Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,75

of it. You’re driving; stop drinking on the job.”

John stared at her. His brow began to wrinkle. He looked her direct in the eyes, and then took a long swig. He gulped the container until it was empty, and then smashed it against the back wall behind the car.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re already on notice. What’s wrong with you people? Why can’t you just do your job!”

John sat on the edge of his car, but then he pushed off. He took two steps toward Adele. He stared down at her, a full head and shoulders taller, twice as broad.

“Are you okay?” he said softly.

Adele’s eyes narrowed. She looked at his muscled form, the threatening posture. But then she realized he was reaching out an arm, gently brushing the side of her elbow. “Are you all right?” he said.

“Dammit, John,” she snapped, a sob squeaking from her lips.

“Are you all right?” he said gently, his finger grazing her arm.

“Dammit,” she said, and emotions welled up inside her. She started to cry.

“Adele, it’s going to be okay,” he said, softly.

She could smell the whiskey on his breath, but his eyes were soft. His posture gentle. He reached out, his hand pressed against her elbow, and she leaned in closer, sobbing and muttering, “Dammit,” every couple of seconds.

John pulled her in, and he held her tight, embracing her. She could feel the warmth of his form against her. Her head pressed against his chest. He was large, and seemed to envelop her in a protective sort of posture. For a moment, she just cried, and could feel her tears seeping against his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He didn’t recoil, didn’t react in anger. Instead, he just kept muttering, “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine, my dear, dear American Princess.”

She cried for what felt like forever.

In the parking structure, beneath the glaring safety lights above, in front of the loaned vehicle, John held her, and she wept.

And then, once she started calming, she pushed away, and he released her.

He stepped back, arms limp at his sides, his eyes on her, searching, earnest. “Is there anything I can do?”

She hiccupped once, twice, glanced toward the smashed bottle against the wall. And said, “Let me drive back to the motel.”

He cracked a smile. “I think I can do that.” He moved toward the passenger side, patting her on the shoulder as he did. As he passed, Adele caught his arm, pulled him. She looked him in the eyes once, and then leaned in, studying his lips. He breathed heavily, his face only inches from hers.

“John,” she said, softly, the emotion still swirling in her, but she suppressed it.

“Adele?” he asked.

“I like your scar,” she said.

He swallowed but didn’t reply. Then she leaned in, stepping on her toes, and pressed to kiss him.

John didn’t react harshly, but he held her and gently pushed her down; he kissed her on the forehead and gave her a quick hug. “You’re in no state to make decisions right now,” he said.

And then he turned and got in the passenger seat of the car. He shut the door and waited, watching her through the windshield.

Adele stared at him, stunned. “I’m in no shape?” she said, calling through the window. “You just downed a bottle of whiskey!”

She opened the front door and got in the driver’s seat, studying him, not upset, not frustrated, more curious.

“Maybe some other time,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “It’s been a rough day.”

Adele shook her head. Then she placed the key in the ignition and turned them. John had just drank a bottle, and yet he seemed the more sober of the two. Somehow, even in that moment, with just the two of them, he was still protecting her. The same way he had protected her back in the hospital. The same way he had protected her in the cabin.

Somehow, in the car, just with John, she felt the faintest of burdens lifted from her shoulders. She found she could breathe a bit easier. Her thoughts traveled to her dad. “You think they’re going to recover?” she said, softly as they pulled out of the parking garage.

“Those kids? Some of them, maybe.”

“I don’t just mean will they live,” Adele said. “Do you think they’ll recover? Do you think you can go through something like that and make it out on the other side alive?”

For the first time, John’s voice hardened. But his frustration didn’t seem directed