“Apparently not tonight,” Lincoln said. “What’s going on?”
“There’s not much to do in this town. I’m getting antsy doing nothing.
“Didn’t you join the sentinels on patrol today?”
“Yep.” Damien rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “Buh-orr-ing.”
After a lifetime of being on guard against bullets, incendiary devices, poisons and knifings, the threat of torture upon capture, Lincoln appreciated the calm, slow pace he’d discovered in Walker’s Run. But he understood Damien’s restlessness.
The Program’s training taught recruits to thrive on extreme levels of adrenaline for extended periods. It kept them sharp, quick and deadly.
“How are you not crawling out of your skin?” His face so young and earnest, Damien looked at Lincoln.
“Who says I’m not?” Lincoln watched the surprise flicker in Damien’s eyes. “I need to get back in the field. It’s eating me up to be here, knowing Dayax is still missing.”
“Huh.” Damien scratched his ear. “You don’t look bothered.”
“It’s all about focus. I’m still on a mission. The first part is to prove readiness for deployment. If I’m melting down over a little R & R, HQ will pull the plug on the second part.” Lincoln paused. “If you can’t handle the downtime, they will do the same to you.”
“I’m not having a meltdown,” Damien shot back.
“Inside, you feel jittery. Your mind is racing. The tightness in your chest makes it hard to breathe. Everything is closing in, you feel trapped. Desperate. Angry,” he said, watching Damien’s hands curl into fists. “You’re in withdrawal.”
Dangerous and habit-forming, high levels of adrenaline enhanced the Dogmen’s natural abilities and often kept them alive in extreme circumstances. The downside was that when the levels returned to normal, a Dogman’s body protested significantly.
The best way to mitigate the side effects was to create an adrenaline rush.
“I’m not in withdrawal,” Damien snapped. “But I am angry.”
“Do tell.” Lincoln opened his hands. “I’m all ears.”
Damien glanced toward the pool table. Absorbed in the game, the sentinels appeared relaxed and unconcerned with the two Dogmen in their company. Except for Reed, who kept a friendly watch as any good leader would.
“I don’t want to be here.” Hands balled, Damien rested his arms on the table and leaned toward Lincoln, beginning to bare his teeth. “I didn’t become a Dogman to trot the expanse of some lame territory. I should be out there—” he pointed in no particular direction “—making a difference. Not stuck here with you.”
“You came to me. And you can leave at any time,” Lincoln said.
“Where should I go? I can’t go home. You know the rules.”
All too well. It was one reason Lincoln hadn’t called his parents. The other being that they would consider what had happened to be a failure. See him as one, too. After all, his leadership had cost him a leg, a friend’s life, a recruit’s face and the young wolfling he meant to find was still missing.
“I thought you’d want to get out of here,” Damien said. “We could go anywhere. Do anything.”
“I want to get to know Angeline better.”
“You are so twisted, you know that?” Damien shook his head. “Obsessed with a photo and now finding the actual woman... It’s creepy.”
“I think it’s fate.”
“Unbelievable.” Damien’s short laugh sounded harsh and hollow. “You really are sick.”
“Never felt better.”
“Well, yippee ki-yay for you.” Damien stood. “I feel like shit.”
“And it’s my fault.”
“Damn straight, it is.” Damien’s knuckles thudded against the table. His elbows and shoulders locked as he leaned forward. “We wouldn’t be here if—”
“If I hadn’t gone looking for Dayax.”
Damien’s glare focused on Lincoln.
“Then Lila wouldn’t have convinced everyone to follow and none of us would’ve been caught in that explosion. Is that it?”
“You should’ve been looking out for us.” Frustration and bitterness laced Damien’s soft-spoken words.
Lincoln had. That was why he’d ordered Lila not to come after him.
“Are you a Dogman or a toddler?” Lincoln stood.
Damien’s face darkened, turning his scar a purplish-black. “You know damn well what I am.”
