Page 68 of Wildflower and Whiskey
“To family,” I echoed softly, my voice catching.
When the meal wound down, we drifted toward the fire. Asher sprawled on the rug with a beer, Eric disappeared back into the kitchen to “check on tomorrow’s dough,” and Becket sat quietly near the window, always half on duty. Angela traded stories with Sandy about the old flower shop owner, both women laughing easily, like they’d known each other for years. Phoenix stayed close, Braden tucked into his arms, and I leaned into him, letting the warmth of the fire and the chatter around me soak deep into the places that had been cold for too long.
I’d told myself this was temporary. That Phoenix was temporary. That Val-Du-Lys was a pause, not a home. But sitting here, surrounded by the Thornes, by laughter and teasing and kindness, I felt something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.
Safe.
Wanted.
Home.
CHAPTER 30
Phoenix
The main house quieted after our large Thanksgiving/Braden’s first birthday family gathering. It was full one moment, echoing the next. Plates were stacked in the kitchen and laughter still clung to the walls, making the house feel like the home it always was.
Elyna was still inside, helping Angela and Sandy put away dessert plates while Braden snored softly in his stroller near the hearth. Every few seconds, I caught sight of her. The way her head tilted as she laughed at something Eric said, or her hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I swear just watching her smile made my chest go lighter and heavier at the same time. It was a peaceful night for a change. I wasn’t checking the windows or my phone. But my father wasn’t a man who let the world rest and neither was Becket, especially when whispers of trouble were drifting onto our horizon.
Dad’s voice carried from the back hall, low and steady. “Phoenix. A word.” His tone was half-command, half-care, it was Dad in director mode, which meant he couldn’t be ignored.
I followed him into his office, Becket already there leaning against the old oak desk, arms crossed. The firelight caught thehard line of his jaw, and I knew before a word was spoken this wasn’t just a check-in. Dad closed the door behind me. “We’ve been reviewing the call logs,” he began. “The texts from the unknown numbers. . .there’s something off.”
“Off how?”
Becket answered, voice clipped, “The origin isn’t consistent. Some were sent from a VoIP relay out of Montreal, others pinged local towers. But none of them match the last known number Riley used,” Dad explained. The Voice over Internet Protocol allowed a person to make phone calls over the internet instead of a traditional phone line.
My chest tightened. “So, it’s not Riley?”
Dad sighed. “We can’t rule it out, but we can’t confirm it either. If Riley’s involved, someone’s feeding him the tools or someone else is using his phone. Either way, it means we’re dealing with someone organized.”
I ran a hand down my face. “Tell me you’ve got something more than speculation.”
Becket glanced at Dad before answering. “We traced a secondary data trail. There were multiple calls from a prepaid phone, same routing network, to a burner that was flagged in a narcotics sting in Montreal two months ago. That phone belonged to a man named Louis Marchand.”
“Marchand,” I repeated. The name wasn’t familiar.
Dad nodded grimly. “Small-time enforcer. Works collections for mid-level loan sharks.
The kind of man who’d take a job finding someone who owed money. Riley owed money. I’m guessing the thousand bucks Elyna gave him wasn’t enough to keep criminals at bay.”
The thought hit like a weight. “So, Riley’s debts caught up to him.”
“That’s what we think,” Becket said. “But the problem is, whoever’s running Marchand, they’re not local, but they haveeyes in Val-Du-Lys. We’ve had reports of a couple of new faces asking questions about the Maple Valley property.”
My stomach dropped. “About us?”
Dad’s look was steady but hard. “About Elyna.”
The room went cold, despite the crackle of the fire. I gripped the edge of the desk. “You think they’re using Riley to get to her?”
“It’s possible,” Dad said. “We’ve seen it before, intimidation by proxy. They use the person closest to the debtor to send a message.”
I swore under my breath. “Then they’ve made a mistake. Because she’s not alone.”
Dad’s gaze softened, though the authority in his voice never wavered. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you this now, Son. You keep doing what you’re doing but keep your eyes open. I’ll handle the rest quietly. Becket’s got two men stationed near the property at night. You won’t see them, but they’re there.”
Becket gave a nod. “If they try anything, we’ll know.”
