Milo had been Garrett's best friend, but a lot of times, he just wasn’t the type of person one went to with monumental problems or questions. He was laid back, carefree, and just didn’t understand when Parker and Garrett got stressed out. Parker was the one Garrett went to with anything important. Garrett knew she'd understand his thought process and be straight and honest with him.

Now he was second guessing every conversation they ever shared. Garrett was a strong, confident, and intelligent man, but right now, he was struggling with the knowledge he couldn't trust the one person in his life he'd always believed in without question.

Parker stared out her window as the plane descended. Every time she landed in the Dominican it always made her palms sweat and her heart flutter with nerves to look down and see nothing but dirt under the plane’s wheels. She preferred her airport runways to be paved and full of people in florescent jackets waving lighted wands. In the Dominican, you might see a stray chicken run across the “runway” or men in shorts and flip flops directing the plane to its hangar. Parker held her breath as the plane touched down and wished Garrett had come back to the seat next to her to calm her nerves.

After the plane landed, the team made their way through the open air building and had the opportunity to test the validity of their press identifications and new passports. Parker noticed her last name was listed as Miller on all of her paperwork and realized with a slight pang in her chest that she wouldn’t hear anyone call her Mrs. McCarthy while they were there. For security reasons they obviously wouldn’t be using their real last names. She laughed off the silly fantasy that had lodged into her brain after Garrett called her Mrs. McCarthy at the beginning of the flight.

The team quickly moved through the airport security checkpoint without any hassles and boarded a van that would take them to their hotel.

An hour later the sun disappeared beyond the horizon just as the van pulled into the driveway for the Catalonia Bavaro resort. They went around the circular drive and were let out in front of the lobby.

Brady let out a long whistle as he exited the vehicle and looked around.

“Uncle Sam sure didn’t spare any expense on this mission, boys and girls,” he whispered quietly so only they could hear and gave an approving nod of his head at the marble columns in the entryway and the palm trees lining the walkway.

Pulling his sun glasses down his nose, Austin stared at two women walking by in bikinis that must have just come from the beach, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I’d like to thank the tax payers for their continued support in making sure we are well taken care of,” he said softly with a quiet laugh.

Parker laughed at Austin’s obvious perusal of the half-naked women as she swung her laptop bag and carry-on over her shoulder and grabbed her suitcase. She didn’t miss the dirty look Garrett shot her way. Obviously, they weren’t going to talk the entire time they were there, and it looked like laughing would be frowned upon as well.

Everyone else got their bags and made their way into the lobby to get checked in. As the leader of the mission, everything was listed under Garrett’s name so the team waited off to the side and chatted while he signed the paperwork and got the room keys. They watched an attendant come over with a cart and begin loading their luggage, preparing it for the short walk to the villas.

The Catalonia Bavaro consisted of private villas nestled throughout a luscious, tropical flowered landscape. A serene, crystal blue aquabar infinity swimming pool was central to all the villas, each one providing a private, palm-lined, floral-petal walkway leading to the oasis. Each member of the team had their own opulent villa with a king sized bed piled high with soft, white pillows and floor-to-ceiling windows that let it plenty of sunlight and had a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. A spacious, white marble and granite bathroom and a fully stocked bar added to the perfection of the villas. Being at a resort like this almost made you forget that less than a mile away there were gangs, drugs, black market dealings, and a president that may or may not have the best interests of his country at heart. Seedy things like that shouldn’t be anywhere near the marble and gold opulence they were currently surrounded by. As Parker stood off to the side while Garrett checked them in, a gentle, warm ocean breeze forced the white billowy curtains draped from the massive cathedral ceiling to brush against her skin. She knew by the silky, luxurious feel, as they snaked their way around her legs and across her arms, that the fabric was high-end. Everywhere they looked, guests were checking in with Louis Vuitton luggage and Armani suits. It was sickening to know that a short trip down the road would provide you with a view of several homes with no roofs, dirt floors, and bare kitchen cupboards. Parker had been involved in several meetings over the years regarding the validity of how President Fernandez allocated his country's funds. Nothing quite this elaborate had ever been done aside from gathering intel because frankly, they never had any reason to delve deeper.

