Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Mr. Price’s car turned the corner and disappeared.

  As his heart began thumping hard, Grant whispered to Connor, “Are you ready?”

  Connor tightened his grip on his small backpack and nodded.

  Grant turned. “Oh, no. Grandmother, my shirt fell out of my pack. Can I go get it?” Trying to act like he was a good boy, Grant pointed through the window at his red T-shirt on the sidewalk. Mr. Price had stepped right over it.

  Her lips pinched together like Connor’s had when he’d eaten a rotten grape. “That was careless of you. Go get it immediately.” She unlocked the front door and opened it.

  With Connor beside him, Grant hurried to the door.

  “Not you.” She grabbed Connor’s shoulder.

  No. Panicking, Grant lowered his head and rammed her.

  She staggered back.

  Grabbing Connor’s hand, Grant charged through the door and tore around the corner toward the back. They crossed to the house next door and ran through that backyard and then others, zigzagging through yards and empty lots and across streets. He heard her yelling and kept running.

  On and on.

  He rejected the first bus stop and hid behind a house while Connor caught his breath.

  The second bus stop was too close, too.

  On the third, he led the way onto a bus headed for downtown. The driver frowned, but closed the door with a whoosh, and pulled into traffic.

  No one paid any attention to them as they found an empty seat halfway back. Once in a seat, Grant held up his hand and chortled as Connor’s small hand smacked his in a high-five.

  * * * * *

  It had been one fucking crappy morning so far. At least in his opinion.

  Not everyone’s. Nolan watched his cheerful construction crew at work on the ten-story commercial building. The happy guys were scoring some nice overtime with the weekend work.

  Unfortunately, his day had started with threatening Price, telling the bastard he’d be held responsible—and liable—if the boys returned with any damage. Issuing the threat had felt good, but probably only succeeded in pissing the asshole off. Once Price had left, Nolan had called Galen to get his man over to Grandma’s house.

  Still didn’t feel like enough. Despite the sunny day, a chill kept raising the hair on the back of Nolan’s neck.

  He turned his attention to the plans he was checking over for the foreman. The schedule had gotten screwed up last week—the electrical subcontractor had fallen behind—and so his crew had to play catch-up this weekend. His head wasn’t in the game though.

  Neither was his attitude. When he’d arrived, the crew had taken one look at his face and steered clear.

  Mid-morning, after getting the foreman squared away, Nolan was considering heading to the office when his cell phone rang. “King.”

  “Kouros. Got a problem.” Galen’s Maine accent sharpened when he was pissed off. “My man’s at the house. He’s got a laser listening device to pick up sound from the windows. Should be able to hear a mouse squeak. Trouble is, he hasn’t heard the kids since he arrived. No talking at all. No playing or crying. There are sounds of someone cleaning, but nothing more.”

  “Maybe the boys are quiet? Coloring or something?”

  “That’s what Cam figured at first, but now he thinks he was wrong. A minute ago, Mrs. Brun walked outside and yelled for the kids.”

  “For the kids? Not at?”

  “Exactly. Cam doesn’t think they’re in the house. He probably got to Brun’s house a few minutes after the children were dropped off, but that left a gap.”

  “You figure they ran away?” Fuck. As a nail-gun started up, Nolan paced across the construction site to get away from the noise.

  “Ayuh. Or they’re hiding in the backyard. I’m going to leave my man there in case they return.”

  “The kids don’t know the area. Where the fuck would they go?”

  “It’s a long walk back to your place. Easy to get lost.”

  Nolan shook his head. “Grant’s a planner. Reminds me of you, sometimes. He’d figure out what to do.” He double-checked his phone log. No, they hadn’t called. And Beth would have let him know if they’d called her.

  “See if the old woman reported the children missing.” Galen hesitated. “I recommend you visit Brun’s house along with the social worker. If your kids are anywhere close, they’ll come out for you. If not, the grandmother might have some clue as to where they ran.”

  “Makes sense. Thanks, Galen.”

  As Galen hung up, Nolan started punching in numbers. To hell with Price, it was time to bring in the supervisor. Then he’d call Beth and head for Grandma’s house, whether or not he had company.

