Hold On To Me (Hawkeye Book 4) Read online

  Hold On To Me

  Sierra Cartwright

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Come to Me

  About the Author

  Also by Sierra Cartwright

  HOLD ON TO ME

  Copyright @ 2021 Sierra Cartwright

  First E-book Publication: January 2021

  Editing by Nicki Richards, What’s Your Story Editorial Services

  Line Editing by Jennifer Barker

  Proofing by Bev Albin, Cassie Hess-Dean, and ELF

  Layout Design by Once Upon An Alpha, Shannon Hunt

  Cover Design by Once Upon An Alpha, Shannon Hunt

  Promotion by Once Upon An Alpha, Shannon Hunt

  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.

  Dedication

  For all the wonderful people in my life who make this possible. Angie, Bev, Cassie, Jennifer, Miss Whit, Nicki, Shannon. Your support means more than you will ever know.

  Especially for ELF. I appreciate you.

  I’d like to give a special shoutout to Linda Pantlin Dunn. You brighten the world every single day.

  To my review team—you totally rock my socks! Thank you!

  To all members of the Super Stars—you’re simply the best.

  Newsletter subscribers—I see you out there!

  And mostly, if you’re reading this book, the dedication is to you. Every time I sit down at my computer, I think of you, and I thank you for letting me be part of your life. I am grateful for your notes, kind words, interactions on social media. I appreciate you and value you.

  Chapter One

  “No fucking way, Hawkeye.” In case that wasn’t clear enough, Jacob Walker tipped back the brim of his cowboy hat and leveled a stare at his friend and former commander across the small, rickety table that separated them.

  The stench of cheap whiskey and loneliness hung in the air—as putrid as it was familiar.

  Through the years, they’d held dozens of meetings at this kind of place. Didn’t matter which fucked-up hellhole they were in—Central America, the Middle East, Texas, or here, a small, all but forgotten Colorado mountain town, a place with no security cameras, where neither of them were known.

  As usual, Hawkeye dressed to blend in with the locals—jeans, scuffed boots, and a heavyweight canvas jacket that could be found on almost every ranch in the state. He’d added a baseball cap with a logo of a tractor company embroidered on the front. Today, he also wore a beard. No doubt it would be gone within an hour of his walking back outside into the crisp, clean air.

  At one time, Jacob thrived on clandestine meetings. The anticipation alone was enough to feed adrenaline into his veins, and he lived for the vicarious thrill.

  But life was different now.

  After a final, fateful job in Colombia that left an American businessman’s daughter dead, Jacob walked away from Hawkeye Security.

  He returned to the family ranch and a world he no longer recognized. His grandfather had died, no doubt from the stress of managing the holdings by himself. Though Jacob’s grandmother never uttered a critical word, he knew she was disappointed that he’d missed the funeral. He wasn’t even in the same country when he was needed the most.

  When she passed, he stood alone at the graveside, the only family mourner, like she’d no doubt been a few years before.

  Spurred by equal measures of guilt and regret, he poured himself into managing the family’s holdings as a way to redeem himself. Then, because of his loneliness and the horrible dreams after Colombia, he did it as a way to save himself.

  “The op will take less than a month.” Hawkeye shrugged. “Give or take. I’ll give you three of our best agents—Johnson, Laurents, Mansfield. You can man the gate, rather than just utilizing the speaker box. Another on perimeter. One for relief. You have the space and a bunkhouse.”

  Jacob shook his head to clear it of the ever-present memories. “Is there a part of my refusal that you don’t understand?” Of course there was. When Hawkeye wanted something, nothing would dissuade him. That willful determination had made him a force on the battlefield as well as in the business arena. “When I quit, I meant it.” He took a swig from his longneck beer bottle. “No regrets.” The words were mostly true. There were times he wanted the camaraderie and wanted to flex his brain as well as his muscles. There was also the sweet thrill of the hunt. And making things right in the world.

  Rather than argue, Hawkeye removed his cap long enough for Jacob to get a look at his former boss. Worry lines were trenched between his eyebrows. In all his years, Jacob had never seen dark despair in those eyes. “Yesterday, Inamorata received what appeared to be a birthday card from her sister.”

  Ms. Inamorata was Hawkeye’s right-hand woman and known for her ability to remain calm under duress. She could be counted on to deal with local and federal authorities, smoothing over all the details. Rather seriously, Hawkeye said she batted cleanup better than any major leaguer.

  Jacob told himself to stand up, thank Hawkeye for the drink, then get the hell out of here while he still could. Instead, he remained where he was.

  “There was a white powder inside.”

  Jesus. “Anthrax?”

