Page 3 of Striker

I go ahead and open my briefcase and take out the report while I’m down there. While I’m scanning the report, I begin to second-guess myself. Maybe I did accidentally hit the button with the corner of my briefcase? Shit. I hope not because I think it’s a panic button of some sort. Maybe even a silent one.

After a few minutes of worrying, nothing happens, so I go back to reading the report. I’m just about to get up when the door flies open and Striker comes barreling into the room with one hand on a holster at his hip. My eyes go wide when I realize he’s about to draw down on me.

He does a sweep of the room, and his eyes come back to land on me. I’m still kneeling on the floor with the report in my hand. Then he growls, “It’s you. You’re the one who tripped the silent alarm. Are you in danger?”

“No…”

Before I can explain, his hand comes away from his gun and he smirks. “If you wanted to see me again, all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. In case you can’t tell, I’m working.”

“Don’t lie. You like arguing with me. I can tell,” he says, reaching for a receipt on the desk. “What’s all this?” he asks, holding it up for me to see.

“I’m reconciling Milo’s receipts for the last three months so he can pay his quarterly taxes.” I push myself up from the floor and stand facing him on the opposite side of the desk. Looking down at today’s receipts laid out across the desk, I recognize one of the orders. I tap it with my fingernail. “I think this is yours. From six this morning?”

He leans over to look. “How can you tell?”

“Well, it’s a large, dark roast, with three shots of espresso and no sugar or cream. That must be your order because it fits your cold, dark soul so perfectly.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Why you gotta be like that all the time?”

“I was just joking. I can tell that it’s yours because it has your name on it. See, right here? It says Striker.”

His mouth twists into a grin. “Yeah, that’s my order. I guess you figured me out.” Then his hand shoots out to grab my Styrofoam cup. He pulls the lid off and sniffs my coffee.

“What, pray tell, are you doing?”

He grins and sniffs again. “Seeing if I can tell your personality by what kind of coffee you drink.”

“I’m not that easy to read,” I say haughtily.

“Wanna bet? Let’s see. Your coffee barely has any coffee in it. Probably because they had to make room for oat milk, chocolate, caramel, and whipped cream with a hint of cinnamon. I guess that means you’re made of sugar and spice and all things nice.”

My irritation melts away and I find myself smiling. “I feel so judged right now.”

“If you’re about finished, I’ll walk you to your car if you want?” he offers, more relaxed than he’s been with me.

“Yeah, I should pack up and jump back on it tomorrow.” I gather the receipts, stack them neatly, and slide them into a file folder before tidying up the rest of the paperwork. As I’m getting ready to close down the system, I see the entry that matches his receipt with his loyalty account details. I decide it’s the perfect way to mess with him.

I quickly click into the field where the shop prints the name on the cup and type what I want to be there instead.

“What are you doing?” he asks sharply from across the desk.

“Fixing a quick error I found.” I hit save. “There. All better.”

When he comes around the desk, I quickly close the system down and come to my feet.

I grab my briefcase and let him walk me out. By the time we get there, I think that maybe Striker isn’t so bad after all.

Chapter 2

Striker

That accountant can be annoying. That’s the conclusion I come to after thinking over what happened yesterday. Beth Benson can be loud, disrespectful and annoying. She assaulted my favorite drone and wasn’t even sorry. I decide that I probably should just forget about her altogether. But for some reason, I’m still thinking about her.

I’m at my desk in the clubhouse running the overnight logs on all the businesses I provide security for, but my mind isn’t on the logs. Even the coffee shop report showing she triggered the silent alarm doesn’t hold my interest.

When I stop by at the crack of dawn to inform Milo and grab a coffee, the new girl looks at me and giggles. She giggles uncontrollably. She’s an odd one. I told Milo to keep an eye on her and he pressed his lips together, like one does to keep from laughing. Something strange is going on with those two, that much is obvious.