  Jesus, where were they?

  * * * * *

  Two ladies at the bus station had helped Grant figure out which buses to ride to Drew Park. The ticket had taken most of his money. But once they got Mama’s money, he could buy a ticket to get home to Beth and Nolan. Connor was little enough he could ride for free.

  “How’d you know about buses?” Connor asked when they were safely changed over to the next bus.

  “Remember when the pretty shelter lady took us older kids to Busch Gardens? She got us dis…discount cards to ride cheap ’cause we’re kids, and she showed us how to pay and get on and off and how to get help.” Since Connor was getting older, he added the warning she’d given. “She said if a stranger offers a ride, don’t go anywhere with him. And ask for help from at least two people in case one of them lies.”

  Connor’s eyes got big, but he nodded after a second. “Jermaine would lie to a kid.”

  “Yeah, he would.”

  “But how do we get back to Beff?” His eyes got all wet. “I don’t know where she lives.”

  “I do.” Grant puffed up. “Remember she gave us the cards Nolanman sent her? It has her house number and stuff.” He pulled out the postcard with the picture of an elephant. The other side had the address.

  “All right.”

  After the next stop, as the bus lurched into movement again, Connor frowned. “You think Beff’ll be mad at us? Is Nolanman gonna yell?”

  Grant’s stomach got tight with the same worry. But brothers told each other the truth. “Maybe.”

  At Connor’s worried expression, Grant confided his hope. “But when we give them money, they’ll be happy.”

  Connor considered and finally nodded. “Everybody likes money.”

  * * * * *

  When Beth was little, her family would sing the “Over the River and Through the Woods, to Grandmother’s House We Go” song. Beth would bounce up and down in the backseat with anticipation, because Nana had been the sweetest person in the world.

  Beth shook her head as she parked behind Nolan’s truck and got out. Mrs. Brun didn’t seem likely to win any awards for grandmotherly behavior.

  On the sidewalk, she paused to consider the house and yard. Some people evaluated others by the contents of their bookcases; Beth used a landscaping yardstick. In this case… The clapboard house’s paint was a stark, almost industrial white. The sole landscaping was the ruthlessly pruned Japanese privet across the front. The grass had been trimmed almost too short to survive. No flowerbeds. No color.

  Conclusion: the owner was…regimented and lacked both joy and spontaneity. How would this person do with the chaos that came with children?

  With an unhappy sigh, Beth walked through the open front door. The acrid scents of bleach and cleansers almost drowned out the musty, older home smell. The sound of voices led her to the living room.

  Price, Nolan, and Mrs. Molina faced a stick-thin woman in a darkly patterned, shirtwaist dress. Her long gray hair was tightly pulled into a bun. No makeup. According to the reports, Mrs. Brun was about the same age as Beth’s mother but appeared a decade older.

  Beth scanned the room. No children. Her heart sank. “Have you found them?”

  Nolan turned, and his grim face softened. With his back to the others, he gripped he
r shoulders, preparing her. “She says they ran out of the house right after they arrived.” His voice dropped. “Before Galen’s man got here.”

  “And she didn’t notify anyone?” Beth’s voice rose.

  Price turned and glared.

  “No.” Nolan put his arm around her.

  Mrs. Molina frowned at Mrs. Brun. “I do wonder why you didn’t call either the police or Mr. Price.”

  The old woman’s hands were clasped tightly at her waist. She turned a hostile gaze on Mrs. Molina. “They’re my grandchildren. My business. I’m their grandmother, and Mr. Price said the state keeps families together.” She glanced at the wall clock, and her mouth pinched. “They’ve made me late for church.”

  Will God strike you dead for being late? Beth bit back the words; a fight would get them nowhere. “Have you checked under their beds?”

  Mrs. Brun blinked. “The bed? Why would I? They ran outside.”

  Beth glanced at Mrs. Molina. “Under a bed is their favorite hiding spot. If Mrs. Brun left the house, the children might’ve sneaked back inside. Let’s double-check the house before searching the neighborhood.”

  “Good plan.” Mrs. Molina nodded.

