Halo (K19 Security Solutions Book 8) Read online

  Halo

  Heather Slade

  K19 Security Solutions Book Eight

  Copyright © 2020 by Heather Slade

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Heather Slade

  BUTLER RANCH

  Coming Soon!

  Prequel: Kade’s Worth

  Available Now!

  Book One: Brodie

  Book Two: Maddox

  Book Three: Naughton

  Book Four: Mercer

  Book Five: Kade

  Butler Ranch Boxed Set: Books 1-5 with Bonus Book: Ainsley

  K19 SECURITY SOLUTIONS

  Available Now!

  Book One: Razor

  Book Two: Gunner

  Book Three: Mistletoe

  Book Four: Mantis

  K19 Security Solutions Boxed Set: Books 1-4

  Book Five: Dutch

  Book Six: Striker

  Book Seven: Monk

  Book Eight: Halo

  Coming Soon!

  Book Nine: Tackle

  MILITARY INTELLIGENCE SECTION 6

  Available Now!

  Book One: Shiver

  Book Two: Wilder

  Book Three: Pinch

  Book Four: Shadow

  Military Intelligence Section 6 Boxed Set: Books 1-4

  THE INVINCIBLES

  Available Now!

  Book One: Decked

  Book Two: Edged

  Book Three: Grinded

  Book Four: Riled

  Coming Soon!

  Book Five: Smoked

  Book Six: Bucked

  COCKY HERO CLUB NOVELS

  Book One: Undercover Agent

  KB WORLDS EVERYDAY HEROES

  Book One: Handled

  COWBOYS OF CRESTED BUTTE

  Available Now!

  Book One: Fall for Me

  Book Two: Dance with Me

  Book Three: Kiss Me Cowboy

  Book Four: Stay with Me

  Book Five: Win Me Over

  Cowboys of Crested Butte Boxed Set: Books 1-5

  Contents

  1. Halo

  2. Tara

  3. Halo

  4. Tara

  5. Halo

  6. Tara

  7. Halo

  8. Tara

  9. Halo

  10. Tara

  11. Halo

  12. Tara

  13. Halo

  14. Tara

  15. Halo

  16. Tara

  17. Halo

  18. Tara

  19. Halo

  20. Tara

  21. Halo

  22. Tara

  23. Halo

  24. Tara

  25. Halo

  26. Halo

  27. Tara

  28. Tara

  29. Halo

  30. Tara

  31. Halo

  32. Tara

  Epilogue

  Want more?

  Prologue

  About the Author

  Also by Heather Slade

  1

  Halo

  I’d been on this assignment since March. Eight months of this shit. Stuck in some small-ass town on the Oregon Coast, surveilling a woman who made watching grass grow seem interesting.

  In contrast, last Thanksgiving, I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of Somalia alive. My partner, Tackle, and I were undercover as journalists when we were kidnapped by a band of pirates.

  It didn’t take the team the CIA sent in long to rescue us, but I didn’t make it home in time to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. When I hit US soil a couple of days after, though, I seriously thought about kneeling down and kissing the ground.

  Those were the extremes of the line of work I was in. Either I was in danger of losing my life, or I was bored out of my mind.

  “You can head home,” Griffin “Striker” Ellis said when I called him to give him an update on the woman he was paying me to keep an eye on—Aine McNamara.

  Striker had been the lead on the team that rescued Tackle and me, and while none of us worked for the CIA anymore, it didn’t change the fact I owed the man my life. When he asked me to keep tabs on the woman he’d recently ended a relationship with, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

  Said woman had been kidnapped in August of last year, a couple of months before I was in Somalia. I knew Striker still felt responsible for making sure she was safe. I didn’t understand why they’d broken up in the first place, since they both seemed like they still cared for each other. That part wasn’t any of my business, though.

  “I’m sure you want to spend Thanksgiving with your family.”

  Did I? Barring any other option, I suppose so.

  “By the way, I heard that K19 is getting ready to make you an offer.”

  Bingo! I’d been hoping they would since the day I left the CIA. I’d almost given up, deciding that if I didn’t hear from them by January, I’d start looking at other firms that handled covert operations.

  Striker wasn’t just the lead on my rescue; he’d also been my boss back when we were both with the agency. When he left their employ, I did too. In hindsight, my departure may have been premature, but you had to know who had your back in this line of work and who didn’t.

  Outside of Striker, there were only a handful of men and women I trusted, and not a single one still worked for the government in an official capacity. In fact, the majority of them were now part of a black ops and intelligence firm called K19 Security Solutions, the one Striker had just said was getting ready to make me an offer.

