“What does she like to eat?”
“Corndogs and mustard.”
“Done.”
Laura stood in stunned silence. “Really?”
No crusty breadcrumbs and stale cheese like in the movies?
The right side of King’s mouth tilted up slightly in the closest thing she’d seen him come to smile since being around him. Although really it just made him not frown. “Absolutely. Why don’t you follow me down to the kitchen?”
“We can leave the room?” she said dumbly.
“Yeah, I’m sorry they locked you in. I think they were just being safe while I was out.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black warm-ups, tiny new muscles rippled across his shoulders and Laura just stared at the frustrating man’s perfection. Why did she always have to be attracted to the bad ones?
“You mean when you fainted downstairs,” she said.
The ghost of a smile disappeared, and King was back to being serious. “Passed out. I didn’t faint.”
The image of King fainting downstairs filled her mind but she kept her mouth shut. For whatever reason, he seemed to be in a better mood and she wanted to keep the scales in her favor. “Corndogs?”
King strode to the door and pulled it open. “Bring the girl.”
She half expected him to disappear through the door, instead he waited, giving her enough time to gain Faith’s attention and maneuver her off the bed. Once on the floor Laura smoothed Faith’s tangled mess of hair back from her face and signed, “Ready for some corndogs?”
“Yes!” Faith quickly signed back.
Careful to keep her back to King and block their interaction from his view, Laura said, “Stay close to me, okay?”
She waited on Faith’s nod of agreement before taking her hand and leading her over to King. When they were about a foot away he exited the room and led the way down a long, wide hallway. The same paintings and pictures they’d passed on the way up here stood sentry along the walls, only this time Laura wasn’t so distracted that she couldn’t notice the fine quality of the artwork. Everything about this place screamed compound. “Why do you live here? This doesn’t look like any military base.”
And she’d seen plenty of them when she went to visit her brother during his various trainings and graduations.
“It was the best place that suited our needs at the time.” He kept walking without looking back.
“How did you afford it?” Anyone with any slight military ties knew soldiers didn’t exactly earn a great living.
That is, if he was even a soldier. He could work for some private dark firm for hire. Like a mercenary. It would definitely explain how they could afford a place like this.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he answered without answering.
“The hazard of my profession,” she countered just as coolly.
“And what is that?” They’d reached the top of the stairs and he paused.
“Social worker.” If he was going to communicate in one sentence responses so would she. Besides, she was the one that should be asking questions, not him.
Faith yanked her hand and gestured down the stairs, rubbing her belly.
“Come on, we’re almost there.” King descended the stairs, and Laura followed silently behind him. She had plenty of questions all right, but they could wait until she had Faith tucked in bed.
King led the way into a massive kitchen with two full-size ovens and refrigerators, both with double doors. Beautiful dark wood cabinets topped with black veined granite stretched out before her. There was no way a place like this had frozen corndogs. She half expected professional chefs to come walking through those doors in a second. Instead King had crossed to the closest refrigerator, opened the door, and pulled out a bag of frozen mini corndogs.
He caught her surprised stare. He shrugged. “We don’t do a lot of cooking around here.”
Well, that answered her question about the personal chef.
“How many can she eat?” King pulled out a paper plate and a bottle of mustard, ripped open the bag and stood waiting for answer.
“Two or three.”
He dumped out about twelve, shoved them into the microwave and hit start. After tying a knot in the top of the bag and tossing it in the freezer, he waited on the food to finish cooking, extracted the plate and came to stand across the massive island counter. Three feet of slab separating them wasn’t nearly enough.
Steam rose from the mini corndogs, which completely covered the paper plate. “Um, she’s not going to eat all those.”
“I’ll finish them.” King went back to the refrigerator and opened the doors. “What do you want her to drink? Coke? Dr. Pepper? Root beer?”
“Only if you want to send her into a sugar high. How about some milk?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot kids can’t do sugar right before—” King stopped talking abruptly. He yanked out a full carton of unopened milk, grabbed a cup from the cabinet beside him and resumed his position across from them. “Milk,” he said gruffly.
When Laura made to reach for the full jug, he pulled back and opened the lid, carefully pouring the cup to about one fourth full.
She took the cup and placed it in front of Faith, a good distance from the edge of the counter. “Thanks.”