  “Who do you think you are?” The grandmother stared at Beth with cold eyes.

  “I’m someone who is concerned for the children’s welfare. That is what we’re here for.”

  The old woman huffed. “They’ll return when they grow hungry.”

  Mrs. Molina looked appalled. Nolan growled.

  “Of course they will.” Beth raised her chin. “Just like when Drusilla ran away. No, wait—she didn’t return, did she?”

  Mrs. Brun’s affronted expression was dreadfully satisfying.

  Ignoring her, Beth headed toward the back of the house. When Nolan joined her in the kitchen, she put her hand on his arm. “What if they manage to get back to our house? We’re not there.”

  “True. You should return and…” He obviously noted her obstinate expression. “I guess that might be asking too much.” Pulling out his cell, he punched a number. “Galen, I know it’s Sunday, but—”

  Even at a distance, Beth heard Galen’s rude retort, “Don’t be a dense asshole. What can I do to help?”

  “Thanks. We’re both at Brun’s house, which means if the kids go to our home, no one is there.”

  Beth could barely hear Galen say, “It’s quite a ways to Carrollwood.”

  “Grant knows how to ride a bus, and they’d earned spending money, so he could afford a ticket.” Nolan shook his head. “Any chance you could ask Anne or Sally to housesit till we get back? I’ll pay for their time.”

  Galen said something.

  “Thanks.” Nolan hung up and told Beth, “Sally’s heading for our place right now…and Galen told me where to shove my money.”

  Oh, she did love her friends. “C’mon, let’s do our search.”

  “You take the bedrooms. I’ll check here and the backyard.”

  Beth pointed to the doors under the kitchen sink. “Don’t forget they like to tuck into tiny places.”

  “Got it.”

  In the hallway, Beth headed for the first bedroom and halted when Mrs. Molina stalked out of the living room.

  Red streaks of anger darkened her face, and she let out a quiet string of Spanish curses Beth hadn’t heard since the last time Cullen annoyed Andrea. Upon seeing Beth, she stopped and composed herself. “Mrs. King, please excuse me.”

  “I totally understand.” Beth motioned toward Mrs. Brun’s bedroom. “Since I’m not official, you’d better be the one to check her room. Bear in mind, the boys will use boxes to barricade and conceal themselves.”

  Mrs. Molina glanced back at the living room. “I wouldn’t blame them.” She stepped into the master bedroom.

  Beth took the smaller bedroom. Spotlessly clean, the room held a nightstand, a folding chair, and a single bed covered in a dark blue quilt. Over the bed was a picture of Jesus bleeding on the cross. The other wall had a picture of the Last Supper. No toys, no books. Nothing.

  Beth scanned the room again in disbelief. How could the two active boys have tolerated this place?

  She opened the tiny closet. Completely empty.

  Dropping to her knees, she checked under the bed. Not even a dust ball.

  Where could they be? Her stomach tightened, and all she could think about was Connor’s tiny hand in hers. About how Grant would cry, so, so silently as if afraid to be heard. The trust in their big brown eyes.

  I want my babies back.

  As she pulled the curtains aside, she saw Nolan already in the back yard. She should tell him to search under the porch steps, too. She pushed on the window…and it didn’t move.

  She checked the lock—no lock—and shoved the window more forcefully. Nothing budged. A closer study revealed someone had nailed the window shut. A chill ran down her spine. What if there was a fire?

  “No children?” Mrs. Molina stood in the doorway.

  “No.” Beth moved aside and pointed to the nails in the frame. “Is this legal?”

  * * * * *

  No cars were parked in front of Mama’s duplex, and relief swept through Grant. Jermaine wasn’t there. With Connor trudging behind him, he walked up to the front door and used his key to get inside.

  When he stopped, Connor ran into him. “Grant?” His fingers clutched the back of Grant’s shirt.

  “It’s…ugly.” Almost like it was when they’d left. Grant felt sick. Unless she was being crazy, Mama kept stuff picked up, kinda. Jermaine never had.

  Grant took another step. Beer cans and frozen food trays dotted the carpet. The room stank like the day Connor’d been sick and thrown up.