  “What about Tackle?” I asked.

  “Him too.”

  Landry “Tackle” Sorenson was more than my partner on the op in Somalia; he and I had been best friends since high school when my family returned to America after living in England for most of my childhood.

  Tackle and I attended the same college, University of Virginia, and went on to accept jobs with the CIA after we graduated. While it was common for a place like the Central Intelligence Agency to assign code names, my friend and I already had them—nicknames anyway—that to our surprise, they’d agreed to allow us to use.

  We’d come up with them after a day of playing touch football when things went a little too far. It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone to figure out that Landry had tackled me or that I ended up with a cervical dislocation requiring I wear a neck halo for six weeks.

  While Landry and his parents felt like absolute shit about it, I wasn’t angry nor were my mom and dad. Accidents happened, they’d said. I think they were just relieved that the injury hadn’t been worse. It didn’t bother them at all when I couldn’t play football the next year, and while I acted like I was disappointed, I’d admitted to Tackle that I didn’t really care.

  The day I told him I planned to resign from the CIA and freelance for K19, he said he would too.

  “Where are you?” I asked when my friend answered my call.

  “On my way to Boston.”

  Tackle and I lived in DC, but both sets of our parents lived in Newton, Massachusetts.

  “I was thinking of doing the same.”

  “Striker isn’t making you babysit over the holiday?”

  I told him about the call I’d just hung up from and also about the impending offer.

  “About damn time,” he muttered. “When do you get in?”

  “I haven’t booked the flight yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  “Roger that. I land at
four this afternoon.”

  “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Tackle offered to pick me up whenever I landed, which I was sure my parents would appreciate. More, my younger sister would, since she was the one who usually got stuck doing airport runs.

  “It was nice of you to bring Knox home,” my mother said to Tackle the next day when he dropped me off at my parents’ place and came inside.

  She put her arms around me. “I can’t believe you’ll actually be with us for the holiday this year.”

  My father, Benjamin Knox Clarkson, Sr., an American, had never cared much about holidays. He’d worked for the State Department most of his life, traveling the world. However, my mother, who was Venezuelan, loved holidays—any holiday. Almost too much, overly embracing decorating for any occasion. Presently, my parents’ house looked like it had been the venue for a pilgrim party.

  “There are six days between now and then,” I said. “Don’t tempt fate.”

  I don’t know who should’ve kept their mouth shut—her or me—but here it was, the day before Thanksgiving, and both Tackle and I were on a transport to Atlanta. There, we’d be on standby until we were given the word to connect with Montano “Onyx” Yáñez and fly to Bogotá.

  Once we arrived in Columbia’s capital, I’d be going undercover into one of the drug cartels while Tackle was positioned inside the US embassy.

  Hadn’t I just been wishing for a mission more interesting than watching over Aine McNamara? I scrubbed my face. Be careful what you wish for.

  The next afternoon, we received our orders and boarded a plane belonging to K19. Onyx was piloting, and another operative I’d heard of but never worked with, Sofia “Corazón” Descanso, was his copilot.

  We’d been in the air for almost five hours and were just past Aruba when all hell broke loose.

  Tackle and I jumped up from our seats and raced to the cockpit when we heard a shot being fired. When we slammed through the door, guns cocked, Onyx was slumped over the plane’s instrument panel and Corazón had her gun pointed directly at me.

  Either way, I was going to die today—if I fired first, the unmanned plane would crash. If I let her shoot me, she’d kill Tackle too, and then she may have a chance of getting away with a triple murder. I pulled the trigger.

  2

  Tara

  Why in the hell did I come to California for Thanksgiving? I’d only done it so I didn’t have to be alone. But here I was, surrounded by people, four of my best friends in the world, and I’d never felt more alone in my life.

  From the time we were seven years old—when we all showed up at the same boarding school—until just recently, we’d been the Tribe of Five, always looking out for each other in a way no one else did. All of our parents—to one degree or another—had lives that didn’t include much time for child-rearing. That’s why we’d banded together in the first place. Shared misery, loneliness, and a profound sense of abandonment.

  I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Quinn, Ava, Aine, Penelope, and I had started to grow apart. More and more, I felt like I no longer connected with the four of them. I couldn’t say or do the right thing—ever. What we all used to find funny became me being a bitch…or immature.

  Part of it was that, in the last year, our lives had all gone in different directions. Quinn got married first; Ava followed not long after her. Penelope got a job she loved, as a physical therapist, and Aine had been in a committed relationship that, while she said they’d broken up, seemed as though it was back on.

