DAVID
Colton takes a long drink of his Jack and Ginger before sitting back in his chair and appraising the cards in his hand. He bobs his head as he rubs his chin, which just happens to be his tell. He does it every time he's about to bluff his way through a hand. I lost a small fortune to him in poker games before I figured it out.
"I'd give you a hard time about liking girly mixed drinks, but that's not bad at all.” He gestures towards the glass. “It’s not going to replace my shot glass, but I won’t judge you for drinking it either. Much.” He turns his ball cap around backwards.
Shit. That's his other tell. The one that means he's got a good hand. The sly bastard must have figured out that I figured it out. Looks like I'm about to get my ass handed to me if I don't up my game right here and now. My phone buzzes and I put my cards face down on the table and swipe it up.
"Fuck, man." Colton rubs a hand over his mouth. "Can you go ten minutes without checking that thing?"
I hold up my hand as I read the text, standing quickly enough for the chair to rake back against the tile floor before I even finish deciphering Michelle's hurried words.
Colton gathers his cards into one hand. "What's wrong?"
"It's Michelle. Someone broke into her house."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Is she okay?" He stands, flipping his hat back around.
"She's shaken up." I tap out a text to her, letting her know I'll be there as soon as I can. My full attention is on my phone, counting the spaces between heart beats as I wait for a response.
"Please tell me she called the cops."
I wait for her answer to the exact same question I just sent her and nod as it comes in. "Yep. Cops have been called." I run a hand through my hair, and search the card-littered table for my keys. "Listen..." I begin.
"Get your ass over there." Colton crosses his arms over his chest. "I don’t know why you’re still standing around with your thumb up your butt."
I nod and grab my keys, surprised when Colton follows me towards the door.
"I'm coming with you, of course," he says. "If this girl means something to you, she means something to me, and no one messes with my people."
Either the cops managed to get here and leave already, or they're doing a piss poor job of protecting and serving because Michelle’s driveway is empty when we fly around the corner to her street. She hurries outside when the truck doors thump closed, Claire hot on her heels. I cover the ground between us in a few long strides and wrap her in my arms.
"Thank you for coming," she murmurs into my chest.
"Are you okay?" I run a hand through her hair, pressing her even closer. "Was anything taken?"
“When we got home, the door was wide open," says Claire, her gaze locked on Colton, her eyes wary. "And broken."
Colton takes his hat off and shoves it in his back pocket. "I'm going to look around the place." He meets my eyes, nods once, and then heads towards the backyard.
"As far as I can tell, nothing was taken." Michelle steps out of my arms and wraps an arm around Claire’s shoulders, tucking her in close. "But the door is broken. Looks like it was kicked in." She runs a trembling hand up into her hair. "I thought that was only something that happened on TV."
If her door is that flimsy, there is no way I am going to be okay knowing she and Claire are alone in this house until she has a new one. A good one. One that would break an asshole’s foot instead of letting him in.
"Show me what happened." I keep my voice calm. The last thing my girls need is for me to get loud and angry. They’re shaken up as it is. The door is more than broken. It’s shattered, the cheap wood splintered and dented at the point of impact, the door knob and lock mechanism twisted and useless. The only way it’s getting fixed is to replace it completely and I’ll make sure she has a door worthy of Fort Knox.
Michelle leads me around the place and the destruction is absolute. Shit is thrown around in each and every room. Drawers are pulled out and the contents scattered across the floor. The couch cushions are topsy-turvy. Her dresser is on its side, her panties strewn across the bed. My stomach turns. Yeah. No way in hell she's staying here. Not by herself.
"I can't shake the feeling that I know who did this." Michelle looks down at Claire who hasn't left her side. The look in her eyes, the taut line of her lips, it isn't a huge stretch for me to realize she's talking about her ex-husband.
There's a light knock on the front door. "You guys in here?" Colton calls down the hallway. "You good if I come in?"
I look to Michelle who nods her assent. "Come on in," she says as she leads us out of the bedroom.
Colton steps through the door, his brow creased, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. "Do you smoke?" he asks Michelle.
She shakes her head. "Not once, not ever."
Claire looks up at her mom. "Daddy used to smoke, didn't he?" She tilts her head to one side. "He used to smell so icky."
Colton hits me with a look that I can't ignore, glancing at Claire as if to say he doesn't want to have this conversation with her standing right there. Michelle notices.
"Hey, Bear? Why don't you grab a book and go read in your room. The adults need to have a conversation outside before the police come."
The little girl nods and heads down the hallway, stepping carefully over the books strewn across the floor. Michelle and I follow Colton around back. He leads us to a window on the far corner of the house, right next to an overgrown pine bush.
"That looks like one hell of a fire hazard." Colton points to a pile of cigarette butts lying in the dry needles.
Michelle's hands cover her mouth. "That's my window." She chokes on her words. "Why would someone be smoking underneath my window?"
Bile rises in my stomach. Wheels crunch in the driveway, capturing our attention before I have a chance to say what's on my mind. There’s nothing but ugly, murderous rage in my head right now. Some asshole has been parked outside her window, smoking cigarettes? I don't know what else he's doing, but I have a few ideas and all of them tighten my hands into fists. Michelle and Claire will not be spending one more night here.
We walk around to the front of the house to meet the policemen getting out of their car. Michelle answers questions, shows them the damage, and I make damn sure they see the cigarette butts underneath her window. They take notes. Ask the same questions in a multitude of different ways. Take Michelle's statement. And then they leave, promising to be in touch. It's not enough. She's not safe in this house with its broken door and the cigarette butts under her window just because the police asked a few useless questions.
The moment they leave, I turn to Michelle. "I need you to pack your bags. Just grab everything you think you might need in the foreseeable future. There's no way in hell the two of you are staying here. Not alone."