  Mama isn’t here.

  Tears turned the room watery. He knew Mama was gone, but…he’d still thought she’d be here.

  With a wail, Connor slid down to sit on the floor and cry.

  “Hey. It’s okay.” Swiping his own tears away, Grant hauled Connor up and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get Mama’s money before the douche comes back.”

  Wrinkling his nose as they passed the stinky bathroom, he led the way to the big bedroom. The closet door stood open, and his eyes filled with tears again. Mama’s clothes were gone. The dressing table held only Jermaine’s stuff—no makeup or perfume bottles.

  Don’t cry. After rubbing the wet off his face, he tipped the tall pole lamp sideways and lowered it to the floor. Kneeling beside the lamp, he ran his hand inside the curved, black metal base, unstuck the adhesive tape, and pulled out a baggie stuffed with money.

  At Connor’s gleeful sound, Grant almost cheered with him. Now Beth and Nolan would keep them.

  He stuffed the bag into his backpack and grabbed Connor’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

  “To Beff and Nolanman?”

  “Yeah.”

  They’d reached the living room when the front door opened.

  Jermaine stepped inside.

  * * * * *

  Quietly, Beth left the house, leaving Price, Mrs. Brun, and Mrs. Molina arguing behind her. It sounded like a nasty battle.

  Good job, Sir.

  Before leaving to search the neighborhood, Nolan had pulled the supervisor aside and told her about the children’s bruises and their worries. Then he’d tossed Price to the wolves, saying the investigator had blown their concerns off. As he walked out the door, Mrs. Molina had called Price and Mrs. Brun over.

  Once in her pickup, Beth sat for a minute and tried to think like a frightened child. Their most likely destination was back home.

  Or not. She and Nolan had turned the kids over to Price. Betrayed them. Guilt felt like lead balloons in Beth’s stomach. Maybe they should have taken the children and run. But how would running have helped?

  No one believed the children would return to their mother’s duplex. After all, Drusilla was dead, and surely the boys knew Jermaine or someone else would be living there.

  But…

  But she’d seen Grant�
�s duplex key when she’d emptied his backpack to do his laundry. If the boys were running, what better location to hide than in their old neighborhood?

  Yes. She started the truck and headed for Drew Park.

  With worries about the boys filling her head, she’d gotten partway there before realizing she’d goofed. Nolan would be unhappy—call that royally pissed-off—that she’d left without talking to him. Oh boy. Punching a button on the steering wheel, she called his cell phone.

  “Hey.” His deep raspy voice filled the cab and warmed her chilled skin. “I saw your pickup’s gone. You heading home?”

  “Uh.” He wasn’t going to be happy with her. “After a quick detour. I know we decided the kids wouldn’t return to Drusilla’s place, but I want to check anyway. After all, it’s the one place they know, and maybe they have a friendly neighbor or hiding place around there.”

  “Fuck. It’s possible.” She could almost hear him scowl. “But I don’t want you there. Not in Drew Park, not anywhere near Drusilla’s. Stop and wait for me.”

  Anxiety danced through her. What if the children had gone there? Their neighborhood was a really scary one, especially for two little boys. “I can’t wait; I just can’t. But I’ll only swing by the house—and I’ll call the cops if anything seems scary.”

  He let out an exasperated huff. “You’re fucking stubborn.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m afraid so.”

  “I love you, Beth. I’m on my way, so be careful for my sake, okay?”

  “I will. And I love you, too.”

  * * * * *

  As Jermaine pawed through their backpacks, Grant wanted to cry. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe.

  He and Connor had tried to run past Jermaine out the door, but the douche had shoved Connor across the room. Then he’d ripped Grant’s backpack away and slapped Grant to the floor.

  As Grant pushed to his feet, his hip and shoulder burned like fire. A few feet away, Connor wiped his eyes and watched.

  “Well, look at this!” Jermaine held up the bag filled with dollars. “Score.”

  Mama’s money. So they could live with Beth and Nolan. Hands in fists, Grant took a step toward Jermaine. “You leave our money alone. It’s ours!”