Hold On To Me (Hawkeye #4) - Sierra Cartwright Page 0,1

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