No, thanks.

He was perfectly happy with the status quo. He liked his job on the pitcher’s mound, enjoyed spending time with his family, friends, and the pretty women who understood not to expect too much from a guy like him.

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he was almost too relaxed to bother to pull it out. When it buzzed again a few seconds later, he reached into his back jeans pocket to shut it off. Before he could, he saw the text:

I need your help.

Vicki?

She’d been one of his closest friends in high school, but he hadn’t seen her, or heard from her, in a long time. Too long.

Was she in trouble?

He quickly texted her back.

Where are you?

He was gripping his phone hard enough to crack it as he waited for her answer.

San Francisco. Pacific Union Club.

What was she doing back in the city? And at the exclusive, old-money cocktail lounge?

Ryan was out of the chair and heading for the front door when her next text buzzed through to his cell.

Come quick.

Gone was the relaxed Sullivan the world thought they knew. Because if anyone so much as touched a hair on Vicki’s head, Ryan would kill them.

~ THE END ~