to relax. “Is now too soon?”
“Not for me.” Lincoln admired how their recent adversities had brought the Walker’s Run pack closer together, making them stronger rather than tearing them apart. They were a united force working toward a common goal.
A team.
Something Lincoln no longer had.
His ribs seemed to fold in on his lungs. The immense sorrow he buried after realizing his team members had died because of their loyalty to him threatened to surface. If he gave in to the grief, it would simply consume him and their deaths would be in vain. He needed to keep a clear mind and a singular focus on finding Dayax.
Five o’clock, and a few early birds were seated inside Taylor’s Roadhouse. According to Reed, by eight the place would be packed and Lincoln wanted to be out before the crowd arrived.
Funny how masses of people had not bothered him while on active duty. However, a few days ago in the Munich airport surrounded by hundreds of people, he’d experienced the first panic attack in his life. Accelerated heart rate, shortness of breath, ringing in his ears, cold, clammy hands despite sweating profusely, had forced him to seek solace in the men’s room. What an unwelcomed start to his first venture back into the civilian world. A splash of cold water on his face and a harsh internal dialogue had gotten him through the episode. And he’d sincerely hoped it would be the last.
However when Reed had invited him to meet up with some of the security team tonight, the same odd creepy-crawly sensation had tightened Lincoln’s chest and he’d begged off with a rain check. Of course, that didn’t mean he would deprive himself of “the best steaks in three counties.” Nor did he want to miss a chance to talk to Angeline.
Last night, he’d made the right call not telling her about his connection to Tanner Phillips. But after the strained way they’d parted, she might not answer the door if he knocked. Clearly, he’d upset her, but the conversation was leading to a road he wasn’t allowed to explore, no matter how much he might want to do so.
Visually, he searched the restaurant for her, but only spotted one server. A blonde a few inches shorter than Angeline, and human. Wahyas had an eerie sense that allowed them to recognize their own kind. And she did not set off any signals, wolfan or otherwise.
An older woman approached the hostess station. Silver threads glinted in her hair, the rich, robust color of chestnuts but her eyes matched the exact shade of Angeline’s sapphire blues.
“Welcome to Taylor’s.” Her wide, genuine smile appeared all too human. “You must be Lincoln.”
A prickle scaled his spine. “Yes, ma’am. And you are?”
“Miriam Taylor, Angeline’s aunt,” she said. “She’s told me all about you.”
Lincoln hoped otherwise.
“I’m surprised to see you this early. Angeline mentioned you were getting acquainted with the sentinels today. They don’t usually come in until later.”
“Jet lag.” Lincoln used the same lie he’d given Reed. “I need to eat then crash for a while.”
“We’ll get your belly filled and then you’ll sleep like a lazy pup until morning.”
“Sounds nice, but I never sleep more than a few snatches at a time.”
“I imagine out of necessity, considering your line of work. But you’re in Walker’s Run, not a war zone. It’s okay to relax and enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lincoln smiled, although he doubted there would ever come a time when he could drop his guard. “Is anyone joining you for supper?”
Only in spirit. “No, ma’am.”
Miriam picked up one hard-bound menu. “Table or booth?”
Lincoln glanced around the cozy interior of the restaurant. The bar area had stools at the bar itself, booths along the wall and bistro tables of two and four. In the other section, booths were also along the wall with tables of four and six in the center. Larger parties probably used the huge round table in middle of the restaurant. A small stage sat in front of the dance floor and the kitchen had a long glass window in front of the grill so that patrons could watch their steaks being cooked. His mouth watered even though nothing had been placed on the grill.
“A small table in the bar is fine.” He hoped the steaks tasted as good as his new friends had insisted they would. The ones he’d eaten in the Program’s hospital in Germany had tasted like cardboard.
“It will be about twenty minutes before Jimmy starts putting steaks on the grill, so make sure to start with an appetizer, on the house.” Miriam seated Lincoln at a bistro table and handed him a menu. “Would you like something to drink while looking over the menu?”
“Water, for now,” he said, flipping through the three pages of alcoholic beverages listed at the back of the menu. It had been so long since he’d eaten in a restaurant like this, Lincoln had forgotten the variety of items to choose from.
“I’ll send over Tessa when she’s finished with them.”
Tessa, Lincoln assumed, was the blonde server delivering drinks to a table of elderly wolfans.
“Is Angeline here?” he asked Miriam, internally volleying between the desire to see her again and the dread of needing to fulfill a promise to a dead Dogman, which would likely draw her censure.
“She’s in the storeroom taking inventory.” Locked on Lincoln, Miriam’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly beneath the delicate arch of her brow. “I could ask her to come out.”
“No.” He pretended hunger caused the unpleasant tug in his gut. “I’ll talk to her later.”
“Angeline mentioned that you’re staying in Tristan’s apartment.”
“For the next few weeks.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you here.”
Once he told Angeline about Tanner Phillip’s last words and the photograph he’d entrusted to Lincoln, he doubted she would share her aunt’s sentiment.
At her departure, Lincoln closed the menu and pushed it aside. He didn’t much care about what he drank and the plethora of options made him antsy.
Unease coiled inside his chest and his body tingled from the hairs rising on his skin, despite not being on any covert mission about to face untold danger. In fact, since joining the Dogman program, Lincoln had never touched a paw in a more peaceful place than Maico, the quaint little town at the center of the Walker’s Run pack’s territory.
Definitely, nothing like Taifa.
Lincoln dug into his pocket for the Program-issued satphone, a mobile device that connected to private satellites rather than cell towers on the ground, and dialed into a secure message line.
Nothing.
During