Instead of saying you’re welcome, he frowned and stalked off, only to return with two more paper plates. And then King picked up one of the many corndogs and broke it in half, testing its heat with his massive fingers. “They’re still hot, but I think she’s safe to eat them.”
He broke another one in half, placing two total mini corndogs on the plate, and slid them over to the girl. His movements were almost robotic like he was suddenly unsure of himself. Laura squeezed the mustard onto the plate he’d placed in front of Faith. She barely cleared her hands before Faith dove in and inhaled the corndogs and gulped down the milk, splattering mustard and milk on her T-shirt.
“Great, we have no clean clothes.” Lara absentmindedly picked up a miniature corndog, dipped it into the waiting mustard on Faith’s plate, and took a bite. The delicious sweet bread crust filled her senses and awakened her hunger. She grabbed another one, eating almost as fast as Faith had.
“If you’ll tell me what you need, I’ll get it.” King leaned back against the opposite counter, loosely crossing his arms over his chest.
She wanted to scream at him to put on a shirt so she could stop staring. Instead she focused on keeping her mouth full of food so she didn’t say anything stupid.
She managed to eat two more of the mini corndogs before answering. “If you could find something for us to sleep in tonight? And some soap and shampoo so I can wash her hair?”
Laura turned to Faith only to see Kitty propped on the stool in her place. Faith had begun an impromptu practice of cartwheels down the length of the long kitchen. “Faith, not inside!”
Of course Faith kept going because she didn’t hear her. They’d only recently had her cochlear implant processor replaced, and it was now smoldering in whatever ashes were left of her house. So, Laura rushed after her before she could crash into the wall.
“She’s full of energy,” King remarked.
“And you wanted to pump her full of sugar,” Laura replied, catching Faith before she crashed into the wall.
“Lesson learned. Do you think she’s still hungry?” King asked.
Laura gently steered Faith back to her seat. “She’s done. Me too. I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”
She’d practically inhaled three corndogs. Apparently near-death experiences triggered her sugar cravings.
King picked up the plate, and devoured the remaining corndogs. Laura counted eight in total. After that he poured himself a full glass of milk and downed it without spilling a drop. Then he tossed the paper plates in the trash and stashed the remaining half jug of milk into the fridge. “Let’s get you back to your room and I’ll see if Melissa’s got some girl soap.”
Chapter 9
King qu
ickly led them back up the stairs, down the long hallway to the bedroom just beside his. By the time they made it there, Faith’s pace had slowed considerably.
“Bathroom is through that door.” King pointed to the door in the back corner of the room. “If you’ll get a bath started, I’ll get what you need. Be back in just a minute.”
Taking Faith by the hand through the room, Laura cast him a wary “Thanks.”
She was worried about him locking her in the room again. He didn’t want her worried, he wanted her at ease so that she would listen to what he had to say later on tonight. He needed to convince her that her brother was bad and get her help. So, he left the door propped wide open and jogged back down the staircase, finding Melissa in the lab next to the hospital wing. “I need girl stuff.”
She glanced up questioningly. “Care to explain what you mean by girl stuff?”
“Soap. Shampoo. For the little girl,” King said awkwardly.
Melissa glanced at her watch. “Yeah, she should be getting tuckered out about now. Come on, I keep my travel shampoo in there. She went to a closed white door that King never opened, revealing a small twin bed and the shower through another small doorway.
“You sleep in here?”
She quickly entered the bathroom and came back with three tiny bottles clutched in her hands. “Only when I’m working long hours. Here.” She dropped the bottles into a tiny mesh purple-colored bag. “It’s shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. That should do them for tonight.”
King took the small bag between his thumb and finger holding it up between them.
“And I’m guessing they’ll need some clothes to sleep in?” Melissa stated her question as she breezed past King, still holding the travel toiletries bag, and dug through a small closet, extracting a bundle of clothes. “There are some pajamas for Laura and a nightshirt for Faith. It will swallow her whole, but it will work until we can get them something more suitable.”
“Thanks.” King accepted the clothes and left the lab. As he ascended the stairs he ticked off a mental list of supplies he’d need to acquire for the two females. Clothes, toiletries, maybe some toys for the girl. He needed to talk to Laura about that tonight.
He knocked on the open bedroom door loudly to announce his arrival. A squeal sounded from the bathroom. Water splashed. King knocked once more. “I’ve got your soap.”
