shannon Hunt at Once Upon an Alpha

  Formatting by Shayla Fereshetian

  Stock Image Site: DepositPhotos.com

  Promotion by Once Upon An Alpha, Shannon Hunt

  Copyright @ 2018 by Sierra Cartwright

  First E-book Publication: October 23, 2018

  All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Adult Reading Material

  Disclaimer: This work of fiction is for mature (18+) audiences only and contains strong sexual content and situations.

  It is a standalone with my guarantee of satisfying, happily ever after.

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  For YOU! I appreciate you taking the time to read the Hawkeye series, books of my heart.

  Tanja, Aimz, and Katherine, I appreciate your fabulous feedback. Thank you!

  BAB, I love ya and appreciate you.

  And for the crack editorial team I worked with on the original version—Jana, Kym, Jill, and MT.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

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  Also by Sierra Cartwright

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Aimee adjusted her earbuds, then headed toward the front door for her late-afternoon run. It’d been a hell of a day, and she needed the stress relief. She turned the knob, then screamed. A large, gorgeous man stood on her porch, arms folded across his broad chest.

  Stunned, and more scared than she would ever admit, she froze.

  He moved toward her, galvanizing her into action. She took an immediate step back, then shoved against the door to slam it.

  “Wait!” He placed his booted foot in the entrance, blocking her efforts. Not just a booted foot, she noted wildly—a massive one, with the black leather riding boots showing nicks and scars—from a life on the edge if her guess was correct.

  Her pulse slammed into overdrive.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  “I’m Trace Romero,” the man said, pushing back against her.

  Would a potential bad guy introduce himself? Her older sister carried a gun while Aimee was the nerd with the iPod, ponytail, and a scientific mind that rarely shut down. They were both employed by Hawkeye Security, but since Aimee worked in IT, she’d never gone through firearms or specialized tactical training programs.

  “I’m from Hawkeye. Your sister sent me to stay with you for a few days.”

  Her breath whooshed out.

  She should be relieved, but she wasn’t.

  Two hours prior, she’d returned from the coffee shop to find the back patio door slightly ajar. Concerned, she’d notified her sister. The fact that an agent was standing on Aimee’s porch meant her sister had called out the cavalry in the form of one of their colleagues.

  And she didn’t want him here. Hawkeye was one of the planet’s most exclusive security firms. They hired only the most qualified operatives, recruiting from the military and police, even the FBI or Secret Service.

  But that didn’t matter to her. She had no intention of letting an arrogant alpha male inside her home. She’d learned her lesson with know-it-all men, and she was too smart to repeat the mistake.

  “Please step back, ma’am. Ms. Inamorata is expecting a report from me.”

  “You can tell her you were here and that I sent you away. Mission accomplished.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. If I don’t answer your phone when she calls, I might as well turn in my resignation and throw myself off Pikes Peak, save her the effort of hunting down my sorry carcass.”

  Aimee’s running shoes slipped as he threw his strong shoulder into the door. For all the success her efforts were having at keeping him out, she might as well be trying to hold back an avalanche.

  Maybe she couldn’t beat him when it came to physical strength, but she could batter his ego and get under his defenses. “I can’t believe a big, strong man is frightened of my sister.”

  “Terrified, actually. Like all mortals,” he confessed.

  “Damn.” She groaned. His ego was intact enough for him not to rise to her bait.

  “You have two choices, ma’am.” His deep voice was controlled and clipped. “We can do it my way.” He paused for a couple of beats, then added, “Or we can do it my way.”

  She hated having people in her space. It was bad enough sharing the fifteen hundred square feet with her rescue parrot that rarely shut up, but having someone around who would watch her television, eat her food, discover her deepest secrets…

  The brute of a man nudged her back another few inches. “It’s okay to stop the badass act.” But a panicky little part of her was afraid it wasn’t an act at all.

  “Step away from the door, Miss Inamorata.” This warning wasn’t as friendly as the previous one had been.

  So maybe she didn’t carry a gun, but she’d learned a few things from listening to her sister. If you can’t go through, go around. “Okay. You win.”

  He stopped pushing. She counted to two. When he let down his guard, she grunted and then shoved forward with every scrap of determination she could summon.

  But her pissed-off best wasn’t good enough.

  His foot was still firmly lodged in the entrance.

  Within seconds, he filled the space.

  Good God, he was big. Bigger than big.

  Instinctively she took a protective step back. No matter how mad she was, she would never be able to win against this man.

  He dominated the space and sucked up the air she’d been intending to breathe. He stood well over six feet tall, and his shoulders almost filled the width of the opening.