After a few minutes, Garrett joined the group and handed out the room key cards. No one missed the fact that he skipped right over Parker, turning and walking away without a word. Parker jogged to catch up to him, leaving the guys to walk with the attendant and their luggage. She reached Garrett just as they got to the first villa and he was making his way up the walkway to the door.

“So do I get a room or am I supposed to rough it and sleep out under the stars?” Parker asked irritably as Garrett slid his key card through the slot and waited for the light to turn green.

Garrett tried not to sigh in annoyance at Parker’s attitude and pushed the door open wide.

“Now, sweetie, did you really think we wouldn’t be sharing a room while we’re here?” Garrett asked sarcastically. "Given your employment, I'm sure I don't need to explain to you the importance of keeping up pretenses no matter where we are, dear."

Before Parker could reply, the attendant pushed the cart up to the doorway and unloaded both of their suitcases and carry-ons. Garrett tipped him and Parker heard the man tell him that he hoped he and his wife had a pleasant stay with them. The man turned and went back to the cart and followed behind the guys to find their villas. Once they rounded the corner, Garrett turned and walked inside, letting the door start to close behind him. Parker swore to herself as she lunged for the door, catching it before it slammed shut on her and left her stuck with the humiliating task of knocking to be let in. Parker walked in the villa and over to the bed in the middle of the room, sliding one hand on top of the fluffy, white comforter. When she got to the head of the bed, she let her fingers glide through the sheer mosquito netting draped down around the corners of the gorgeous, four-poster canopy. A bright sparkle caught her eye and she looked out of the windows at the foot of the bed to see the shimmering, blue ocean.

She started to say something to Garrett about the view when he strode across the room to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Parker muttered to herself as she kicked one of her bags across the room. Garrett was pouting like a twelve-year-old. They were friends - that was all. She'd kept her job a secret from a friend to keep him safe. Parker had no idea why he was acting like it was the biggest betrayal in the world. If he would stop behaving like she purposefully set out to hurt him and actually let her explain, he would understand.

She stared at the closed bathroom door for several minutes, realizing he wasn’t going to come out anytime soon.

Knowing she needed to let off some steam, Parker flung open her suitcase, grabbed a few things, and stormed out the door, making sure she took the one and only key card with her.

She figured if he was going to act like a child, so would she.

After Garrett stormed into the bathroom, he took a shower and was able to calm down somewhat. He wasn't surprised to come out and find the villa empty. He threw on a black pair of drawstring nylon running pants, a black and white Nike t-shirt, a pair of tennis shoes, and went in search of Parker. He hoped he would find her, otherwise he'd have to go and tell the front desk he lost his key card.

And his “wife”.

Parker was grateful that being at a Caribbean resort meant access to the gym at any hour and she had it all to herself. With her iPod plugged in to the gym's docking station and her "Kick Some Ass" playlist pulled up, Bayside's "Sick, Sick, Sick" thumped through the sound system and set the tone for her pissed off mood.

She punched, hit, and kicked out her frustrations for forty minutes, working up a good amount of sweat and unfortunately, even more irritation.

She threw jabs at the Everlast heavy bag that hung from the ceiling as she bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"Fucking childish ass," she muttered, punctuating each word with a blow to the bag.

"Who the fuck are you?" she said, imitating Garrett's horrified voice as she brought her leg up to the side of the bag and kicked her ankle against it three times.

The song ended and went right into Godsmack's "Whatever", making Parker smile for the first time that day as she pictured Garrett's face on the bag while she sang along and beat the shit out of it.

"And I don't need your shit today," Parker sang as she spun around, placing her back to the bag so she could kick out behind her, letting her foot connect with "Garrett's" nuts.

