Page 39 of Striker

I don't want to think about him ever needing this. Because, by that point, not only am I likely in mortal danger, but Morgan and Riley are, too. Being the sister of a Marine, I like to think I might handle myself well enough in a scary situation, but I don't want to even consider what would happen to Morgan. Or, even worse, Riley. With her being back in the claws of addiction and being kept under guard by Michael's men, the odds of her surviving would be...

No, Dani, don't even think about it, I scold myself. Owen's not going to need this weapon. Especially if you do what you came to do and sort things about between you two once and for all.

Now is the time for honesty.

And to get honesty out of that stubborn Marine, you are going to have to subject him to an interrogation.

Determined to find a hostage that I can use to wrench the truth out of Owen, I keep digging through his bag.

Then my fingers settle around a small wooden case. This feels valuable.

I pull it out and open it. Inside is his Purple Heart, earned from that fateful day when Owen took a bullet and my brother saved his life.

This is wrong. My fingers tremble as I pocket it. So wrong, but this is my leverage, my key to unlocking his true feelings. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and our circumstances are as close to desperate as you can get.

Then I search the room, looking for the perfect hiding spot. Finding it, and securely stashing the medal in a place that he'll never think to look, I take a seat on the bed just as Owen strides in, looking refreshed, yet somehow more rugged, after his session with Horatio.

The sight of him renders me breathless. Makes me, for just a moment, doubt what I'm about to do.

But I can't falter now.

"Dani, we need to talk about — “ he starts, but I cut him off.

"Sit down, Owen. We're playing a game. A serious game. Because I've taken something of yours," I declare, my tone more confident than I feel.

"What did you take?" He asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Your Purple Heart. And you'll get it back only if you answer my questions," I reply, holding his gaze.

Owen's expression turns from confusion to anger.

"What the hell, Dani? That's not a game," he growls, his fists clenching.

I stand my ground. I can't back down now. Not when we're so close to finally getting everything out in the open.

"I know it's not a game, Owen. Nothing about this weekend is a game. It’s serious. Deadly serious. We need to talk, because there’s so much going on between us and you haven't been forthcoming. So I'm forcing your hand," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes still locked on mine.

"Fine. Ask away," he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

I pause a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to figure out where to start. I want to know everything, but I don't want to overwhelm him immediately.

"We'll start with a softball question: other than Dixon, who was your closest friend in high school?"

"You — ” he stops, then frowns, and I can see he's clearly second-guessing the answer that he was about to blurt out. "You know it was Ryan Darmody. His older brother would buy us beer, so we had to keep things good between us."

"His brother bought beer for most anybody that asked. But I admit, you and him were close," I say. "Keep giving me the right answers, and you'll eventually get your medal back. Lie to me, and you'll never see it again."

"This is ridiculous, Dani."

"Question two: what was your proudest day as a Marine?"

I know the answer to this question already; I've overheard him and my brother talking about this exact thing countless times. Mainly because they always bring it up when they're drunk and they're both really loud when they've had too many.

"Easy. It's a tie between the day I finished boot camp and the day I got my discharge. Everything in between was pure hell."

"Correct."

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