  She, who rarely got flustered, was immobilized. Agent Romero made her oh so aware of being a woman. In her shorts and tiny tank top, she felt small, vulnerable, while he was spectacular, from his angular cheekbones to his military-precise haircut and rich, deep brown eyes. His skin revealed a Spanish heritage, and it might have been a shade or two richer for having been in the sun. His strong jaw was set in an implacable line. In every way, he spelled danger.

  He took her shoulders, moved her back a foot, then released her long enough to turn, slam the door, and turn the lock…all before she could even draw a protesting breath.

  “My way,” he reminded her.

  From the other room, Eureka squawked.

  “What the hell is that?”

>   She should probably warn him about Eureka, her blue-fronted Amazon parrot, but it would be much more fun if he found out himself. “It’s my bird.”

  “Inside? A pet?”

  “He thinks he’s the boss around here.”

  “Anything else I need to know?”

  “I’m pretty boring.” She shrugged.

  “Not if someone broke in.”

  “Maybe I left the patio door ajar myself.” But that couldn’t possibly be true. Because she wanted to keep Eureka safe, she was careful to keep all possible escape places closed.

  “The local police said there have been no other reported break-ins, and I understand nothing was taken?”

  “That’s true.” Her electronics were still in place. None of her jewelry was missing. Even her emergency stash of twenty-dollar bills remained untouched in her dresser drawer.

  “Which means it wasn’t a random thing, and you and Ms. Inamorata know it. Want to show me around?”

  “No. Not really,” she said, not even trying to disarm her words with a smile.

  “You can show me, or I can look myself.”

  His way. Or his way. “There’s not much to see. My bedroom, which you’re not going into, my office, which you’re not going into, the kitchen, dining room, the guest bathroom, and my living room…which you’re standing in. That’s it.”

  He took another step toward her.

  The scent of him seared her, like a cool Colorado breeze wrapped in the spice of night.

  Reluctantly she ceded the ground. Just as fast, she regretted her action. Instead of remaining where he was, Trace took another step in her direction. This time she forced herself to stand still. She crossed her arms across her midriff, fighting the natural instinct to get the hell away from him.

  “I’ll show myself around.”

  “Fine.” She angled her chin in false bravado. “I’ll just go for my run while you have a look-see. Be gone when I return.” As she started past him, he snagged her wrist firmly enough to say he meant business.

  “I’ve been assigned to protect you. You run, I run.”

  Her patience snapped. “Me Tarzan, you Jane.”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  She snatched her wrist away from him, pretending her heart wasn’t thundering. She wouldn’t need a cardio workout if he stayed under her roof another five minutes. His touch bothered her. His aggressive style bothered her. But what concerned her most was her own way too feminine reaction to him. “You’re interrupting my schedule, Mr. Romero—Agent Romero. Whatever your name is.”

  “Trace.”

  She exhaled. He’d said it softly, a whisper of seduction. “You won’t be here long enough for us to get that familiar.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do—”

  “What I’ve been ordered to do.”

  “My sister overreacted, probably because I overreacted.”

  “Ms. Inamorata doesn’t overreact.” Patience wove through his tone. Maybe because he knew he would win. “If she thinks someone should protect your body and your secrets”—his glance started at her head and slowly traveled downward, igniting too-long-dormant senses—“then I’m going to be here for as long as she says.”

  “The police said they’d be happy to drive by.”

  “Periodically.” He nodded. “But they’re not going to provide the kind of protection I can.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, Miss Inamorata. I’m here. And I don’t need your permission to stay.”

  She tightened her ponytail. “Can I finish a sentence?”

  “Depends whether you’re going to agree with me or not.” He grinned then, and strange things happened to her insides. “For the record,” he continued, “there are other ways to shut you up. Who knows?” He leaned in a bit closer. “You might enjoy them. I would.”

  What the hell? No. Her heart increased its tempo to at least eighty-five percent of her target heart rate. She told herself he wouldn’t kiss her, told herself she wouldn’t let him if he tried.

  The phone rang, mercifully shattering the moment.

  “That’ll be your sister, for me.”

  The phone trilled a second time.

  She sighed. “Through there,” she said, pointing toward the kitchen. It wasn’t lost on her that he had won every battle thus far.

  He nodded and headed into the heart of her home.

  She trailed him, fully intending to eavesdrop.

  “Bombs away!”

  Scowling, Trace turned to look at her.

  “Eureka!” she commanded. “No.” God, no.

