by Wylder Stone
“Are you serious?” Owen checked his tone, frustration and irritation getting the better of him. “I have the highest security clearance in this country. I know things the president doesn’t know. I think I’m okay.”
“I’m sure that works when you want to enter…the Capitol Building or something, but at Lalapalooza, we have a really strict policy, and I just can’t bend the rules for you, or I’ll have to bend them for everyone. If it’s that important to you, though, I can get my guy on the phone and see if we can speed this thing up.” Trista grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket, held up one finger, indicating she needed a minute, and dialed. “Hey, James, it’s Tris.”
“You called my brother? Are you serious right now?” he asked in total disbelief.
She covered the phone and directed the conversation to Owen. “Yeah, James is on speed dial. He does these for me. Want to be thorough, remember?”
Removing her hand from the phone, Trista returned her attention to James. Owen was only privy to her side of the phone conversation. “Yep, still here, James. Do you have time for a quick background check? Yeah. Owen’s here. Seems he wants to go hang out with kids all day, and you know our policy at Lalapalooza. Sure! So you have time to run him through the system? Yes, the full background – we want to be safe. You know my number. Uh-huh, you, too. Thanks!”
“Did you really just do that?” Owen asked.
“Sure did! We need to finish getting ready, so…” Trista waved a hand in front of him, sizing him up, indicating he needed to do the same.
Owen looked down at his clothes and then at Tyson, who shrugged, choosing to stay neutral.
Trista grabbed the box of pastries and planted a kiss on her niece’s head, earning a baby giggle in return. Walking to the kitchen with Mason on her heels, she said, “Oh! Fritters! I love these. Thanks, sis.”
“Well, it looks like you guys have everything…under control. I’ll see you there, Tris,” Becca hollered at her sister. Then she leaned in and whispered to Owen, “Good luck!”
“I heard that!” Trista yelled from the kitchen.
Tyson chose a silent reassuring slap to the shoulder to avoid a scolding from Trista, but it didn’t work.
“I heard that too!” she hollered again.
Owen closed the door behind Tyson and a giggling Becca just as Trista came back into the room. “Mason, get your backpack ready, bud.”
“I’ll just take a quick shower, and we’ll be on our way,” Owen informed her, to which Trista rolled her eyes.
Mason tugged at Owen’s jeans. “Will you help me with my pack-pack, Mr. Force?”
“My first name is Owen. You can call me Owen, Okay? Mr. Force sounds like an old man.”
The little boy giggled, and said, “Okay!”
“Let’s go get that bag ready real quick, kid. We don’t want to make your mom late…or mad,” Owen said, looking right at her.
Mason nodded and grabbed Owen’s hand leading him down the hallway to his room where they quickly got his bag ready to go. Then Owen hit the shower. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to earn her trust again, but Owen didn’t realize he’d have to win back her friendship, too.
Trista was more than mad. He broke her heart, and Owen hated himself for that, even if it was for the right reasons. Owen knew he did what he had to do, but he didn’t anticipate it taking as long as it had, and he certainly didn’t anticipate it destroying every bit of what they’d built.
When Trista had said she understood why he had to leave during their last day together, Owen thought she really had understood. Clearly, she didn’t. How could she? Neither of them knew how deep the roots of Cesar Perez went and just how lively they were, even in his death. Owen had sought out to clean up a backlist of enemies as well as new ones on the horizon in the wake of the Perez cartel falling. It had been more than he’d bargained for, and before he knew it, two years had passed.
It was the right thing to do, however. Leaving stones unturned was the fastest way to collect targets on your back. He refused to bring that kind of threat to the friends and family who resided in Bear Springs. Especially Trista and Mason. They’d been through enough, and keeping them safe was his priority at the time – still was.
He’d quickly showered as not to upset Trista any more than he had. From this point on, he’d subscribe to the path of least resistance where she was concerned, and making her late for work probably wouldn’t be a smart move. When he entered the living room in record time to announce he was ready, he found it empty. So was the kitchen and the rest of the home. Trista left without him, despite his warning.