“Prove it.” Lincoln intentionally kept his body loose. “Outside. I’m not paying for damages inside the bar.”
“Are you serious?” Some of the anger in Damien’s expression faded. Extremely competitive, a Dogman could no more turn down a challenge than a steak when starving.
“We need some fresh air,” Lincoln said to Reed. “We’ll be back in ten.”
“Ten?” Damien scoffed, following him to the door. “I can take you in five.”
Lincoln hid his smile. Ten was merely a generous time allotment to spike Damien’s adrenaline and ease his withdrawal. Otherwise, he’d take down the kid in less than one.
Chapter 17
“Nothing below the waist. And no leg kicks or sweeps.” In an empty area of the bar’s back parking lot, Lincoln raised his arms, held his fists in front of his face and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart. “Upper body only. Break my prosthetic and you’ll get the bill for a replacement.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, old man?” From the unnecessary display of twinkle-toed footwork, to the pre-emptive air jabs and all the way up to his single-minded gaze, Damien reeked of arrogance.
Lincoln preferred the young Dogman figure out how to handle the downside of adrenaline withdrawal without turning himself into a punching bag. But he’d been in Damien’s shoes before and had had a mentor do the same for him.
“Have at it, pup.” Lincoln punctuated the intentional slur with a broad grin and achieved the exact response he wanted.
Damien jabbed a right hook that Lincoln could’ve blocked with his eyes closed. Instead, he let the punch connect. It rattled his teeth, but he didn’t taste blood, so he shook it off.
“Is that all you got?” He watched Damien, fists close to his face and rocking from one foot to the other. “Don’t see how you ever made it out of Basic with those weak-ass hands.”
“I’m just warming up.” Damien shuffled back and forth in a half-circle perimeter, periodically quick-punching the air to see if Lincoln would take the bait.
“Is this a fight or a dance?” Lincoln taunted. “Because if it’s a dance, I’m going to find a prettier partner.”
“Hey!” Shane called out. Most of the sentinels seemed to have come along with him. “What’s going on?”
Damien took advantage of the momentary distraction and threw a punch that would’ve landed dead center of the solar plexus if Lincoln hadn’t turned in time. The blow glanced his ribs. He drew a sharp breath, but was otherwise okay.
“This is what we do for fun.” Lincoln shoved Damien away and eyeballed Reed, who stood to the side of the small posse with his arms crossed high on his chest. “Stay out of this or someone will get hurt and it won’t be us.”
“You heard the Dogman,” Reed said. “Look but don’t touch. Anyone who intervenes forfeits their spot on the security team.” Despite the grumbles, all took a healthy step back.
Emboldened by the audience, Damien launched a full attack. Lincoln absorbed each punch with only a few forcing him to take a step back. Sentinels shouted, some cheering for Damien, whom they viewed as the underdog. Others yelled warnings to Lincoln in misguided attempts to be helpful. By the time Damien’s fist slammed into his body, Lincoln had already calculated where the next would land.
Damien’s punches grew more aggressive and his friendly banter turned surly. An uppercut to the jaw caused Lin
coln to bite down on his cheek. He spit out the blood, and a feral gleam lit Damien’s eyes.
“You’ve had enough adrenaline tonight.”
“Are you conceding? ’Cuz I’m just getting started.” Damien threw a right jab, followed by a right cross and then a left hook. But he left himself open, and Lincoln responded with a power-packed, one-two counterpunch and finished the combination with a right hook to the jaw.
Damien sprawled to the ground.
The sentinels fell silent.
Lincoln crouched over his opponent. The young man’s eyes were glassy and an odd smile distorted his face. “Are you all right?”
When he didn’t answer, Lincoln snapped his fingers. “I asked you a question, Dogman.”
Damien blinked rapidly and the glaze cleared from his vacant gaze. “Yes, sir. I’m fine, sir.”
“Feel better?”
Damien sat up and spit, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve and grimaced. “I would, except I think you broke my jaw.”
