Saving Serena (Hawk Security #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Serena

At the light, I turned right onto the feeder road, noticing the big, black SUV in my mirror—it made the same turn.

Today had been my first trip into the field since my promotion was announced last week, and it had been eye-opening. My blood boiled, recalling the meeting I’d just had with the people at Knife Creek Chemical. How could they be so flippant about their inability to show me their latest outflow-monitoring results? The meeting had been scheduled in advance. They should have been prepared.

On top of that, their COO, Aiden Pons, had propositioned me for dinner on the way out. “ I think you’d enjoy the view from my hilltop mansion. ” Back in the car, the first thing I did was pull out my wet wipes to clean off the slime from his handshake.

Maybe since Knife Creek had hired the likes of Pons, I shouldn’t have been surprised that they weren’t prepared with their data. I pitied the executive assistant who had to work with him.

In contrast, the company I’d visited before them, Excalibur Plating, had been as pleasant and professional as I could have expected. Larry Pollock had uploaded their data to our server without complaint.

When I’d gotten this promotion, my boss, Edward Powell, hadn’t been happy. He’d wanted his pet, Remy Laurent, to get the promotion instead. But Katelyn and Nick, coworkers from my office, as well as Remy and I, had all applied. And the merit review board had chosen me. So tough shit, Remy. Office politics were the worst.

And things were no picnic in the field either. If very many of the companies in this area were like Knife Creek, I’d have to grow a thicker skin.

The SUV again followed when I made a left onto the main road heading back to the city. Maybe it was just the color and the tinted windows that made it look ominous. The fact that we were both turning toward town shouldn’t have alarmed me.

My real problem was that I was on the road back to the office with nothing to show for my visit to Knife Creek. “ Have the data ready for me at our next meeting ,” I’d told them, which hadn’t been what they wanted to hear. Well, tough fucking shit. I represented the Environmental Protection Agency, and the EPA didn’t have to take shit from Knife Creek or anybody.

Katelyn, the closest approximation to a friend I had in our department, would probably laugh at me when I came back empty-handed. She’d been an external auditor for a year now and would have been the one at that meeting this morning if I’d agreed to the swap she wanted because the territory I got was closer to her home.

Maybe I should have invited her along. She probably knew what to say to get them to comply, and we’d have the data now instead of nada, zilch, zero.

I could have said, “Hand over the data, or else.”

But then “Or else what?” might have been the response.

That’s where my bravado ran out of answers. I was in auditing, not enforcement. I wasn’t Dirty Harriet. The most dangerous thing I carried was a ballpoint pen. Yeah, when I got back, I’d ask Katelyn how she would have approached it.

But then again, maybe I should wait a while to ask for her help.

The sound of an incoming call came through the speakers of my government-issued car. At least they’d included Bluetooth in the fleet for safety purposes. My friend Grace Brennan’s name showed on the screen.

“Hey, girlfriend,” I answered. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not getting back into town until the end of the week. Can we put off cooking until next Wednesday?”

“Got you down.” Every few Wednesdays we got together for joint cooking sessions where we tried out new recipes. Ever since we met in group therapy, it had been our thing, a way to relax. Having shared our trauma stories gave us a special bond.

“Good,” she said. “Your place this time.”

I nodded. “You bet.”

She sighed. “See ya then.”

When we ended the call, I checked behind me and didn’t see the ominous black SUV. I breathed easier.

Not a minute later, the phone rang again. This time, it was my brother Zach.

“Joey’s Pizza. Today’s special is a family-size pepperoni with three colors of bell peppers,” I answered.

A laugh and then, “Serena, since when does a pizza joint have road noise in the background?”

“It was worth a try. What’s up?”

“Mom wants to know if you’re joining us for her barbecue.”

A glance in the mirror showed the big SUV was back again—or still back there? Maybe I hadn’t looked close enough last time. “Why doesn’t she call me herself if she wants me to come?” I shifted left a lane and sped up.

“She said she called three times, and you didn’t answer.”

“It was two times,” I corrected. I’d answered the second time. “And I’m still not interested in getting back together with George.” I left off that I’d yelled an angry hell no at her, and a few other choice words, when she’d asked me to give the guy another chance. I’d get over it, but the call still made me angry.

Zach laughed. “He comes from a good family,” he said, parroting Mom’s logic.

I added the kicker. “And Dad has a joint venture in the works with George’s father.” Yes, Mom wanted grandbabies, and Dad wanted business advantage.

