Page 29 of Last Man Standing

“But you found Jones, right? If you already know where he is⁠—”

“Just because he talks shit about you doesn’t mean he’s our guy. Big mouths talk, and the word going around is that he and Roy were pretty tight. It’s entirely possible he’s just mad Roy ditched town after the breakup.”

“Ditched town,” I scoff. “Pissed his pants and begged for freedom, more like it.”

Silence hangs for one beat. Two. Three. Then finally, Linc scratches his stubble and exhales. “He deserved everything he got.”

“I don’t regret it.”

“Good,” he breathes. “But now we’re dealing with this. Jones isn’t off the hook yet, but from where I’m sitting, whining doesn’t make him our guy. He’s done nothing, and said nothing, to seal his fate yet. He’s a brainless nobody with less inclination to get up off his ass and actually do something with his life than a ten-days-dead corpse. Mills wasn’t wrong for bringing him to our attention, but I don’t think he’s who we’re looking for.”

I want to weep. To rage. Most of all, I want to get back to the life I worked so damn hard to reclaim. “If it’s not him, that means we’re back to square one, right?” I firm my jaw. I refuse to let it wobble. I grit my teeth. I won’t let them chatter. I’m strong. I’m capable. I’m not that woman anymore. “We’ve got nothing at all?”

“We have reason to believe our guy knows enough about your security system to disable the entire building before he dropped the note.”

Well, that’s a fun thought.

“And that he’s connected to Richard Aster in some way. Somehow. Could be one of his soldiers. One of his security personnel. Could even be his former tax accountant.”

Could be his grandson.

I peek over my shoulder and meet Sebastion’s hard eyes. He’s sticking close, silencing even his steps like doing so will help him hear my conversation.

“Scarlett? You still there?”

“Yeah.” I break eye contact and bring my focus back to a display of cereal boxes. “It would make me very happy, and significantly less anxious, if you figured this out soon, Linc.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“Like, today.”

“Doing the best I can, Little Girl. How are things back there? Jameson being a decent human being?”

“Eh.” I grab a box of high fiber wheat bran and lob it into the cart. “He offered to fuck me last night.”

A ferocious growl booms through our call, and a single moment later, Sebastion’s phone dings with an incoming text.

“He suggested I tell him in advance when I plan to visit his bed.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Lincoln snaps.

“Because if I snuck up on him, he might accidentally on purpose break my neck.”

Sebastion pulls his phone out of his pocket, checks the screen, and chuckles. He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even unlock the device. He simply slips it back where it came from and reaffirms his grip on the cart handle.

“He’s laughing at you, Linc.” I continue along the aisle and steal fifteen feet from my muscled mercenary. “He’s disrespecting you. In your own home. Why don’t you come back, end him, and toss him in the trash where he belongs? I’ll help.”

“Cute.” Sebastion moves faster than someone of his size should be able to and drops his hand onto my shoulder before I shoot straight through the damn roof. “You missed the Frosted Flakes, Princess.”

My heart thunders wildly out of control, but I don’t let him see me rattled. I refuse. Instead, I peek along the aisle and study the giant blue box with a hungry tiger on the front. For just a moment, I pretend to consider his words. Like I actually give a crap about his cereal needs. But then I shake my head and keep going. “I don’t want Frosted Flakes. I guess that means you missed them.”

“Scarlett…” Linc’s grumbled warning vibrates in my ear. “Is it so fucking difficult to grab the man a box of cereal and not tempt military psychos into dumping your body? Especially since he just heard your plans to dump his first. In the race to life and death, there can only be one winner, dummy.”

“You assured me he wouldn’t hurt me.” I exit this aisle while Tank hangs back with the cartoon tiger. Turning to the next, where they keep baking supplies, pasta, and cake mixes, I enjoy just a single moment of solitude. Of freedom from his beady stare and bristling impatience. But the squeak-squeak-squeak of the cart’s crappy wheels announces he’s on his way.

And he’s moving fast.

I peruse the vast display of pasta-in-two-minutes packets, select a half dozen of the macaroni and cheese variety, and the instant my shadow skids around the corner, I toss them into the cart and miss hitting his chest by a hair.