  The incessant phone, the shrieking bird, her tension, all created sudden pandemonium. From everywhere at once, Eureka flew into the room, a fury of feathers and obnoxious squawks.

  “Duck!” she warned.

  Too late.

  Eureka swooped low over Trace’s head.

  Aimee pushed her palms against her eyes, unable to watch.

  “Crap!”

  Her word exactly.

  “Return to base,” the parrot cried. “Return to base!”

  The phone stopped ringing. Eureka landed on the perch on top of his cage. He rang a bell that hung beneath a mirror. “Mission accomplished!” Then silence, sudden and oppressive, echoed.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, slowly pulling her hands away from her face. “I should have warned you about his…tendencies.”

  “Does he do that a lot?”

  “Only when he’s upset. Hopefully he got the intruders. Bastards for leaving a door open, anyway. If anything happened to him—”

  “I think he’s okay,” Trace said drily.

  She was glad for his interruption. That ridiculous, bad-mannered bird was her best friend.

  “Did he get me?” Trace ran a hand across the top of his head, then looked at his palm.

  “You’ll need to change your shirt,” she said. For the first time, she smiled at him. “Since you probably don’t have another one, you can just go home.”

  “Stubborn woman.”

  “Stubborn man,” she countered.

  “It will wash.” He dragged the hem from the waistband.

  “Err…”

  He exposed part of his stomach, showing off his tight abs. Damn. Then he pulled the shirt a bit higher. “Don’t!” she begged. “Please.” Having him this close was bad enough. Half-naked would undo her.

  The phone rang again. Looking at Trace, Eureka lifted a foot from the perch, as if considering his options.

  “Eureka, no,” she warned. He put his foot back down. “Good boy.” But she, too, had her eye on Trace as he continued to the kitchen. His boots were loud on her hardwood floor, and as large as he was, he dwarfed the space.

  On the third ring, Trace picked up her phone. “Romero.” He looked at her as he spoke to her sister. “No, ma’am. She hasn’t been the least bit hospitable. I have a bruised foot and parrot shit on my shirt.”

  Rat bastard.

  “Yeah, no problem.” He held out the phone toward her.

  Reluctantly she crossed to him, not wanting to get any closer to him than she needed to. Her mind might not have wanted him in her space, but her body most definitely did.

  She took the device from him and, to her sister, said, “Hey.”

  He stood there, watching as her sister gave Aimee hell, finishing with, “We don’t know what’s going on. You have to think about yourself and the project.”

  “Exactly,” Aimee agreed. Each day, the team drew closer to making the whole project work together. And the world would change when they succeeded. “Now you see the issue. I can’t work with someone breathing down my neck.”

  “Is that what he’s doing?”

  Actually he was close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. And it wasn’t all terrible. But it sure as hell was a distraction.

  “I’m sure he’ll do his best to stay out of your way.”

  “In a hous
e this small? That’s not possible.”

  “It’s either Trace, or I will move you to a safe house. That’s actually my preference.”

  “That would be traumatic for Eureka,” Aimee protested.

  “Those are your only choices, Aimee.”

  Aimee was the scientist, calm and rational, or she had been until ten minutes ago when Tall, Dark, and Dangerous showed up on her porch. She sighed.

  “Do it for me?”

  Trace’s penetrating gaze was still on Aimee, heating her blood. “This is under duress.”

  “So noted.”

  She hung up.

  “The formidable Ms. Inamorata wins another round?” His arms were folded across his chest, and he didn’t gloat.

  “Could you look smug or triumphant or something? It would be easier to dislike you that way.”

  “Surprisingly, some people like me.”

  She couldn’t afford to be one of them, as easy as that promised to be with him standing only inches away and smelling so damn good. “You’re right. That is surprising.”

  “When I first got here, I checked out the front of the house and the backyard. I wish you had a privacy fence rather than a chain-link one.”

  “The neighbors have a dog.”

  “Good to know. Now let’s get the grand tour over with.”

  Did he ever give up? “You still need to wash your shirt.”

  “I have a duffel bag in my vehicle.”

  “Why am I not shocked?”

  “Deductive reasoning? I understand you’re a scientist.”

  “There is that.” She couldn’t help but smile. He was as charming as he was uncompromising.

  “I fully intended to stay, regardless of your reception. I have workout clothes as well.”

  “But if we both go for a run, no one will be protecting the house.”

  “Wrong again. Your sister has assigned a couple of details. Bree Mallory and Daniel Riley are stationed in an SUV down the block. There’s another team at the entrance to the subdivision.”