  “Being tested. She took appropriate precautions and received immediate medical assistance. Antibiotics were prescribed as a precaution.” Hawkeye paused. “There were no warning signs that the piece of mail was suspicious.”

  Meaning the postmark matched the return address. The postage amount was correct, and there was nothing protruding from the envelope.

  Jacob knew Inamorata and liked her as much as he respected her. He took offense at a threat to her life. “Received at headquarters?”

  “No. At her home. So whoever sent it has access to information about her and how to circumvent our protocols.”

  Slowly he nodded. “Any message?”

  “Yeah.” Hawkeye paused. “Threats to take out people I care about, one at a time.”

  “The fuck?” Instead of sympathizing, Jacob switched to ops mode. He didn’t do it on purpose—it was as immediate as it was instinctive. No doubt Hawkeye had counted on Jacob’s reaction. “Anything else?”

  “There was no specific request. No signature.” Hawkeye paused. “I’ve got profilers taking a look at it. But there’s not much to go on. Tech is analyzing writing and sentence structure, tracking down places the card could have come from. FBI has the powder at its lab. Profilers are trying to ascertain the type
of person most likely to behave this way.”

  All the right things.

  “But we don’t have the resources to take care of our clients and have eyes on everyone who’s a potential target.”

  At this point, there was no way to know how serious the threat was. A card was one thing, a physical attack was another.

  “I don’t give a fuck who comes for me.”

  Over the years, their line of work—cleaning up situations to keep secrets safe, protecting people and precious objects, even acting as paramilitary support operators overseas—had created a long list of enemies.

  “But I can’t risk the people I care about.” Hawkeye reached into a pocket inside his jacket and pulled out a picture. “I need you to take care of her.”

  “Oh fuck no, man.” Jacob could be a sounding board, analyze data, but he didn’t have the time to return to babysitting services.

  Undeterred, Hawkeye continued. “Her name’s Elissa. Elissa Conroy. Twenty-eight. My plan was to have Agent Fagen move in with her and accompany her to work.”

  Makes logical sense. “And?”

  “She refused. Then I decided I’d prefer for her to be away from Denver, out of her normal routine in case anyone has been watching.” After a moment’s hesitation, Hawkeye slid the snapshot onto the table, facedown.

  Hawkeye knew every one of Jacob’s weaknesses. If he glanced at Elissa’s face, the job would become personal. She wouldn’t be a random woman he could ignore.

  Jacob looked across the expanse of the room, at the two men talking trash at the nearby pool table. Above them, a neon beer sign dangled from a tired-looking nail. The paint was peeling from the shabby wall, and the red glare from the light made the atmosphere all the more depressing.

  “Her parents own a pub. Right now, she’s running it on their behalf while they’re back home in Ireland for a well-deserved vacation. Her father has just recovered from a bout with cancer, and they’re celebrating his recovery.”

  Of course Hawkeye crafted a compelling narrative. He knew how to motivate people, be it through their heartstrings or sense of justice. At times, he’d stoke anger. His ability to get people to do what he wanted was his biggest strength as well as his greatest failing.

  Never had his powers of persuasion been more on display than when he’d gotten his Army Ranger team out of Peru, despite the overwhelming odds.

  From the beginning, the mission had been FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition. They sustained enough casualties to decimate even the strongest and bravest. Relentlessly Hawkeye had urged each soldier on. Despite his own injuries, Hawkeye had carried one man miles to the extraction point.

  What happened immediately after that would haunt Hawkeye and Jacob to the end of their days, and it created a bond each would take to the grave.

  “You’ve had some time on the ranch. I assume you’re a hundred percent?”

  Physically, yes. But part of him would always be in that South American jungle, trying to figure out what had gone so horribly fucking wrong.

  Hawkeye nudged the photograph a little closer to Jacob.

  “Who is she to you?”

  Hawkeye hesitated long enough to capture Jacob’s interest.

  “Someone I used to know.”

  Jacob studied his friend intently. “Used to?”

  Hawkeye shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Right after we got back from Peru.” He stared at the photo. “She helped me through the rough patch.”

  Tension made Hawkeye’s voice rough, and he cleared his throat.

  “Shit.” Jacob cursed himself for not walking out the moment Hawkeye asked for help. “It—whatever it was between you—is in the past?”

  “Yeah. She’s a smart woman, recognized damaged goods and was astute enough not to follow when I walked away.” He shrugged. “To tell the truth, she’s too damn good for me. We both knew it.”

  “It’s over?”

  “There never was anything significant. She’s a friend. Nothing more. But if anyone’s intent on hurting me…” With great deliberation, Hawkeye flipped over the picture.

  Jacob couldn’t help himself. He looked.