“Dammit!”
3
Trista poured her heart and soul into Lalapalooza when she first settled in Bear Springs, and it had become a thriving business. She didn’t need the money – she had plenty of her own. The assets she shared with her late husband, Cartel leader Cesar Perez, had been frozen due to all of his illegal dealings and pending investigation. Sure, shell companies held assets that couldn’t be seized, but she wanted nothing to do with that man, alive or dead. Especially his money. It was blood money. Trista had her own money from growing up well-to-do with a trust fund. It was no longer what she wanted, though.
After she was no longer on the run and settled in Bear Springs, she opted for the simpler life. It felt more purposeful and suited her better. There was reward in hard work. She was happy to create something her new community not only needed but also loved. Lalapalooza was also the distraction that kept her mind off Owen for the past two years while he was away.
The idea was born when her sister Becca and close friend Casey Davenport saw a similar concept in Santa Monica a few years prior, when Cesar had been closing in. Bear Springs needed a place for locals to take their children during the winter months to burn off energy and get out of the house. Tourists needed somewhere supervised and safe for their kids to play while the adults indulged in adult activities.
Becca was busy with her thriving endeavor, Tastings, and a new baby. Casey had her hands full with her two children and one on the way. Trista had a broken heart and plenty of time, so Lalapalooza was where she spent her time, energy, and efforts while avoiding that empty feeling she had when Owen left. With Tasting serving food and drink at Lalapalooza, it became the town’s hot spot for the mommy and me crowd by day, and a mommy and daddy spot in the evenings when Tastings hosted local wine and beer tastings. It served every season, every niche, and was plain brilliant.
Owen stood in the entry, taking in the place. He felt a sense of pride. She had done an outstanding job. The place was booming, and it was barely past breakfast.
A wide-eyed teen hadn’t let him through the gate yet. The girl refused to look him in the eye and seemed to be blushing. He wasn’t even sure she could speak. Owen stared with an uncomfortable bewildered look, unsure what to do or say since he didn’t understand what about him had her so flustered.
Trista appeared and slapped him on the chest with a colorful T-shirt in her hand. “Short staffed today. Make the shirt work.”
He held up the hot pink T-shirt that said Happy Helper across the front and back with a neon green handprint on each sleeve. “What the hell is this?”
“Language,” the teen corrected. So she did speak, but not much or for long, because she was back to staring at the ground.
He nodded at the kid and quickly caught up to Trista for clarification. “What do you mean, make it work?”
“If you want to follow me around today? You work – I need extra hands. Free soda and water from the food bar, lunch is on the house, no beer or wine while on shift,” Trista said.
“Beer and wine? Wait, lunch? How long do you plan on being here?” he asked, looking around while the chaos and sheer volume of the place were already giving him a headache.
“All day.” Trista unexpectedly slapped something else against his chest, forcing him to catch it before it fell. “That’s your apron. Keep it on at all times.”
Ow
en looked at the bright purple tool belt that she called an apron. His jaw dropped at the ridiculousness. It didn’t hold the kind of tools he was accustomed to. It held hand sanitizer, tissues, baby wipes, Band-Aids, a whistle, and plenty of other things he couldn’t identify.
Trista turned away from him. “Bathrooms are that way. Go change. I need you on the big jungle gym.”
He stared at the monstrosity Trista was referring to that was covered in children. “What do I do on it?”
“You don’t get on it. You monitor it. If a kid is bad, warn them. Second warning, time-out square.” Trista pointed at a bright green corner with a 3D square painted on the floor and walls to look like a fully enclosed box. “Third time, they’re off it for the day.”
“Three strikes, you’re out rule. Cool,” Owen said under his breath.
“If you have any questions, don’t come find me,” she said and walked off.
