Page 2 of Striker

Before I can reply, the new employee calls for him. Milo excuses himself to go back to training her.

I shove the drone aside and get to work, gathering up all the receipts and sorting them by date and time. Then I turn on my laptop and sort the electronic receipts to match. I slowly get lost in my work, forgetting all about the drone-wielding maniac called Striker. He’s a public menace in my mind.

An hour later, he barges right into the office, like he owns the place. He stops right in front of the desk and stares down at me. He’s tall and lean through the shoulders, with dark, close-cut hair. He’s got something on the lower part of his face that could either be a few days of stubble or he might be trying to grow a beard. He’s wearing a leather motorcycle cut over a plain black button-up shirt and black jeans.

The Sons of Rage emblem takes up the entire back of his vest. I’ve seen men in his club before. What he’s wearing is practically their uniform with some slight variations. The only thing different about him is he’s got a laptop bag slung across his body like a messenger bag. Something about the way he stands and glares, along with the haircut, makes me think he’s former military.

I sigh and ask, “Did you come to stand there and stare at me or to retrieve that flying piece of garbage you call a drone?”

His nostrils flare and his voice drops. “You’ve got a mouth on you, girl.”

When he glances up at my hair, it provokes my ire. I come to my feet. “I’m a woman, not a girl. And if you say anything about me being hotheaded because I’m a redhead, I might drop kick you into the next century.”

His expression shifts from incensed to amused. “You’re not a redhead. You’re a strawberry blonde.”

I roll my eyes. “Every guy’s an expert when it comes to redheads.”

That’s when he does the last thing I expect. He reaches his hand out and introduces himself. “My name’s Striker and Milo hired me to protect his investment.”

I force myself to shake his hand like a civilized woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Striker.”

When I pull my hand back, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs it closer. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

“I’d rather not,” I say, trying to tug my hand from his.

“Don’t be that way. If you don’t tell me your name, I’ll give you a nickname. And I don’t think you’d like that very much, Red.”

I pick up an ink pen with my free hand and give him a little jab, forcing him to let my hand go.

“Okay, be feisty. That’s a great quality that a lot of people underestimate.”

I stand there looking at him, knowing all the way down to my bones that if I don’t tell him my name, he’s just going to call me feisty. I’m trying to calculate how much of a problem that would be, since I’ll hardly ever see him, when Milo’s voice floats from the doorway.

“Stop antagonizing my bookkeeper, Striker. You already know Beth’s name and everything else about her because you did her background check when I hired her.”

My head jerks back around to find Striker smirking all over the place. I think I’m actually starting to hate his arrogant ass.

Before either of us can reply, Milo points two fingers at his own eyes and then to each of us. “You two need to play nice. I’ll be watching you.”

I lean a hip against the counter and instead of commenting on his little prank, I bring up my real concern. “When your drone almost fell on my head it occurred to me to wonder just how much of this town you’re filming. Let’s see if I remember correctly, you’ve got eyes on the hardware store, the pharmacy, the bar and this coffee shop. That’s pretty much the whole street. Are you doing this all over town? I’ll bet you can tell me what everyone had for lunch and who’s secretly meeting who.”

“Monitoring the businesses I provide security for is literally my job. People pay me so that when somebody breaks in, there’s footage the police can use to track down the culprit.”

“So, people pay you to fly drones around their airspace and just hope you’re the good guy.”

“I’m a great guy,” he insists.

“Are you sure about that? Milo just said you were an instigator.” Yeah, I know that I’m being petty, but this guy is getting under my skin.

Striker turns the little propellers off and tucks the drone under his arm and leaves with as much dignity as he can muster.

He looks at me one more time on his way out, and for half a second, I think he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t.

I get back to work, because Milo’s financial records are not going to reconcile themselves.

Figuring out three months’ worth of discrepancies takes forever. I’m still at it long after the coffee shop has closed and everyone has gone home.

I want to double-check my findings against the report I did last quarter, so I grab my briefcase out from under the desk. It gets hung on something, some kind of box. I try to yank it free and end up tearing a hole in the corner of the leather. I get down on my hands and knees to see what in the world is going on under there and find one of Striker’s security devices. It’s a little metal box with a round button on it. Thank God I didn’t hit the button because there is a very good chance it would have summoned the handsome devil. Dealing with him twice in one day is the last thing I need.