Page 53 of Wildflower and Whiskey
“That needs to change,” he deadpanned like it wasn’t an argument.
“I had the situation under control. Weeks went by and I didn’t hear from him. I thought maybe I was free.” My breath hitched. “But now he knows about you.”
Phoenix’s eyes searched mine. “What do you mean, heknows?”
“He called me this morning and said he had friends in town and he knew we were together. He accused me of parading another man around his son. And then today. . .” My voice broke. “Today he sent his mother to deliver the message. To remind me he knows where Braden is. To tell me Braden is Jansen blood and I can’t cut them out. Colette also mentioned the whole situation with my mother having an affair with her husband. I can understand why that would upset her, but she seemed. . .I don’t know. . .like she had gone a bit crazy over it.She mentioned Braden having Chabot blood,” I said, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. “What kind of grandmother speaks like that?”
Phoenix’s face hardened. Not with anger at me, but with the kind of fury I’d never seen in him before. A dangerous, protective fury.
“I don’t know what he’ll do, Phoenix. He’s reckless. He doesn’t care who gets hurt when he’s desperate. And his mother also made it clear that she knows where Braden goes to daycare… the whole interaction with her was very odd and unsettling. My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. What if he takes him? What if. . .”
Phoenix silenced me with a firm hand cupping my cheek. “Stop. Don’t even say it.” His voice was rough, steady. “No one is taking Braden. Not while I’m here.”
I wanted to believe him.
“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “Riley doesn’t care about consequences. If he feels like you’ve replaced him. . .”
Phoenix leaned closer, his forehead touching mine. “Then he’ll have to go through me. And, Elyna, I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? Whatever Riley thinks he can do, whatever his family thinks they can do, you are not alone anymore. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect Braden. I swear it.” Every word he said was accentuated to show he meant it.
His conviction sank into me like sunlight through cracks in ice. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something that wasn’t fear. It was dangerous to hope. But with Phoenix holding me, promising to stand his ground, I couldn’t help it. I gave in and believed him.
CHAPTER 25
Phoenix
I don’t usually find myself driving toward the police station located on Rue de la Rivière in the middle of the day. The police station wasn’t my place, it was Dad’s and Becket’s. But today I pulled my truck into the small lot beside the squat brick building, parking between Dad’s cruiser and Becket’s motorcycle. The sight alone was enough to make me hesitate. What the hell was I doing here?
I sat there, knuckles white on the wheel, Elyna’s voice echoing in my head.He knows about you. He said he has friends in town. He knows where Braden goes to daycare.
No one was taking that boy on my watch. No one was making Elyna cry like that again.
I shoved open the door, slammed it shut behind me, and forced myself inside. The lobby smelled like burnt coffee and disinfectant. A couple of uniforms glanced up as I walked past, their expressions shifting from surprise to quiet curiosity. Everyone in Val-Du-Lys knew I didn’t make social calls to the station. Bill, the officer at the front desk, straightened. “Phoenix Thorne,” he said, eyebrows climbing. “Don’t see you in here much.”
“I need to see my dad, Bill. Is he in?” I asked. My voice came out lower than usual, steady but rough.
He nodded, still watching me like I was some strange animal that had wandered in off the road. “Yeah, go on back.”
I went straight to Dad’s office. Memories of coming here as a kid flooded my mind. They were good memories. I’d always looked up to Dad like he was a hero, and in a way he was, always putting the needs of this town first. After Mom left, I came to resent it when it meant I had to step up and take on my share of responsibilities. When I finished high school and told Dad I wanted to travel, he wasn’t too pleased since I was the one holding the fort down when he was at work. By that time Eric was old enough to step into my shoes. He was definitely better in the kitchen than I was. Dad’s open office door brought me back to the present. He was behind his desk, uniform jacket draped over the chair, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on his nose as he studied a stack of papers.
Dad’s head snapped up when he saw me.
“Phoenix, what’s wrong?” were his first words. Pierre Thorne had Spidey senses. I don’t think it was because he was a cop. He was just so in tune to all his children, which always made me wonder why he wasn’t in tune to our mother and what she was going through. Were there signs before she left that us kids missed? I blinked the thought away since I had more pressing issues to tend to.
Becket walked up to the door a moment later. In his uniform he looked like a younger version of Dad.
“Bill said you were here,” Becket said, walking into the office.
“Close the door,” Dad ordered him.
“Phoenix.” Dad set down his pen slowly, studying me. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a problem.”
Dad leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and his eyes sharp. “Sit,” he ordered.
Becket took a seat, and I dropped into the chair beside Becket, the old wood creaking under my weight. My hands itched, restless. I’d rather be working a wrench or hauling kegs than sitting here. But this was bigger than me. I told them everything. About Riley’s debts in Montreal, the men who came after him, the threats that pushed Elyna to run. About the phone calls, the demands for money, the thousand dollars she sent just to get him off her back. About this morning’s call, Riley saying he had friends here, accusing her of parading me around Braden. And then I told them about Colette showing up at my restaurant. How she sat at one of our tables like she owned the place, smiling that razor-blade smile, telling Elyna she knew where Braden’s daycare was and hissing about Braden being Chabot blood.
When I finished, the office was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan. My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles ached. Dad exhaled slowly, a French expletive slipping out under his breath. “Tabarnak.”
