Just one more reason not to come back to Los Angeles, because why intentionally rub his nose in something he couldn’t have? And yet here he was again.

Not, however, for much longer. This was supposed to be his vacation, after all, and after his last operation with McKay-Taggart, he damn well deserved it. Especially since the operation had been in Los Angeles’s backyard. Fucking Taggart. Riley had told Big Tag that he didn’t do LA, and Big Tag had just shot him that cocky I’m in charge here grin, then informed Riley that Malibu and LA were two completely different cities. When Riley had retorted that they were both in the same damn county, Big Tag had told him to pull up his flowered pink panties and get with the fucking program.

So Riley had hauled his manly brief-covered ass to Malibu and the mission. What the fuck, right? At least the assignment hadn’t been in the damn city limits. But he’d been all too happy to leave Malibu-that-wasn’t-LA after the mission.

As for today, the layover was a necessary evil, and Riley had never intended to leave the airport.

But now here he was again, right smack dab in the middle of Los Angeles, getting his ass kicked as usual.

Apparently, he never learned.

As soon as two of Hunter’s men arrived to take custody of Froggy, Riley and Hunter took the back stairs down to the parking lot. “How badly did I screw with your schedule?” Hunter asked as he leaned against a midnight blue Range Rover.

“No worries,” Riley assured him, even though the truth was that he was itching to get the hell out of there. His flight had arrived just after noon, and his connection to vacation-land wasn’t scheduled until after midnight. He’d texted Hunter from the tarmac to see if his friend wanted to pop over to LAX for a post-lunch libation, but instead Hunter had begged a favor.

Apparently, Froggy had been in Hunter’s sights for a while, but the little worm was familiar with the members of the Stark International security team and getting close was proving tricky. Hunter was about to call in outside help when Riley had phoned, and Hunter had recruited his friend to play the point man.

Which meant that instead of getting a drinking companion, he’d gotten a punch in the face.

“I’d give you a ride back and shoot the shit,” Hunter said, “but thanks to your good work, my dance card is full. I’ll have one of my guys give you a lift, though.”

“Fair enough,” Riley said, then promised to send his friend a postcard from China.

“Why China?” Hunter asked as a tall blond man in jeans, a black T-shirt, and a shoulder harness headed toward them.

“Why not?” Riley shot back, making Hunter laugh.