Chapter Seven
Kim insisted on both Becky and Charlotte taking a nap. Considering how gray Charlotte’s complexion had grown and the exhaustion in Becky’s eyes, sleep was an absolute necessity for them both. King and Saint followed Ruth to a back room off the kitchen where they could set up a headquarters for the team. It was the staff dining room, although King knew Ruth ate in the kitchen unless her family came over. He knew the layout of the house and the staff’s routine, at least their routine as it had been ten years ago. But he kept his mouth shut and followed the housekeeper’s stiff back to their assigned space.
It didn’t take long for his best friend to comment on the freezing atmosphere after the door closed behind Ruth. Seconds, really. “Jeez, everyone here has a beef with you, even her.”
King glanced toward the exit. “Yeah.”
“I take it I’m still not going to get the full story?”
“It’s something I’d rather not get into right now.” Or ever. That worked even better. A minute later when Dain and Ben Alexander walked through the door, he knew he wasn’t getting his wish.
“Saint, would you—”
King cut off his boss with a raised hand. “It’s fine, Dain.” Falling back on his training, his body automatically assumed parade rest, conveying ease while bracing for whatever was coming.
Ben scanned him, eyes narrowed, lips going tight. King tried not to remember the warm look the man used to give him, the times he’d called King son with a hand on his shoulder, a strong grip holding him steady. His own father had been cold, his family more a collection of individuals all going their separate ways than a loving home. Charlotte’s parents had shown him what a true family could be.
When Ben spoke, King steeled himself. “I am willing to put my daughter’s life in Mr. Brannan’s and JCL’s hands, but not yours. I want you out. Now.”
King felt the shock of pain, absorbed the blow, but didn’t let a flicker of reaction color his response. “I understand.”
“I don’t.” Dain angled his body toward Ben, his biceps bulging as he folded his arms across his chest. “And until I do, I refuse to operate without a valuable member of my team. I can talk to headquarters, have them send someone else if you want me to, but they’d already be behind. Is that what you’re requesting?”
Ben’s jaw flexed. King remembered that too, how he clenched his teeth when he got angry.
Dain glanced between them. “Care to explain?”
When the moment stretched out, threatening to snap, King decided to step up. “Charlotte and I dated while I was in college.”
Ben snorted his opinion of that. Because King made it sound too simple? Dating was certainly too basic a word to describe what he and Charlotte had been together, but he couldn’t speak the truth here, now, in front of this man he’d once admired so much. Charlotte had been much more than his girlfriend. She’d been his world. His everything.
And his family had ruined that, just as they had everything else in his life until he’d finally broken free.
“How long were you together?” Dain asked.
“Four years, though our families have known each other since we were children.” The moment Charlotte turned eighteen, he’d put a ring on her finger. The years they’d been together, she’d been the balm to his soul. King had been raised by nannies and tutors for the most part, his life separate from his parents. When he’d hit puberty and began to develop his own opinions, his own wants and needs, things at home had gone from neutral to strained, but they’d deteriorated rapidly after high school as his parents pushed him to fulfill their plans for their offspring, disregarding his own.
As their only child, King becoming a cop had been laughable to them. A degree in criminal justice had been the first thing to go. King had compromised by getting his bachelors in political science. And yes, he’d known his parents thought that meant he would go into a government position of some sort, become a politician, possibly a law degree, but after four miserable years of fighting what he wanted, he’d known he couldn’t sacrifice his life for their desires.
“You know who my family is, Dain.” King fought to keep his voice emotionless, not wanting to give Charlotte’s father any more ammunition than he already had. “When I announced that I had been accepted to the police academy, they disowned me. I asked Charlotte to come with me when I left.” His fingers twisted together behind him. “She was too young—I knew it, but that didn’t stop me from hoping. Charlotte was afraid of losing her family if she chose me, and ultimately she decided to stay with them.”
And ripped his heart out. He’d never been the same—not that Ben or anyone else needed to know that.
“She’s built a good life, a career; she has Wes,” Ben said coolly. “She doesn’t need you here messing all that up.”
King doubted he had that kind of pull on Charlotte any longer. Maybe he never had, given the relationship that seemed to exist between the woman he’d loved and his first cousin.
“Forgive me, Mr. Alexander,” Dain said, “but that was a decade ago. Why would King’s presence here harm Charlotte? She made the decision, correct?”
Ben nodded reluctantly.
“Was there something more I’m not aware of that makes this any different than a thousand other couples who part ways?” Dain asked, spreading his hands wide. “I’m not trying to make light of what happened, but Charlotte has obviously moved on.”
Dain’s words stabbed King in the gut. The pain was so unexpected he flinched. Thank God no one was looking his way.
“Your daughter is in an extremely dangerous situation. We need every advantage we can get to keep her safe. King might be the biggest one we have—he has the most experience with your social set, he has more official contacts than anyone at JCL to help keep us in the know with the police, and most importantly he knows your daughter’s personality. That is invaluable information for my team. We function best together, and taking King out leaves a hole that ensures we are less prepared to keep your daughter safe.
