He staggered to his feet only to feel a leg sweep his feet out from underneath him as he tumbled back to the earth. That was followed by a boot on his neck.
“The flash drive,” the man said. “And this time I want the real one.”
Hawk considered smashing the man in the face before noticing two other guards stepping out of the shadows with their weapons trained on him. Out of options, Hawk placed the device in the man’s hand.
A lanky man dressed in a gray suit stepped out of the SUV parked on the side of the street and strode toward Hawk.
“I warned you that you’d never get away with it,” the man said.
The overhead street light illuminated the man’s face. His tightly cropped goatee accentuated his square jaw. A pair of thick-rimmed glasses were pressed firmly on the top of his nose.
Hawk sighed and shook his head. “Mr. Frost, I had no idea you were here.”
“Apparently, you didn’t think any of my guards were here either, which was the point of this exercise.”
Hawk reached out and shook Frost’s hand. “I must say that kind of technology makes breaking into your house somewhat of a fortress.”
“Based on your near success, I’m sure you’re going to recommend that I beef up my security.”
Hawk nodded. “It could use some work. I’d recommend switching to QuadTech’s laser fence instead of the laser tripwire system. Or better yet, use a combination of the two. Even the most prepared thief will have a difficult time lugging the equipment necessary to disable both systems.”
“Good advice,” Frost said.
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” Hawk said. “But these heat suppression vests your security team was using are amazing. Alex couldn’t tell anyone else was here.”
Frost chuckled. “Now that’s the kind of endorsement I wanted to hear. We’ve got a tentative contract to manufacture these with Colton Industries once the testing is complete.”
“Tell him they’re genius,” Alex said over the coms.
Hawk tapped his ear and smiled. “Alex is particularly impressed.”
Frost leaned toward Hawk and spoke loudly. “Thank you, Alex. That means even more coming from you.”
“I’m glad we could be of assistance,” Hawk said.
Frost nodded. “This was an incredible exercise. Having some of the best operatives in the business—”
“Former operatives,” Hawk corrected.
“Yes, of course, former operatives attempt and fail to break into my home office makes me feel a little more safe, even though we have some work to do.”
“We’re glad we could be of service.”
“Would you like to come up for a drink?” Frost asked. “I’ve got a shot of 1964 Black Bowmore with your name on it.”
“I never refuse some of the world’s best scotch,” Hawk said with a grin. “Just let me tidy things up with Alex.”
“Of course,” Frost said. “Take your time. I’ll have one of my men direct you to my study.”
“I already know the way,” Hawk said.
He stepped away and reconnected with Alex, this time using his cell phone.
“So, what did you think?” Alex asked. “Were you comfortable getting back in the saddle?”
“It’s like I never left. And you?”
“Aside from the fact that I would’ve gotten you killed tonight, I felt fine.”
Hawk took a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s new technology. You couldn’t have known.”
“But we failed.”
“The point of the exercise wasn’t necessarily to succeed. Frost simply wanted us to test out his innovative technology. We’re still getting paid, and I’m coming home in one piece.”
There was a long pause before Alex interrupted the silence.
“You still miss it, don’t you?” she asked.
“Don’t you?” Hawk said.
“I do, but little John Daniel is my world now—and yours too. We can’t take the risks we used to.”
Hawk nodded. “I agree. And that’s why we’re testing private and corporate security instead of saving the world.”
“But that’s what we’re really good at,” she said. “This stuff just pays the bills. And I know if I’m this conflicted, you are too.”
“John Daniel is our world right now. So, I’m not sure I would call how I feel conflicted.”
“Hawwwk, don’t you lie to me,” Alex said. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”
He huffed a soft laugh through his nose. “You can’t see if my right eye is twitching or not. Besides, we’ve talked about this before. I’ll lose my mind if I just tend to the ranch and don’t do anything else.”
“You know I feel the same way, but I just get the sense that even doing this is going to make you want to get back into the field.”
Hawk stared up at the clear sky, nearly devoid of stars due to the bright moon and light pollution from San Francisco just across the water. It was practically a blank canvas as opposed to the work of art sprawled across the Montana sky nightly.
“Those days are over for me,” he said, trying to convince himself.
“You’re lying, Hawk. Your twitching eye isn’t the only tell you have.”
“Even if I wanted to go back, I couldn’t,” he said. “The only person I trusted in Washington is retired, not to mention that I could never return to the city, not after living in Montana.”
“Agreed,” she said. “This is the perfect place to live and raise John Daniel. I’m glad we both know that.”
“You did great tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow, honey,” he said before hanging up.
Hawk took another deep breath and looked skyward.
He hated lying to his wife.
CHAPTER 2
Yakutsk, Russia
EDDIE TYSON WIPED BLOOD from the corner of his mouth as he collected himself after absorbing a right hook from a hulking Russian nicknamed Boris the Great. The concrete floor was cold and slick due to the sweat splashing onto the ground from the two fighters. Turning around to face Boris, Tyson set his jaw and glared at the man.
The Russian had four inches and a hundred pounds on Tyson, the expatriate who was quickly getting used to life in central Siberia. That disparity alone would likely be enough to make the fight seem like a mismatch. But at 6-foot-4 and 220 pounds of rippling muscles, Tyson looked more like the bruiser than his less-toned opponent. Boris celebrated his victories by draining kegs and patting his ever-growing belly, also a stark contrast to Tyson, who preferred to slam a single shot of vodka before exiting a jubilant arena where the crowd drank early into the next morning to either celebrate their good fortune or forget their folly.
Tyson spun to face Boris, who gestured with his index finger for his opponent to come closer. If this brawl had taken place on the street, Tyson would’ve taken a different approach. He would’ve gone for the knees first followed by a wicked throat punch. But that wasn’t what Peter Smirnov, the event organizer, wanted. “Maximize the pain on your opponent to earn an additional bonus,” Peter had said to the two men before the fight. Peter didn’t want a fight—he wanted a show. And if Tyson wanted that extra money, he knew he needed to comply.
Tyson backed up, resulting in a chorus of boos from the crowd. That’s when a man in the crowd put both hands on Tyson’s back and shoved him toward Boris. Tyson leveraged the momentum into an unexpected burst toward Boris, who’d taken his eyes off Tyson for just a moment to soak in the adulation from an adoring crowd. By the time Boris could recover, it was too late.
Tyson ducked at the last moment, sliding low and just to the right of the oversized Russian. When he reached down to swat at Tyson, Boris stumbled and fell face first onto the concrete. Tyson scrambled to his feet and delivered three kicks before the Russian could even push himself up. A furious flurry of kicks and punches ended the match prematurely for Peter’s liking. But the crowd didn’t seem to mind, chanting Eddie’s name. They didn’t waste any time before hoisting him onto their shoulders and parading him around the room. Even the people who’d bet on the loser seemed to enjoy watching the Russian seethe over suffering defeat.