Chapter Seventy-Six
Phoenix
Music blasting, the door ajar, acutely aware of Lincoln on my six, I drew.
Glancing over my shoulder at my wide-eyed son, I held a finger to my lips. Then, palm up, gave the signal for him to wait one minute.
Looking shell-shocked as hell, he stared.
I switched to voice command. “Stay silent. Wait. One minute. Understood?”
His throat hiked with a swallow, and his head bobbed up and down.
I tipped my chin. Then I infilled, weapon first.
I cleared the small cabin in under twenty seconds.
Two bedrooms, one bath, one open-plan living-kitchen area, and one drunk trespasser. No sniper, no other company.
The furniture old, the record player older, the place smelled like must, ocean, forest, and my cologne.
With her back to me and an open bottle of wine in one hand, she belted out the chorus of Al Green’s “Tired of Being Alone.”
I holstered my Sig, and Linc was instantly there, flanking me.
“Whoa,” he whispered.
“Next time, wait til I give you the all clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fuck. I needed to remember I was his father, not his CO. “You ever been drunk?”
“Mom—”
Isla threw her hands up in the air and yelled out a line from the song as wine spilled down her arm.
“Ah, Mom said alcohol was for people who liked to waste money.”
“Your mother was a smart woman. Ever seen someone drunk?” I watched her hips sway.
“Like, in person?”
“Yes.” This woman was going to become intimate with my palm when she sobered.
“Um, no.”
“Strap in.” Because my little intruse was hammered.
Lincoln glanced nervously at me. “That… sounds bad.”
It was about to get worse. “Don’t drink. Don’t drive women to drink. Don’t do what I’m about to do.”
Stepping forward, I grabbed her.
Snaking an arm around her waist to steady her, I gripped the wine bottle and yanked it from her hand.
“Hey!” She fucking bucked.
Wildly kicking out with one leg, throwing her head back for a headbutt, she slammed her left elbow into my ribs, then stomped on my foot with her bare heel.
“Settle, woman. It’s me.” I held the wine bottle out. “Lincoln, pour this down the sink.”
“Oh my God!” Her head whipped up. “Linc?” She jerked around in my hold.
My son, smartly keeping enough distance, reached for the bottle. “Um, yeah. Hi, Isla.”
“Oh my God,” she cried, looking from him to me with glazed eyes. “You brought him here?”
Her voice was more pain than accusation, but I wasn’t having it. “Package deal,” I warned, turning off the record player and hoping like hell she wasn’t so damn drunk, she was going to run her mouth. “Where I go, Lincoln goes.”
“Sorry, Isla,” my son murmured in the suddenly quiet cabin as he backed away.
“No.” Absolutely not. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Lincoln.” Tightening my hold on her, I used pressure to emphasize my point. “Does he, Isla?”
Like she hit a wall, she immediately sagged in my arm. “No, no, no. I’m sorry, L—” She hiccupped. “Lincoln Nilsen Granger.” Her head shook like a loose bobblehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Wait. Are you pouring out my wine? Hey!” She reached for him. “That’s my wine!”
I nodded at Linc to keep dumping it as I addressed her. “You’ve had enough.”
Awkwardly turning, Isla looked up at me. “Why did you bring him? He can’t….” She switched to a loud whisper. “He can’t see me like this.”
Too late. “He’s seen the worst life has to offer. You drunk isn’t going to make his top ten. Not unless you get alcohol poisoning. Which is why you’re not having any more wine.” I picked her up.
“I think I hate you.” She wrapped her arms around my neck.
“You’ll thank me in the morning.” I aimed for the small bathroom. “Shower, hydration, then bed.” I glanced at my son. “See if she has any food here. If not, grab her a large glass of water.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned toward the old fridge and opened it.
Goddamn it, I did it again. “Lincoln.”
He glanced back.
“Thank you.”
A flush hit his cheeks. “Um, no problem. There’s food. Should I make something?”
“That’d be great.”
“I’m not hungry. You can’t make me eat.” Slurring her words, she tucked her head against my chest. “And I’m not showering.”
She smelled like a bar, her skin was cold to the touch, and it’d only been three days, but she felt thinner in my arms. “Yes, I can, and yes, you are.” I carried her into the bathroom.