  The woman was breathtaking. She was seated on a white-painted carousel horse, arms wrapped around its shiny brass pole. Dark, wavy hair teased her shoulders. But it was her eyes that stopped him cold.

  He was a practical man more accustomed to making life-and-death decisions than indulging in fanciful poetry, but that particular shade of blue made him think of the columbines that carpeted the ranch’s meadow each summer.

  Her smile radiated a joy that he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced. Longing—hot and swift—ripped through him. Ruthlessly he shoved the unfamiliar emotion away. He was seated across from Hawkeye, discussing a job. Nothing more. If he accepted the assignment, it would be his responsibility to keep her safe and ensure she had plenty to smile about in the future.

  “After this, Commander Walker, we’ll call it even.”

  “Even from you, that’s a fucking cheap shot.” Jacob didn’t need the reminder of how much he owed Hawkeye. Nothing would ever be even after the way the man rescued Jacob’s mother from the inside of a Mexican jail cell.

  Unable to stop himself, Jacob picked up the photo. Hawkeye’s gamble—his drive deep into the Colorado mountains—had paid off. Jacob couldn’t walk away. Elissa wasn’t a random client. She was a woman who’d shown compassion to Hawkeye, and that shouldn’t have put her at risk.

  With a silent vow that he’d care for her until the shitstorm passed, Jacob tucked the picture inside his shirt pocket.

  Hawkeye lifted his shot glass, then downed his whiskey in a single swallow.

  “Sir? It’s closing time.” Elissa summoned a false, I’m-not-exhausted smile for the cowboy sitting alone at a table for two in her mom and dad’s Denver-area pub. The man had been there for hours, his back to the wall. From time to time, he’d glance at the baseball game on the television, but for the most part, he watched other customers coming and going. More than once, she was aware of his focused gaze on her as she worked.

  When he arrived, he asked for a soda water with lime. Nothing stronger. Minutes before the kitchen closed, he ordered the pub’s famous fish and chips.

  Throughout the evening, he hadn’t engaged with her attempts at conversation, and he paid his bill—in cash, with a generous tip—before last call.

  Now he was the last remaining customer, and she wanted him to leave so she could lock up, head for home. She needed a long, hot bath, doused with a generous helping of her favorite lavender Epsom salts.

  If she were lucky, she’d fall asleep quickly and manage a few hours of deep sleep before the alarm shrieked, dragging her out of bed. After all, she still had to run her own business while taking care of the bar.

  Over the past few days, exhaustion had made her mentally plan a vacation, far away from Colorado. Maybe a remote tropical island where she could rest and bask in the sun. A swim-up bar would be nice, and so would a beachside massage beneath a palm tree.

  But she was still stuck in reality. She had to complete the closing checklist, and that meant dispensing with the final, reluctant-to-leave guest.

  With a forced half smile, she tried again. “Sir?”

  The man tipped the brim of his cowboy hat, allowing her to get a good look at his face.

  She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  He was gorgeous. Not just classically handsome, but drop-dead, movie star gorgeous.

  His square jaw was shadowed with stubble, but that enhanced the sharpness of his features. And his eyes… They were bright green, reminding her of a malachite gemstone she’d seen in a tourist shop.

  In a leisurely perusal, he swept his gaze up her body, starting with her sensible shoes, then moving up her thighs, taking in the curve of her hips, then the swell of her suddenly aching breasts.

  When their gazes met, she was helplessly ensnared, riveted by his intensity.

  The silence stretched,
and she cleared her throat. She was usually a total professional, accustomed to dealing with loners, as well as groups out celebrating and being rowdy, or even the occasional customer in search of a therapist while drowning their sorrows. But this raw, physical man left her twitterpated, her pulse racing while her imagination soared on hungry, sexual wings.

  Andrew, the barback, switched off some of the lights, jolting her. After shaking her head, she asserted herself. “It’s closing time, sir.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The cowboy stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “I’ll be going, then.”

  His voice was deep and rich, resonating through her. It invited trust even as it hinted at intimacy.

  An involuntary spark of need raced up her spine.

  Forcing herself to ignore it, she followed him to the exit. Instead of leaving, he paused.

  They stood so close that she inhaled his scent, that of untamed open spaces. She tried to move away but was rooted to the spot. She was ensnared by his masculine force field—an intoxicating mixture of raw dominance and constrained power.

  Desire lay like smoke in his eyes. In a response as old as time, pheromones stampeded through her. She ached to know him, to feel his strong arms wrap around her, to have his hips grinding against hers as he claimed her hard.

  Dear God, what is wrong with me?

  It had been too long since she’d been with a lover, but this cowboy was the type of man who’d turn her inside out if she let him. And she was too smart for that.