“At the same time,” Dain continued, “if King being here will keep you from working with us, trusting us, then we won’t be effective either. Like I said, I can get another team in here, but they won’t have the advantages King gives us, and they won’t be up to speed.” Dain narrowed his gaze on Ben. “The choice is up to you, but I’d strongly suggest you consider the options before you decide on a path forward.”
King waited, watching that muscle in Ben’s cheek flex, holding the man’s stare when their eyes met. Ben hadn’t aged much, but the additional lines along his forehead and eyes and mouth made King wonder if this argument wasn’t all about him. Certainly the anger radiating from every person in the household but Charlotte felt somehow…extra. Over the top. Had something happened in the intervening years that had twisted the animosity toward him, made it more than a breakup between two young adults?
If that was the case, Wes wouldn’t know, or his cousin wouldn’t have asked for his help.
Whatever had happened wasn’t his business either. Not anymore. He had a job to do; that was the only reason he was here.
It didn’t stop him from wondering. Worrying. As if that would do any good in retrospect.
Finally a heavy sigh left Ben, his hand coming up to rub at the lines along his forehead. “I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep Charlotte safe.” He turned to Dain. “I’ll bow to your judgment”—his voice hardened—“but I don’t want him near my daughter. Keep him in the background, out of sight.”
Dain’s eyes met King’s, and he knew his boss well enough after years of working together to know when Dain was exasperated. But they’d all worked with difficult clients before. King tried to tell himself this was no different. He’d simply never had it directed solely at him before.
“We can do that,” Dain agreed, voice carefully neutral. “Our final team member, Elliott Smith, will be here shortly. She will be assigned close protection for Becky and Charlotte.”
Ben nodd
ed jerkily. “Keep me informed.”
The three of them watched as their client walked from the room.
It was Saint who finally broke the silence. “Like I was saying, they’ve got a beef with you.”
“One that doesn’t seem to match their stated reasons,” Dain mused.
So he wasn’t the only one who thought so. “I wish I could explain it, but I can’t.” He wished too many memories of this family accepting him didn’t rise to haunt him every time he saw the resentment in their eyes. That kind of emotion threw him off his game, and he was never off when it came to an assignment. “I was telling the truth, Dain. No, a breakup like that is never as cut-and-dried as it sounds”—the image of Charlotte’s tear-ravaged face the last time he’d seen her, so long ago, filled his mind, clawed at the walls he’d built around himself—“but it’s been ten years. I don’t know what else this could be about.”
Dain grunted. King could see him running scenarios in his head, probably alongside the odds of how much it mattered to their situation. “For now, let’s just keep things low-key, see what surfaces.”
“Hopefully sooner than later,” Saint put in.
King agreed. Nothing could throw an op off faster than secrets. And from his experience, they usually surfaced at the worst possible times.
“I want you to establish contact with the local PD, make sure they’re aware of developments.” Dain’s cell phone rang, and when he pulled it from his pocket, the grim lines of his face softened the slightest bit. “Elliott’s here. Until her charges are awake, the two of you are on equipment duty, Saint.”
“As if I’d let you all get your hands on my babies,” Saint said, a gleam firing in his eyes. The man was a tech genius. No one was pickier about equipment, but then no other team was as well-equipped as they were. Only Elliott came anywhere close to Saint’s knowledge or his obsession with gadgets, gizmos, and software, but given her duties as their second in command…
King pulled out his own cell, a grimace twisting his mouth. Elliott would always be their second, although right now she and they were enduring a six-month demotion she’d earned for keeping her own secrets, secrets that had made the op with her fiancé, Deacon Walsh, take a sharply southern turn. Which meant it was King’s job, as temporarily acting second, to file the paperwork for their current op. He hated paperwork, and now there was a mountain of it waiting for him.
He found the number for the Blossomwood PD and dialed. Once Elliot got their computer set up, he’d tackle the dreaded mountain of forms. Maybe it would take his mind off secrets involving the woman who slept two floors above him, in a bedroom he’d been intimately familiar with when they’d been together.
Paperwork was far safer, for all of them, than thinking about that.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte barely stirred in the darkness of her bedroom, wondering what time it was. When her door opened, she rolled to see who was coming in—and groaned.
“Stiff?” her mom asked as she carried a tray across the room. “You’ve been asleep for about fifteen hours, so that’s not surprising.”
Given her restless night at the hospital, the tension since, and the battering her body had been through, maybe not. She pulled herself up in the bed to prop against the padded headboard. Her mom settled the tray across her lap, and the rich scent of coffee filled her nose, making her moan for a whole different reason. “Thanks, Mom.”
A warm hand settled on her head. “You deserve a little pampering.”
The quiver in her mother’s voice told Charlotte she was thinking of how close she’d come to losing the chance to pamper her. The same thought brought a hot wash of tears to the backs of Charlotte’s eyes. She caught her mom’s hand as it slid away. “I love you.”
Even in the dim light of the room, she caught the glistening in her mom’s gaze as she bent close for a kiss on her cheek. The scent of gardenias surrounded her, the same scent her mother had worn since she was a child. In a moment she was transported back to that little girl with a scraped knee, hurt feelings, a thousand childhood problems. Whatever she’d faced, her parents had been there for her. She hadn’t known parents weren’t all like that until she’d gotten to know King’s family.
