Bryan's absence on the trip didn't disappoint Kim—in fact, she was secretly relieved. As much as she loved her dad, he could be a bit strict, and traveling with Owen and her best friend Amanda promised a lot more freedom and fun.
After sending the two girls off to shop, Owen excused himself and returned to the party, mingling with other guests.
As the night wore on, the guests trickled out. By the time the last one left, it was just the family left in the house. Parties were always fun, but the aftermath—not so much. Monica offered to stay and help clean up, and Owen didn't refuse. He also took the opportunity to tell her about the Hawaii trip over the weekend.
"Wow~~!"
Monica was delighted, planting a kiss on him. Sure, it wouldn't be a romantic getaway for just the two of them, but it was still Hawaii—a place she'd been dying to visit.
While the three women tidied up the kitchen, Owen and McCall were outside packing up tables and chairs. Owen stacked a few plastic chairs when McCall came over to help with the rest.
"I heard you're not coming with us to the Maldives?" McCall asked while aligning a few more chairs.
"Yeah, you two enjoy your time together. Monica and I will take Amanda and Kim to Hawaii. Plus, I've got limited leave—Maldives would be a bit much."
McCall nodded in understanding. The conversation shifted naturally to Owen's work.
"So, was it you guys who handled the D.C. hijacking?"
Owen didn't hide it. He nodded. McCall had a sharp mind, and it wasn't hard to put the pieces together. The media hadn't revealed names, but they had confirmed CTU's involvement. Owen had never gone into detail with his family about his job in D.C., not wanting to worry them. They just knew he'd been transferred to HQ.
Still, it wasn't hard for McCall to deduce. Owen had been a field team leader in L.A., and it was likely he took on a similar role in D.C.
"How's the work been?" McCall asked.
Owen thought for a second, then decided to open up. His job required confidentiality, yes, but that didn't include family—especially not someone like McCall, a seasoned former CIA operative who might even be able to offer him guidance.
He briefly explained the nature of his assignment and the role of the Rapid Response Team—without going into any operational specifics. McCall listened quietly, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled something down.
With a quick rip, he handed the note to Owen. "This is the number of a friend of mine. If you're ever in Europe and run into trouble, call him. His name's Frank Moses."
Owen glanced at the name and number. It was simple, unassuming—but coming from McCall, he knew the contact had to be serious. For McCall to say this man could help when even Owen couldn't handle something… that meant something.
"Thank you," Owen said sincerely, tucking the paper into his wallet.
—
The next day, Linda and McCall set off for their romantic getaway. Linda couldn't stop smiling. Owen personally drove them to the airport, and at the gate, they waved goodbye before disappearing down the boarding tunnel. Owen turned back—there was still plenty to do today. He'd promised Amanda and Kim a beachwear shopping spree, and he wasn't going to flake on it.
Two hours later, Owen was behind the wheel with Amanda in the passenger seat. They picked up Kim on the way. Bryan had already left for New York to meet up with Beth before they both flew to Turkey.
During the drive, Monica called. She was supposed to come along, but the SWAT team had invited her to a gathering, so their schedules clashed. She told Owen to take the girls ahead—she'd handle her own shopping.
They headed to Sunset Boulevard, not far from the beach. A massive Walmart stood nearby with nearly everything they needed. Owen figured they could do a full gear-up in one go.
Amanda and Kim gleefully pushed a shopping cart through the beachwear section, tossing in everything that caught their eye. Owen didn't stop them. His bonus from the last mission had been generous, and he'd made up his mind to spoil them this time.
They spent an hour loading up the cart. What had started as a quick stop for swimsuits turned into a full-blown shopping spree. Beach games, sandals, sun hats, waterproof speakers—even things they didn't really need. A lot of this could be bought in Hawaii and probably wouldn't make it on the flight. But Owen didn't care. If it made them happy, that was enough.
As they rolled the cart to checkout, the girls' laughter faltered slightly. A bit of guilt crept into their eyes. It hit them that they may have gone overboard.
Owen waved it off with a grin. "Relax. I've got this. Just enjoy it."
He swiped his card, paid the bill, and the two girls bounced back to their cheerful selves, carrying their many bags out of Walmart.
The parking lot was close, but there were also a few tourist shops along the sidewalk, full of handcrafted trinkets and souvenirs. Being close to the beach, it was the kind of place that made wallets bleed.
As the girls darted off to look, Owen stayed on the curb, hands in his pockets. He scanned the area casually—then his expression shifted.
Something wasn't right.
Owen had spent years in high-risk zones. His senses were sharp, his instincts even sharper. And right now, everything was screaming that something was off.
Two parked cars caught his eye. One was a black SUV with tinted windows—too dark to see inside. The other was a white, beat-up Ford. Its windows were rolled down, and inside sat a group of young Black men who didn't look like they were here to shop.
The two vehicles were positioned opposite each other. Moments later, one person from each car stepped out and started walking toward each other.
It looked exactly like a gang meet.
Owen's eyes darted around. More anomalies surfaced. On an upper floor of a nearby building, behind a window, someone was clearly watching. Across the street sat a nondescript van, fully sealed—a type Owen had seen a hundred times. Police mobile command post.
He checked again.
Some of the shoppers and street vendors nearby had radio earpieces barely concealed. Their posture, their pacing—they screamed undercover. But they were terrible at it. And this was L.A., home of Hollywood. How did they have zero professional polish?
Owen muttered under his breath, "Amateurs…"
This wasn't a random scene. It was an operation—probably a sting. But with this level of exposure, it could go south real fast.
------------------
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Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
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Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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