“It’s not broken.” Lincoln offered him a hand up. “Put some ice on it to help with the swelling.”
The sentinels swarmed the younger Dogman with accolades of his putting up a good fight and advice on how to have a better fight next time. Escorting him back into the bar, the group promised he wouldn’t have to buy another drink tonight because each of them would buy him a round.
“You could’ve ended this before he took his first swing.” Reed hadn’t moved from his position. “Why did you let him get in all those hits?”
“He needed the rush.” Lincoln rubbed his jaw, tender and swollen from Damien’s last punch. “Better for him to unload on someone who could handle it.”
“You don’t think me and my guys could?”
“This isn’t personal, Reed.” Lincoln liked the guy and didn’t want to make an enemy unnecessarily. “Damien is a Dogman, plain and simple. Pit him against someone who lacks that level of training and Damien will likely kill them, albeit unintentionally. He’s still green and nearly died on his first deployment. There’s a lot of chaos whirling inside him right now. I know how to help him deal with it in a constructive way.”
“Getting your ass kicked is constructive?” Ever-so-serious Reed cracked a smile.
“My ass is fine.” His jaw, chest and ribs, however, hurt like hell. He needed to get home and soak in ice if he wanted to be able to get out of bed tomorrow. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I’ll take a raincheck and let Damien bask in his newfound fame with your sentinels.”
“Are you and Damien good?” Reed asked. “There seemed to be a lot of anger in those punches.”
Lincoln had noticed that, too. But after what had happened in Somalia, he couldn’t blame Damien for harboring some resentment.
“We’re good. He just needed to get it out of his system.”
“I hope he got it all out,” Reed said. “I don’t like the idea of him going off like that on someone else.”
“He won’t.” Lincoln would make sure of it.
* * *
“You let him hit you?” Angeline stared at Lincoln. Beneath his darkened eye and bruised cheek, an arrogant grin split his face. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be missing any teeth. “On purpose?”
“Last night, it seemed like a good thing.” Lincoln picked up the plastic-covered breakfast menu the waitress had left on the table.
At Mabel’s Diner—a staple in Maico’s town square for more than thirty years—the fare was always the same. Good, ol’ fashioned, Southern-style cooking. Anything that couldn’t be loaded down in butter was deep-fried in lard. Just a whiff of the delicious scents wafting from the kitchen could harden the patrons’ arteries.
But people kept coming. For the food and for the company.
Enjoyed by unsuspecting humans and wolfans alike, Mabel’s Diner was the heart of Maico. Mostly because of Mabel, a lively senior who sported a red beehive hairdo and resuscitated bright sky-blue eyeshadow that should’ve been left to rot in the eighties. Treating everyone like family, she nosed into everyone’s business, doling out advice and scolds as readily as she served good eats.
“He needed to release some pent-up energy,” Lincoln said.
“So you volunteered to be his punching bag?” Angeline waved away the menu he offered after reading it. She’d known exactly what to get the moment he’d mentioned brunch.
“Better me than someone else.” Fingers laced, he rested his hands on the table. “It was a friendly brawl. We’re both fine.”
“I’ll hold off agreeing with you until after I’ve seen Damien.” Though, she had to admit, Lincoln certainly seemed more relaxed and some of the weariness in his eyes had faded. “He’s not in the hospital, is he?”
“I said he’s fine.”
“You always say you’re fine and you’re missing a leg,” Angeline said. “Are Dogmen trained in the Black Knight mentality? ‘’Tis but a scratch... It’s just a flesh wound...’” she said, imitating the movie character. “‘I’m invincible.’”
Lincoln’s laugh, deep, rich and masculine, wreaked mayhem on every feminine molecule in her body. She crossed her arms over her chest to rein in the hormonal circus.
“I wouldn’t peg you as a Monty Python fan.”
“I’m not. Tanner was.”
“Oh.” Lincoln’s smile tightened at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, well.” Mabel Whitcomb’s heavy Southern twang pinged them from three tables away. “Angeline O’Brien, here for breakfast no less.”