  That left me. I had a degree in art history and no idea what to do with it. Sure, I could work in a museum, but where I’d have to start would bore me to tears. It wasn’t like I could show up and immediately get a job as a curator. I’d have to start as a curatorial assistant. No, thanks.

  I noticed the key fob for the rental car sitting on the counter, picked it up, and sneaked it into my pocket, wondering if I left, how long it would be before anyone even noticed I was gone. Or maybe they would notice and be thankful.

  Even I had to admit I was bitchy. Ever since Pen and I decided at the last minute to fly here for the holiday and a couple of my credit cards were declined, I’d been distracted. I called my dad before we left to find out why, but so far, he hadn’t returned my call.

  Pen had offered to cover the cost of the airfare, just so we could get the flights booked and be on our way, which wasn’t that big of a deal. I just hated having something like this hanging over my head.

  When my phone vibrated with a call from a friend I’d known even longer than the four I was here with, I crept out the front door. “Hey, Brand,” I said. “Can I call you right back?”

  “Of course. Where are you?”

  “California. I’ll explain in a few minutes.”

  I drove the rental car over to the beach, parked, and returned the call.

  “What are you doing in California?”

  “Celebrating the holiday with the tribe.”

  “Right. It’s Thanksgiving, isn’t it?”

  “What’s up?”

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Aren’t we talking now?”

  “Not over the phone.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Let me know when you’re back in New York. We’ll talk then.”

  When the call ended, I walked down to the beach. There weren’t many people out today, but no one other than me was alone. I sat down, lay back in the sand, and closed my eyes, wishing I could shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something far worse than my declined credit card.

  I must’ve dozed off. When I checked the time, I was shocked at how late it had gotten. I traipsed up the steps to where I’d parked the car and drove back to the house.

  “Where in the hell have you been?” Pen shouted when I walked in the front door.

  “What the fuck?” I shouted back. She was my roommate, not my goddamn mother.

  “You left without a word to anyone. You wouldn’t answer your phone. We were worried about you.”

  I laughed. “Right. How long did it take before you even noticed I wasn’t here?”

  “Look,” said Pen, lowering her voice. “We know about your father.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “What about him?”

  “Don’t play stupid. The investigation.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come sit,” said Aine, motioning to me.

  “I have to call my dad.” I rushed out to the deck and closed the sliding door behind me.

  Of course, it went to voicemail, so I called my mom.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “California.”

  After the requisite niceties, I asked if she’d heard anything from my dad.

  “Your father stopped being my responsibility a long time ago, Tara.” Why had I called her? Really, what had I expected?

  “I heard something about an investigation.”

  “You heard something? Tara, it’s all over the news. You want answers, ask him.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach him. He isn’t returning my calls.”

  “Ask Vi. She knows more about your father than anyone. That was true even when he and I were married.”

  Vi! Why hadn’t I thought of that? I ended the call with my mother after wishing her a happy holiday and called Viola Ripa, the woman who had been my father’s secretary since before I was born.

  I wasn’t surprised when that call went to voicemail too. It was a national holiday, after all.

  I sat down at the table and searched for my father’s name on the internet. While my mother had said it was “all over the news,” I couldn’t find anything other than a mention in the Times that one of his companies was under investigation for wire fraud. Was that really a big deal? I supposed, coupled with my credit cards being declined, I should be more concerned.

  I tried my father one more time, but like a few minutes earlier, the call
went straight to voicemail.

  I hated asking Pen for help again, but it looked like the best thing for me to do was get back to New York. I quickly changed my mind when I opened the door in time to hear her say, “It’s almost like she’s on something.”

  On something? I eased it the rest of the way and went inside.

  “What is that supposed to mean? I’m ‘on something’ because I decided I needed some time on my own? By the way, thanks for blindsiding me. I hope you’re all happy now.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Pen, standing. “No one blindsided you, and why would any of us be happy your father is being investigated?”

  “I need to get back to New York.”

  “So go.” Pen sat back down.

  “Come with me.” Quinn took my hand and pulled me out the front door. “What’s up?”

  “Didn’t you hear? I’m on something.”

  “Don’t be like that. I’m trying to help you. What’s happening with your dad?”

  I told her about my conversation with my mother and what I’d found on the internet, not that it was much.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “I’ve been trying to reach my dad since yesterday. I really feel like I should go home.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, what can you do there that you couldn’t do here?”

  For starters, not be judged by people who I thought loved me?