He unlocked his door. “Come on in and lay it on me.” He circled the desk and sat down.
I took a chair in front of his desk, nervous as a schoolboy in the principal’s office.
“Spit it out, sailor, and no bullshit. I’m not on Navy time here.” He lifted the coffee and took a sip.
No, Lucas Hawk had been Delta, and was Army through and through.
“I’d like to put some resources into figuring out who is after Peyton Smith.”
He put the coffee cup down. “The way I hear it, you already requisitioned some resources for that project.”
“Sir?”
“I understand Constance spent last night pulling prints from the Smith condo for you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
He cut me off with a fist slammed on the desk. “If nobody got hurt, don’t ever fucking tell me you’re sorry.”
Duke had warned me not to piss off Lucas, and here I was learning why. Right now, I’d rather be facing down a tango with an RPG than sitting across from an angry Lucas Hawk. His voice alone was cause for real sphincter puckering.
“Here at Hawk,” he said, pressing a finger into the wood of his desk—the same finger I’d heard stories about. I’d heard Lucas had been with Omega, and I’d been warned that nobody in his right mind, not even an armed SEAL, took on an Omega guy one-on-one.
“You’re expected to take initiative and responsibility,” he continued. “I don’t hire pansies, and I don’t want to be called on every stupid little thing. You own what you do, and the decisions you make. No bullshit. If you fuck up, you say so and own that as well. So, you said you’re sorry. Does that mean you fucked up and somebody got hurt?”
Just like I was back in boot camp, I sat ramrod straight. “Sir, no, sir. I was pointing out that I didn’t ask for permission.”
His dark eyes bored into me, and I was damned glad I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. “Now that you understand you don’t always need permission, tell me if you regret what you did.”
“Sir, I do not, sir.”
He relaxed into the chair. “You can drop thesiras well. Go through it for me. Tell me what’s going on and your plan.”
I followed his cue and relaxed. “I believe Peyton Smith is under attack, and since she works for Grace, and Grace is with Terry, and they’re worried about her, I?—”
Lucas stood up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall. “I told you we don’t do bullshit here. Bullshit gets people hurt.” He pointed at the door. “Now get the hell out of my office and come back when you understand the meaning ofno bullshit.”
I didn’t leave, but I did stand at attention. “I am worried about Peyton Smith. I feel responsible for her. We know that her name is fake, and she won’t discuss her past. She’s scared. She’s on the run from someone. I think the probability that she was the victim of a random muggingandher condo got burglarized all in twenty-four hours is nearly zero.”
“I hate people who prey on women,” he snarled.
Everyone in spec ops knew the story. Once, Lucas Hawk had delayed a mission for a few hours to visit a drug kingpin running a rape house. That asshole and four of his lieutenants had ended up buried under a pile of rubble, and the women had been freed. Men abusing women was a hot-button issue of his.
“Why target her?”
“I think it’s most likely related to what or who she is running from. The burglary had the hallmarks of a search for a specific item, a small item that would fit into a kitchen drawer. It wasn’t local kids looking for a laptop or jewelry to sell.”
“Wouldn’t she have said if the guys who jumped her were the people she was running from? Couldn’t they have been random muggers?”
“They might not be the individuals she’s running from, but I think it’s all related—an attack disguised as a mugging. They’d gotten her watch and purse and still attacked her.”
“And you think this will continue?”
“It’s not over.”
“In your opinion?”
“Yes. In my opinion.”