She picked up the coffee as her mom opened the curtains around the room, letting in weak sunlight.
“How is Becky?” Charlotte felt guilty leaving the girl to her own devices, but there’d been no resisting her body’s need for sleep.
Her mom sat at the foot of the bed to lean against the padded footboard. “Ruth and I settled her into the guest suite. We did some shopping, stocking up so she’d have anything she needed there without having to come out and have company if she didn’t feel up to it. The poor girl is exhausted between all the stress and being so close to delivery.” A gentle smile curved her lips. “I remember what it was like to try to sleep at that stage with you. Everyone kept telling me to sleep as much as I could, and I kept trying to figure out how to do that with a gymnast flipping around in my stomach.”
A tight band squeezed around Charlotte’s chest at the thought—a rounded belly, a baby moving inside her. That connection, so intimate, so strong. At least that’s how she imagined it would be. She’d never experienced it personally.
And never would.
“I told her to sleep whenever she felt like it, not to worry about us,” Mom was saying. “I have to wonder if she’s had a decent night’s sleep her whole pregnancy.”
“I’ve worried the same thing.” It had killed her to see how Becky struggled. The baby’s father had broken things off the minute he learned she was pregnant, and Richard had demanded she abort the baby. Becky had stood firm for what she wanted, although Charlotte suspected that had cost her far more than any of them knew. With the girl being underage, though, there’d been little they could do without proof of abuse.
And now this. It still felt like a nightmare.
Charlotte clutched her warm coffee cup close. “Black-market baby selling, Mom.” In the adoption community, talk of horrific practices and warnings about everything from selling babies to re-homing were everywhere, but Charlotte had thought Creating Families was immune. They’d worked hard—she’d worked hard—to build an organization that provided everything women giving their babies up for adoption and families adopting those babies could possibly need.
Except money. They provided services, opportunities, even goods like food and baby supplies, but not flat-out money, and that’s what Richard had wanted.
She’d come between him and what he desired.
“I know, hon. It’s unfathomable. But we’re not facing it alone; we have help.” She jerked her chin toward Charlotte’s tray. “Eat.”
The dry toast was just the thing to settle the gaping hole that was her stomach. Charlotte finished the first piece, watching as her mom moved across the room to her closet.
“Once you’ve finished, we need to meet with the JCL team member Mr. Brannan assigned to you and Becky.”
The bite she’d just taken turned to dust in her mouth. “Who?” she mumbled indelicately, mouth full. Not King. Please, not King.
Which was ridiculous to even consider. Her mother would be pitching a fit if King was assigned to her.
“A woman,” her mother called from the depths of the closet. “I told them we’d be down in a few minutes.”
Any appetite Charlotte had died. King had a female teammate. What was she like? Was she beautiful? The kind of woman he’d want in his new life? Were they together? Had they been in the past?
Jesus, was she that petty? Their private lives didn’t matter. This woman was obviously capable if she could keep up with three men like Dain, Saint, and King. Nothing else factored in.
She ran a hand through the rat’s nest her hair had become after so many hours of sleep. “I should take a shower then.”
Twenty minutes later she approached the door to the guest suite. Her head throbbed a bit, but the pain meds she’d taken with another piece of to
ast should help that soon. And coffee. She clutched the lifeline of a second cup as she knocked.
The sound of voices filtered through to the hall; then the door opened. Inside stood a blonde woman in black fatigue pants and a light T-shirt. Small, maybe a couple of inches taller than Charlotte’s own five-one, but where Charlotte tended toward thin and delicate, King’s teammate was strong, athletic. Charlotte couldn’t imagine her taking on men her teammates’ size, but there was no doubt from the confident way she held herself and the shrewd look in her eyes that this woman was a fighter.
Even the hand she extended toward Charlotte looked tough and capable, though her grip was gentle on Charlotte’s injured right hand. “Hi, I’m Elliot Smith.”
Belatedly she tried to clear her surprise from her expression, focusing on their hands clasping instead. “Charlotte. It’s nice to meet you.”
Elliot gestured her inside. The suite had an open living area with a small kitchen, the bedroom and bath to one side. On the sofa in the center of the living room, Becky sat, her legs up and covered with a soft blanket. Charlotte remembered how soft it was, the way it had caressed her face when she’d chosen it for Becky’s birthday a few months ago. The girl had obviously kept it and brought it with her when she left her home.
The thought sparked a warm glow in Charlotte’s heart, as did the smile that lit up Becky’s face when she saw Charlotte entering the room.
Charlotte made a beeline to the sofa to hug Becky, careful to avoid the swell of her stomach. “You look so much more rested,” she said as she took a seat at the girl’s feet. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” Becky smoothed her hand over her belly. “She was moving all night, but she’s quiet now.”
“Isn’t that the way of it?” Charlotte’s mom said, settling in a chair nearby. “She’s already got her days and nights mixed up. Kim Alexander, by the way.” She shook Elliot’s hand.
“How long before you deliver, Becky?” Elliot asked.
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