“Huh?”
He bit his lip—I didn’t rush him, then finally, he spoke. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t have the full context yet—potentially a criminal situation,” he said carefully.
I sat back, coffee halfway to my lips. “Okay?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “A veteran arrived early this morning, with a baby, says he’s the father, and that the mother’s dead. Overdose.” He exhaled, looking down at his hands. “I don’t want to bring the cops here, Cole. Iwon’tbring the cops here for any veteran in need. However, I’m concerned about the impact on our other guests and the potential triggers it might cause. I’d like to handle it with caution.”
“Right. Okay.” I hesitated only a moment, then reached for my phone, scrolling until I found the one person I trusted with something at this level. She answered on the first ring.
“This had better be good, boss. It’s freaking Christmas Day.”
I smiled at Rowan’s voice.
“There’s an issue at Guardian Hall,” I said.
Silence. Then a shift in her tone, all business. She knew the outlines of Guardian Hall from our gin-soaked catch-ups, the broad strokes at least. My best friend, my security advisor—who wouldn’t be happy I’d taken a random cab across the city—was exactly who I needed right now.
“I’m putting you on speaker,” I told her. “Um… also here with me is Alex.” I nodded at Alex and stood to leave the room. “Rowan, meet Alex. Rowan is my security advisor and my best friend, a former Navy intelligence officer. You can trust her.”
He blinked at me, confused.
“Alex?” Rowan said, her voice crisp over the line.
“Hi, Rowan,” Alex confirmed.
“How can I help?”
I left the room, headed into the kitchen, and curled up on the small sofa at the back with two more cookies and a slice of cake—sue me, I’d run it off tomorrow.
Or the day after.
There was a reason my belly was a little on the soft side.
A slight commotion at the door caught my eye. Lucas was there—one of the team—and stumbling beside him was a man clutching a baby to his chest. I shrank back into the shadows, half-hidden behind the doorway. Even though Lucas caught my eye and gave a quick nod, the man didn’t seem to notice me at all. He looked dazed, pale, as if he’d been running on fumes and panic.
“This way,” Lucas said gently, guiding him toward the counter where the bottles and sterilizer sat.
The man stared at them, his expression lost. “I don’t know how… Not properly… I don’t want to hurt her…” His voice trailed off, rough and broken, but the way he cradled the baby—protective, careful—hit me right in the heart. He was shaking, exhausted, but holding on like that child was the only thing keeping him upright.
Lucas hovered close, never more than a few inches away, probably in case the guy collapsed—or maybe because of the whole dead-mother story Alex had mentioned. I knew the protocols here, the ones about a team member staying close to any new arrival who might be a danger to themselves or others. The man didn’t look dangerous. He looked wrecked. Dark hair, a few days of stubble, long face. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but I knew I’d remember the hollow way he stared at nothing.
It was Lucas who prepped the bottle, showing the man how to test the warmth on his wrist before handing it over. Then, with a quiet word of reassurance, he guided him out of the kitchen toward the emergency arrival room. I waited until Lucas led him down the hall, and we exchanged a silent nod before they disappeared from view. Then I tried to flick through a book on wild horses from the small library, but the words blurred and became unreadable. All I could see was the man and the baby, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d just seen something that was about to matter.
Alex tracked me into the kitchen—clearly his call with Rowan was over—and I could see the relief in his expression.
“Rowan’s awesome. I owe you one,” he said.
“No, you don’t. You never do.”
He gave me a grateful smile, and the dopamine hit I got from doing something positive was more than pleasant.
At least I could do something useful with my money, make it count for once. There were worse ways to spend millions than keeping Guardian Hall running and its doors open.
And hell, anything was better than running for president.
THREE
Morgan