Garrett crossed his arms, leaned against the doorjamb of the gym, and watched Parker.

Her skin tight, black capri workout pants hung low on her hips and ended right below her knees. Garrett wondered if he had ever seen a more perfect body than the one before him right then. He forced his eyes up the length of her, taking in her sweat-glistened skin and the sorry excuse for a top she wore. The red sports bra she had on made his eyes focus on how well-endowed she was.

Parker had always been in good shape and whenever asked, thanked the good genes she had been born with. Watching how easily she worked the bag and how quickly she went from one boxing move to the next, Garrett knew that was yet another lie she had told that he could add to the list. Obviously she knew her way around a heavy bag and had probably received years of training to get her to that point.

As he stood there watching the muscles in her arms and abs tighten and strain, he kind of forgot to care.

Over the music Garrett heard her repeated use of the word "fuck" and "ass" and knew there was only one person she could be referring to.

"You're pathetic in your own way," Parker yelled along with the music as she upper-cut the bag, dropped low to the ground, swept one leg under it, popped up, and spun, ending with an elbow jab and a slam of her forearm to the bag.

Garrett felt his dick twitch.

The music continued to wail as Parker stood there with her hands on her hips trying to catch her breath.

Her pose reminded him of one night a year ago—minus her pants and with the addition of entirely too much alcohol on her part.

Garrett had answered the knock on his door at two in the morning wearing just a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms. A loud crack of thunder had boomed overhead as he opened the door to find his friend standing on his front stoop sopping wet. It hadn't come as a surprise to see her standing there. His house, and back when they all lived together, his room, was always where Parker or Milo would show up when they got into a fight.

Garrett sighed and pushed his door open wider so she could duck under his arm and come inside. As she breezed by him, the smell of tequila assaulted his nose. He backed out of the doorway and shut the door, taking a minute to rub the sleep from his eyes. Garrett had a feeling he'd need to be wide awake for the discussion that was going to follow. He heard the rustling of clothing behind him and turned to help Parker with her coat, only to find her standing in the middle of his living room in nothing but a black lace bra and matching boy shorts. Her hands were on her hips and light from the street lamp outside the window reflected off of her rain soaked skin, droplets of water catching the light when she moved and reminding him of expensive jewels.

Garrett shifted his feet and adjusted his hips in an effort to hide the raging hard on that sprung up at the site of her spilling out of her bra. It could have been a shadow or a trick of the light, but he had sworn he could see the tiniest sliver of nipple peeking out at the edge of the lace.

He licked his lips and fought to keep his mouth to himself and not wrapped around her wet, lace covered nipple.

"Milo doesn't want me," Parker whispered in the dark room.

"Parker, I-"

"We've both been working overtime and haven't spent much time together in ages. So I put this on and stood in the living room with candles lit and waited for him to come home," she rambled.

Thinking about Parker silhouetted by candle light made his dick harder. Thinking about Parker waiting for him to come home from work so he could fuck her senseless made him almost come in his pants.

"He came in the door, took one look at me, and said, 'Not tonight, Parker,' and then went in our room and shut the door."

Garrett's feet were cemented in place as he watched a tear fall down her cheek.

"You'd never do that to me, would you, Garrett?" she asked with a sniffle and a hiccup from all the tequila she'd most likely consumed. "If I was yours..." she trailed off.

As Garrett's heart beat frantically in his chest and he stared into Parker's watery green eyes across the room, he knew this lover's spat wouldn't be easily fixed with a hug from him and a promise that her and Milo would be fine like all the other times. It wasn't because he didn't think they'd be fine.

On the contrary. He was sure they'd kiss and make up and everything would be status quo. His problem had been his inability to open his mouth and say anything other than what was screaming inside his head. "If you were mine, I would never be able to walk away from you. If you were mine, I’d worship every inch of your body with my hands, lips, and tongue. If you were mine, I wouldn't be able to stand in the same room as you without running my hands over your skin and tasting your lips. If you were mine..."