Read In for the Kill [Hawkman Series Book 9] for Free Online

and punched the play button before sitting down.
    "Mr. Casey, this is Rita Rawlings. I need to talk to you. I might have some information of interest."
    Hawkman jotted down the number on a paper pad, then put on the coffee pot. After settling in his chair, he picked up the receiver and tapped in the digits.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Hawkman's gut told him this woman had something important to tell him and he needed to reach her as soon as possible. When her answering machine responded, he left a message, banged the receiver back on the cradle, then crumpled the top sheet on his memo pad and threw it into the waste basket.
    He poured himself a cup of coffee, then strolled to the window while sipping the hot brew. Glancing out over the parking lot, his shoulders stiffened when he spotted a bronze colored Buick at the far end. He placed the cup on the filing cabinet, grabbed his binoculars and focused on the person in the driver's seat. Immediately, he realized the man also had a pair of glasses trained on him, and actually waved before driving off.
    "Who are you?” Hawkman mumbled, as he stepped back and returned the binoculars to their resting place.
    He sat down at his desk, and called Jennifer. “I want you to be extremely watchful in about an hour. The idiot knows I'm in my office and may come out there to terrorize you."
    "I have my gun. Everything's locked up and the alarm set. I'll keep a watchful eye."
    "Look for the bronze colored Buick I told you about. I doubt he'd have time to change cars before getting there."
    "Okay, I'll give you a call if I spot him."
    Hawkman hung up and punched in Bill Broadwell's number. When he reached his office, he gave a special code, which routed the call through a different channel. A man's voice soon answered.
    "Bill, Tom Casey. Have you had a chance to look through the files on the situation I told you about?"
    "Yeah, I was going to call you today. This is a strange circumstance to arise after all these years. But I've come up with three possible names. These guys are no longer with the Agency. They've either retired,quit or we've lost track of them. They may even be dead."
    "Give me the names and a little history. I'll check them out."
    "Bob Hudson got passed over for promotion several times and the honor usually went to you. He left the group shortly after you disappeared."
    "I remember him,” Hawkman said. “A real whiner, but good at what he did."
    "Then there was Jack Hargrove. Carried a chip on his shoulder and spoke out more than once to his colleagues on how he hated Jim Anderson. No one really knew why, because at the time he came into the Agency here, you were already gone and presumed dead. But he did make a threat once, that one of these days he'd find you. He didn't think you were really deceased."
    "That's odd."
    "And another strange thing is he didn't even work around your department, he was in a completely different field, so his threats are a mystery."
    "Then the last name I have is Hal Brokers. He had a mean streak and at one time or the other mentioned your name when he and colleagues spoke about people they'd like to see dead. He had it in for anyone who pushed ahead of him on the totem pole and you were one of them."
    "I vaguely remember him. Tall blond guy, right?"
    "Yeah, he never smiled. Always had a frown on his face."
    "What does Jack Hargrove look like?"
    "Hold on a minute, let me grab his file. I don't ever remember meeting him myself."
    Hawkman could hear the rustle of paper and Bill grumbling.
    "That's strange. There's no description or picture in his file. Looks like someone has removed it. This isn't good. Let me get back to you."
    "Okay, but before you go. Dirk Henderson is still incarcerated isn't he?
    "Oh, yeah. He'll never get out from behind bars. In fact, that's the first thing I checked when I got your call."
    "Thanks, Bill, appreciate your help."
    Hawkman studied the three names. He could pretty well mark off Bob Hudson. Not the type of man to hold a