Owen manned the playground like he was training soldiers. The kids stood in a straight, orderly line, took turns, cheered each other on, and even timed each other through the jungle gym like it was some sort of obstacle course.
Typically, the mothers spent their time socializing with one another, enjoying something from Tastings, but today was different. Today, they stood along the half wall that split the entrance and play area and watched. Watched Owen. He was a sight, easy on the eyes, it seemed. It didn’t go unnoticed by Trista, and she wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed in the desperate women she thought she knew, or that she cared they were ogling Owen to begin with.
It didn’t seem to faze Owen, though. He was either dumb or blind because Owen didn’t respond in the least to them. Fed up with what she saw and sick of how often he used the damn whistle, Trista removed Owen from the jungle gym and put him on mopping. Another bad idea as it drew a crowd of onlookers taking in the larger than life man in the too-tight pink shirt. She was disgusted.
Mason had fallen and hurt himself. Owen was at his side before anyone else. Once he saw that the boy was fine, he then recognized Mason still meant something to him. In fact, they were both important to him, and that was why Owen was there, personally handling the case. Something sinister was in their midst, and he’d be damned if it reached Trista and Mason.
Seeing Owen so attentive to her son, Trista struggled to push away memories and feelings that were trying to resurface. She was over him and didn’t understand how quickly Owen could undo all the hard work she had done to forget him. All just by being there. Now, add Mason to the equation, and she wanted to push Owen away faster and harder before he could break her little boy’s heart as Owen had broken hers. But seeing the two like this, it was hard to do that, too. If there was really a threat, why hadn’t he discussed it with her yet? And where could this threat have come from? Because her revenge-seeking husband was dead, neutralizing the threat.
“The next shift is here,” Trista said, meeting Owen in her office. She didn’t even look his way.
Owen took a chair, seeming excited. “We’re leaving?”
She raised her brow and gave him a perplexed look. “Unless you want to stay…”
Owen jumped back to his feet and tossed his purple tool belt on her desk before pulling his too-tight hot pink T-shirt over his head. Then he grabbed his own shirt that he’d left on her desk. “Nope! Let’s go. I got the kid.”
When Trista didn’t immediately respond, he caught her eyes still stuck on him, and it dawned on Owen why she stood there with a befuddled look. He flexed his arms a little, which quickly knocked her from wherever her mind had wandered. Trista was caught.
“Seriously? Grow up. There’s a bathroom across the hall,” she said defensively, trying to deflect her embarrassment.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Owen said, throwing her tone back at her. “Besides, you’re not allowed in the boys’ room, so you would have missed it. You’re welcome.”
Trista wasn’t amused by him or his behavior and rolled her eyes to let him know that nothing about him being there was appreciated. “Cute. Look, Becca and Tyson were supposed to show us the new rescue dog Tyson is trying to rehome. They can take Mason, then you and I can talk about why you’re really here.”
They found themselves at The Foxy Squirrel, a local favorite. The old rustic barn had been converted to a swanky tavern, which was easily described as eclectic California charm meets the mountain. It was wildly decorated with fur panel wall sections, antler and wagon wheel chandeliers dripping in sparkling clear crystal stones, and truffle oil everything. The staff was uniformed in head-to-toe black dress attire but wore raccoon skin hats. Rustic, classy, and odd as it was, the ambiance was five-star, as was the food and drink. It was also very public and always full of patrons, which appealed to Trista. Trista needed to stay mad and keep him at arm’s length to protect her heart, and this felt too much like a date she didn’t want to be on.
Sitting in a semi-private corner booth, Owen filled her in on why he was there. Having spent so much time on the road with him, Trista knew how Owen operated and understood why he chose to sit in the corner booth. He could see the whole restaurant from where he sat, and to his immediate right was a quick exit. His eyes roamed the place, never landing on her, taking in every person there, studying them, wondering if they were just there for late lunch or were they there for Trista. Owen was watching for danger, a threat – trouble was back in Bear Springs.