George Kittleman, my boring ex-boyfriend, had been bugging me about getting back together ever since he returned from his stint in Paris. He hadn’t been this attentive before leaving for a job offer he couldn’t pass up .

Zach laughed again. “Dad didn’t actually say that, did he?”

“No,” I admitted. “He probably just thinks George is stable and safe.” What was and wasn’t safe for me had consumed Dad since the dark time in my life.

Zach laughed again. “And ready to have kids.”

“That’s not funny. Why aren’t they busy setting you guys up instead of always picking on me?”

The silence on the line spoke volumes. I had four brothers, all too busy out sowing their wild oats to settle down. But Mom wanted grandbabies, and that meant convincing one of her daughters to get serious and stop the birth control—with a man of appropriate breeding, of course.

Kelly’s move to Washington, DC had stymied Mom’s efforts with her, which left me as the only daughter within reach. Unfortunately, at this stage in my career, I had to endure her matchmaking attempts. I couldn’t take Kelly’s escape hatch and move away from LA yet.

I relaxed after checking my mirror again. The SUV was now way back there.

“Are you still there, Serena?” Zach asked. “What do you say about Saturday?”

“Sure, I’ll show up if you guys are going to be there, too. I’m not going if it’s only going to be me and Mom and Dad and George.”

“I’ve always got your back, you know that,” Zach said. “And she may not be ambushing you with George, anyway.”

“Right,” I added, heavy sarcasm to my tone.

“Bring a date, then, as protection. Just in case.”

That was a nonstarter. I hadn’t gotten past the second-date stage in over eighteen months.

“Shit,” I muttered, gripping the wheel tighter. The creepy SUV was two cars back again. It must have been hidden behind a truck.

“What’s wrong?” There was honest concern in my overprotective brother’s voice. He, and the others, always tried to shield me from the world. It had been cute when I was twelve. Now, it was annoying.

“It’s probably nothing.” His silence prompted me to elaborate. “I’m heading back from the Valley, and there’s a lot of traffic. I hate it when these big SUVs ride my ass.” It was true, just not today’s truth.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Serena, like brake-check him. I don’t want to see you become a road-rage statistic. Here’s what you do?—”

“I’m smarter than that, and I can handle myself,” I reminded him. I was a grown-ass woman, not a kid.

He powered through my complaint. “You don’t want to provoke guys like that.”

When protector mode became dictator mode, I got pissed. Time to end this conversation. “My battery’s getting low,” I lied. “Gotta go.” I always had to exude confidence, or my brothers would try to swoop in and fix things for me.

“See you Saturday.”

I dreaded these setup attempts by my mother. But she was family, so I couldn’t exactly refuse every meal invitation. “Saturday,” I agreed before ending the call.

A little while later, searching my mirror, I didn’t see the SUV. He might have turned off back there, and I missed it.

A few miles ahead, the road through the hills peeled off to the right. I could use it to prove I was imagining things. And if he did follow, there was a fire station a few miles in that would be a safe place to stop.

Mentally, I congratulated myself for planning ahead like Dad had taught me. Changing lanes again, I sped up. When my turn appeared ahead, I still hadn’t spotted the SUV. I considered not turning off, but if I was wrong, the scenic route would only cost me a half hour.

The nervous twitch in my left leg proved I wasn’t as confident as I wanted to be, and I pressed on my knee to calm it. Nervous equaled weak, and I was not weak. Be proud, be bold. I’d gotten the tattoo to remind myself every day.

When I reached the fire station, I breathed a deep, easy breath and continued. All my mirror checks showed no scary SUV. A weak woman would have stopped and dialed 9-1-1 from the safety of the fire station and then endured questions from the highway patrol officer about why I felt threatened when I hadn’t even seen the SUV follow me onto this road.

The officer would shake his head all the way back to his patrol car, marveling at what a weak little girl I was.

I wasn’t weak. I was proud and bold, so I drove on by. There was no reason to stop. Besides, it was a nice day to enjoy the winding road through the hills.

Music. That’s what I needed. Something light to cheer me up. I could do this job. Next time, I’d show those creeps at Knife Creek who was boss. As I tuned in a station, I told myself there was nothing to worry about, not even Mom’s pending Saturday barbeque.

Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” came bursting through the speakers, and I sang along. A little R-E-S-P-E-C-T was what I needed, all right. I’d moved up from data analyst to pollution-control auditor, and all on my own—without my dad’s help. I was done being the sheltered little girl in the billionaire’s family. I was on my own and proud of it.