“Brunch,” Angeline clarified. “It’s almost noon.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Mabel leaned over and gave Angeline a friendly hug. “Always good to see you, hon.”
“Same here, Mabel.”
“Who’s this fella you got with ya?” Mable winked at Angeline, then turned to Lincoln. “Haven’t seen you before.”
“First time visiting Maico.” Lincoln held out his hand to the vivacious, human restaurateur.
Accepting his handshake, Mabel whispered loudly to Angeline, “Make sure he stays.”
Gracefully, Lincoln hid his smile.
“I bet you’re military,” Mabel continued in her nosy way. “You’ve got an air about you. One that says Special Forces,” she said, flashing jazz hands.
“Thanks, but...” He lifted his pant leg to reveal his prosthetic leg.
“Oh, I’m sorry, hon.” Sympathy dampened the tease in her eyes. “How did that happen?”
“I fell out of a two-story window. Shattered the knee and twisted the leg so bad nothing could’ve saved it.” Lincoln spoke without attachment or emotion, as if the injury hadn’t cost his career.
“I’m glad you came through it all right,” Mabel said. “And happy you came with Angeline. It’s always nice when her pretty face brightens up the place.”
“She brightens a lot more than she realizes.” Lincoln’s gaze caressed Angeline’s skin.
“Could I get a refill on the coffee?” Angeline asked, not wanting to add more fodder to the diner’s gossip circle.
“Sure thing,” Mabel said. “Do you want the Co-op’s special to go with it?”
“Two, please.” Lincoln handed Mabel the menu.
“Um, I’ll have the stuffed French toast, a ham and cheese omelet, and an order of bacon.” Angeline smiled sweetly at Lincoln.
“One Co-op special and one special order coming up,” Mabel said.
“No,” Lincoln said before Mabel walked away. “I’ll have two orders of the Co-op special.”
“Hon, that’s a lot of food.” Mabel looked him up and down. “Even for you.”
Lincoln glanced at Angeline. “I’ve been in the resort’s gym since six this morning and have another workout planned for this afternoon.”
“All right. Two it is.” Mabel waved to a nearby server befo
re moseying into the kitchen. The young woman hurried over and refilled their mugs nearly to the rim before rushing off to the next table.
“So, Tanner...” Head slightly bowed over his coffee cup, Lincoln’s troubled gaze lifted to Angeline. “The Dogman you called ancient history?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to know about him.”
“We met in college.” Angeline looked out the large glass window at the Wyatt’s Automotive Services building across the street. “I thought he was so handsome, smart, and funny.” Arrogant at times, and proud. “He believed in me, in my talent.”
Or maybe he simply wanted her to have something to pursue when he left.
“The night we met, I had gone to a secluded spot on campus to play my guitar. Since no one was nearby I also sang my heart out. Tanner said the voice of an angel had led him to me.” The chemistry between them had been instantaneous and undeniable.
And yet he still walked away, abandoning the life they could’ve had together. For what? To die before he’d really had a chance to live?
A masculine essence gently ebbed inside her, pulling her back from the edge of the dark hole on which she teetered. Lincoln’s hands were molded around hers, keeping her anchored in the present. And although his beautiful silver-green eyes were brimming with tenderness and worry over her past, in them she saw a hope for the future.
“Maybe your history with him isn’t so ancient,” he said softly.
“It is.” Angeline withdrew from his touch. “He made his choice and then he died. End of story.”
“I think you skipped a lot of parts.” Lincoln’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s okay to talk about the good times and the bad ones. I’ll listen to whatever you want to say, whenever you need to say it. Always.”
She believed he would, too.
“Music is an important part of my life. It helped me heal after the ordeal with Tanner. You’ve seen my guitar, but I also play the piano, a clarinet and a little on the fiddle.”
“I’d love for you to play and sing a song for me.” A devilish grin spread across Lincoln’s face.
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