She was grateful to have her back to the crowd. It made hiding the tears that represented the fear coursing through her easier to hide. Cesar was dead, but Mark Thomas wasn’t. He had been in a federal prison for his crimes linked to Cesar, including multiple murders on his own hands from killing their team from the agency Owen and Mark previously worked for. But now, Mark was out. Somehow, someone got him out, and Mark wasn’t going to be easy to find because he wasn’t going back.
Evidence found in a building near the prison indicated Mark had been there and was headed to California. Likely Bear Springs. Mark Thomas had a score to settle. But so did Owen. What Mark didn’t count on was that Owen let him live the first time he was a threat and prison-bound. This time, he wouldn’t be so merciful. Owen filled her in on every last one of the details so she would understand the severity of the situation. She needed to put her anger for Owen aside and let him do his job.
“So what do we do? Run? I can’t do that to Mason, and I won’t leave him again,” Trista pleaded.
“No,” Owen calmly replied. “We wait.”
Panic took over, and Trista was reeling. “Why would we do that, Owen? My son—”
“Will be safe,” Owen interrupted, grabbing both of her hands to offer comfort. “I’m not leaving, and my brothers are on him. We’re okay. I promise.”
“Your team, the ones who survived…are they here too?” Though only one ended up being a traitor, and the rest who’d survived seemed to be genuinely nice guys, she feared the idea of them coming back. What if they were more loyal to Mark than Owen? It was unlikely as they lost friends, their brothers, to Mark’s evil scheming, but even Mark was thought to be safe and loyal at one time.
“I retired. I’m done with that. I just work with my brothers now. It’s just Elite Force on this one.” Owen hoped that bit of information would help her regain trust in him, but he didn’t want to push it. He wanted that trust to return organically.
Surprised and secretly pleased he’d followed through and left the agency, moving to Elite full time, she couldn’t muster up anything other than, “Oh.”
Owen had mentioned she was his last case when taking down Cesar and had even taken the case away from the government agency he worked for and moved it to Elite Force because the agency couldn’t be trusted. When he left to clean his slate of old enemies and those he’d created by taking down the Perez cartel, she assumed that meant he would stay with the agency. But he hadn’t. He really was following through with his promise to her. It just took longer than either of them anticipated. She wouldn’t let that distra
ct her, though. Owen didn’t come through when she needed him to, and now it was too late.
“Look, there were a lot of players from that night we took out Cesar. It isn’t just you and Mason he wants. Mark is seeking revenge for himself, not Cesar. In fact, his only desire in hurting you would be to hurt me. Mark knew about us, and I put him away. Becca, Tyson, Tayler, Billie…they were all there that night and helped take out Cesar and seal Mark’s fate to prison. They’re all potential targets, or at least he wants me to think so as a distraction.”
“Oh, my God…not again. Owen, not again.” Panic won, and she was a mess as it all came rushing back. The fear Trista had suppressed by convincing herself the danger died with Cesar was flooding her senses. There was so much on the line, so much more to lose now.
He stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs, never letting go. “Hey, it’s okay. Tayler knows. We’ll get everyone in the loop, and everyone will be safe. I promise you that. I’m his primary and only confirmed target. I know him like a brother. I know how this guy plays. I’m not going to let you get hurt. Mark’s my last loose end, Tris.”
Loose end. She knew what Owen meant by that. Owen was retired and had left before to tie up loose ends. Was this his way of saying he was back for good? Trista left that question for another day and let him think his subliminal message went right over her head. After hearing about Mark, she didn’t have it in her to dissect the meaning of Owen’s words.
“Okay,” Trista said, straightening while she found her confidence, “but promise you won’t leave this time. Not until it’s really over.”
Trista pulled away and quickly dabbed her face with the white linen napkin so she could do what she did best – put on a happy face and prepared to go on as if all was right in her world. “I’ll call Becca. Sounds like we need everyone together for this.”