When a melancholy breakup song from another artist started, I switched off the radio. That wasn’t my cup of tea today. How could I relate to a melancholy breakup song when splitting with George Kittleman last year had been the best thing for me?

Then, a shiver ran down my spine when I looked back to find the evil-looking SUV behind me, gaining fast.

I hadn’t checked the mirror in a while, so maybe it was a different black SUV driven by someone in a hurry. There had to be hundreds of them in the LA area, if not thousands.

But then he got close, too close. I pressed on the gas. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My nerves about this SUV had been right. Why didn’t I mention it to Zach?

The SUV accelerated with me.

I hoped my little EPA sedan could handle the curves better than he could. I took the next corner faster, my tires protesting a tiny bit. My left leg trembled. I relaxed my death grip on the wheel when, as expected, the SUV lost ground in the corner.

Then, on the straightaway, he surged forward. My chest tightened as adrenaline rushed through me. God, I wished I’d driven my car. At least it had an engine. Like most government cars this one only had three hamsters on a wheel under the hood.

I knew the road well enough to keep the accelerator on around the long bend leading to the tight corner. My heart raced as I took the car nearer to its limit than I wanted.

The asshole matched me again. This was getting serious fast. Why hadn’t I been smart and stopped at the fire station?

I laid on the brakes for the corner. A second later, he bumped me hard, throwing my head back against the headrest.

We were going too fast. My rear tires squealed, and the tail of my car pitched out. Dad’s words, “Steer into the skid,” echoed in my head as I adjusted the wheel and recovered at the very edge of the pavement, just as he’d had me practice on a rain-slick parking lot years ago. Thank you, Dad.

I had to create distance between me and this maniac, so I floored it, exiting the turn with the little engine screaming in protest. I shot forward and checked the mirror. No, my car didn’t have more get-up-and-go than the big SUV.

When I yanked my eyes forward again, it was almost too late. I saw the deer bounding into my path and swerved right to keep from hitting him and sending three hundred pounds of deer and antlers through my windshield. I still clipped him, and I put my arm up to shield myself as I headed for the edge. Hitting the guardrail sounded like a gunshot as the airbag slammed my wrist into my throat and hit me in the face. My eyes shut instinctively. I was weightless for a second as we hurtled over the edge.

I was thrown side to side like a rag doll as the car rolled down the embankment. When we stopped, I hung upside down from the seatbelt, listening to the whine of the revving engine, then it went silent. My shoulder throbbed to the fast beat of my heart.

Dazed and disoriented, I pushed against the airbag. Man, was it hot, and it smelled of smoke.

Phone .

I needed my phone. It had been in the cupholder next to me. I didn’t see it anywhere now, but I was hanging upside down and dazed.

Fucking shit. The smell of gasoline joined the smoky smell. I fumbled around until I found the seatbelt release. I bumped my head hard on the roof as it let go, and it took some contortions to get untangled from the steering wheel.

Bluetooth. I could use the car’s Bluetooth. I pressed the call button. “Call 9-1-1.”

Nothing. Pressing the start-stop button got the engine to turn over, but not catch. Of course the thing wouldn’t be able to start upside down. Pulling the door handle got me nowhere. Trapped. This could get worse in a hurry. I searched again for my phone.

Then, through the windshield, I saw a man in a black leather jacket at the top of the embankment. “Help me,” I called to him. My throat hurt. It came out hoarse, but loud enough to reach him through the broken passenger-side window. Unfortunately, the roll had crushed the roof on that side enough to make it impossible to get out in that direction.

Black Jacket Guy started down the hill—black pants, black boots, all black. He just needed to find a rock to break the window and get me out.

He smiled at me. Odd.

“Call nine-one-one,” I screamed. He pulled something out of his pocket as he made his way cautiously down the hill.

I looked for my phone again and then back uphill. Black Jacket Guy was flicking a cigarette lighter as he calmly approached. The fucker smiled at me. “You’re going to tell me where the stick is,” he yelled. He had an accent.

What stick? My heart stopped. This morning’s note on my car . I’d thought it was meant for my neighbor.

Put the USB stick under the red bush or else.

Crash, gasoline, lighter. This was not good.

Even if I knew where the stupid stick he wanted was, I’d seen enough movies to know how this ended.

I couldn’t die like this. My last words to my mom had been angry ones.