Page 22 of Striker

I'll have to try harder.

Smiling at him while chewing with my mouth open, I say, "Again, you can leave at any time. I'll just tell everyone we broke up. No one will question it. They know I’m way out of your league, anyways. Life will go on, and it'll be easier for both of us."

"No."

On accident, I grab another pair of panties and hurl them around the room. Then a floral, low-cut maxi dress I'd packed for after-wedding brunching and to catch Owen's eye, I hurl right at his face and he bats it away like an offending fly.

Then my phone beeps.

It's a text from Morgan. She's in the middle of a breakdown and she needs me.

My feet are on the ground before I know it.

She is infinitely more important than chasing Owen away.

If Morgan is wavering or having second thoughts, there's no way I'll be able to rescue Riley on my own. This is only something that can happen if the two of us are entirely committed and focused on our mission. We cannot fail. We can't abandon Riley in her moment of weakness and let her be prey for that suited Vertucci vulture.

"I'll be back. Don't touch any of my things," I say. Then, as a final barb, I take one of my bras, use the cups to encircle the bottle of champagne, and then tie the straps in an intricate, impossible knot around one of the light fixtures. It's such a precarious position that any jostling will spill the contents of the champagne bottle everywhere.

"What the fuck is that?" Owen says.

"A booby trap. And a test. Mess with my stuff and the mess will only grow. Got it? Now, I have to go be with Morgan for a bit, so you behave yourself while I'm gone, Mr. Orderly."

* * * * *

It takes a lot of hugs, reassurances, and time to calm Morgan down. She's in such a state of doubt and despair when I arrive that it breaks my heart seeing my best friend like that. But it doesn't surprise me. To know that someone in your family is back to using drugs, after struggling with addiction so much in the past, and is actively ruining their life not only with that poison, but in making the terrible decision to marry the man who is their dealer? Despair is the least of what I'd feel if I were in her place.

By the time I get her calmed down and believing again that we have the strength and the capability to get her sister out of this mess, I'm more determined than ever that Owen has to go.

There can be no obstacles to rescuing Riley. Even handsome, well-intentioned obstacles like Owen that are simply here out of a belief that I need to be protected, no,coddled, away from danger. As if I'm not an adult who can make her own decisions, take on her own risks, to protect her friends and the people that are important to her.

They, of all people, being former Marines who risked their lives saving others, should understand that.

But no, they don't. They won't.

Because Owen and Dixon both see me as that little tomboy struggling to keep up, not as the capable woman that I clearly am.

The door to our suite is slightly ajar and I stop in the hallway, feeling a wave of anxiety rush through me. I know whose house this is; I know there are armed men on the property. Could someone have already gotten wind of mine and Morgan's plan to spirit away Riley from Michael Vertucci's clutches and decided to eliminate us?

I creep up to the doorway, my ears straining for any sound.

Two voices.

A woman's hits my ears first. It sounds older. Late forties, early fifties. Overworked. Tired. And, especially at this moment, disgusted and dismayed.

"I cannot believe this. In all my years, I have not seen such a mess made in such a short period of time. How did this happen?"

"We had an argument, that's all. I said some things, did some things, provoked her. Working here, I'm sure you know how spirited some people can get when they have a fight."

There's a moment of quiet.

"Yes. But all this mess? You call me here to make me clean all this up? I'm a housekeeper, not some slave or servant."

I feel terrible. Not for embarrassing Owen — no, I'd wanted that — but that my actions have ruined this housekeeper's day. Making up for my frustrations is going to fall on her shoulders, not the man it's intended for.

"No, ma'am, I didn't."

"You specifically called and asked for housekeeping. I am the housekeeper for this villa. That would make this my job, no?"

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