“Just set them on the floor,” Laura called from the bathroom.
King did as she asked and then wandered over to the window. The sounds of water splashing in the bathroom grew as Laura eked open the door behind him. He purposefully kept his back to her, giving them privacy, but he couldn’t help himself from glancing at her reflection in the darkened window. Even indirectly he could see the shadows forming under her eyes and realized she had to be exhausted.
He was trained for high risk situations and adrenaline pumping missions, she was not.
“I’ll be out in about ten minutes,” she said and then shut the door, disappearing into the bathroom once more.
A minute later Faith squealed again, water splashed and then came a very distinct shriek from Laura. “Faith!”
A peal of child’s laughter followed, tugging at the corners of King’s lips. He could only imagine trying to give the girl a bath in the sunken oversized Jacuzzi tub. She probably thought it was a swimming pool.
He’d had issues the one time he’d attempted giving Hope a bath when Trinity had taken a girl’s trip for an extended weekend. He ended up with more water on himself than her, and a very excited three-year-old streaking buck-naked with soap dripping down her back through the house.
King leaned his head forward, resting it on the cool panes of glass. He’d never realized how precious that memory would be.
The numbness he’d cleaved to for the past few years started to melt a little, allowing the crushing heaviness to fall on his chest. He lifted his hand to rub the spot. He hadn’t let himself think of Hope or Trinity for so long and when he had it’d only been nightmares. A rush of emotions shot up through his legs and wrapped around his ribs, threatening to take him to his knees right there.
By sheer force of will, he crammed the memory into the box in the back of his mind and slammed the lid on it. He wasn’t ready for it, not any of it. He’d rather feel nothing at all than the agony of his past.
The bathroom door glided open and out came Faith, her loaner nightshirt hanging on her like a loose potato sack. Short sleeves hung down to her wrists and the tail of the shirt skimmed the floor. Blonde hair hung long and wet down her back and that ragged stuffed cat was just as limp from her hand. King’s throat knotted. Laura quickly trailed the child from the bathroom, grabbed and carried her to the bed. “Let me tuck her in and then we can talk.”
Not really processing her words King watched entranced as she pulled the covers back in the oversized bed and then began tucking them around Faith.
The walls in the room shrunk around him and his heart dropped into his stomach. He had to get out of there. “I’ll be next door,” he bit out and strode from the room, grabbing the door to shut it but deciding at the last minute to leave it open. He barely made it to his own room right next door before he hunched over and put his hands on his knees, attempting to regain his breath. He managed to stumble to the bathroom, turn on some cold water and splash his face. He stared at his bleak reflection. This wasn’t going to work. He’d have to figure something out, he didn’t want to deal with the painful memories they were provoking.
He’d purposefully distanced himself from the general population, focusing on work and duty interventions.
King heard the water cut on next door. While his hearing wasn’t as intense as the rest of his team, he could tell that Laura was taking a shower. Good. He needed a few more minutes to regain his shaky control.
King focused on his face, and the new eye patch Dawson graced him with. Revenge had helped him survive all these years, it would help him now. Dawson had taken his eye and nearly his life, and the couple in the bedroom next to him was King’s avenue to vengeance. Nothing more, nothing less.
King splashed another handful of water on his face and shut off the water. He grabbed the hand towel from the marble countertop, dried off, and then went into his bedroom and sat on the padded leather bench at the foot of his own king-size bed.
He was going to tell Laura Dawson exactly how it was going to be from here on out and make sure that she understood she and the child would be staying here until her brother was captured. Then they could go on about their merry way and resume their normal lives and King could resume his. No more memories. No more emotions.
Chapter 10
Laura stared at herself in the mirror of the bathroom after her shower, feeling partially recharged and revitalized, tugging on the maroon silk spaghetti strap top to try and get it to loosen up across her chest to no avail. Melissa would have been the only one to loan her clothes and she was obviously a full two cup sizes smaller. Her cleavage, which already ran almost to her neck, strained against the shirt, testing its limits. At least the shorts fit decently, only slightly tight across her bottom. It would work for something to sleep in, and considering how no one besides Faith would see her in it she relaxed. It really had been nice to take a shower and put on clean clothes. Now that she was taking care of the external parts, she could handle the coming conversation with King.
Laura searched for a bathrobe in the expansive cabinets and carved wood armoire against the wall, finding absolutely nothing. A quick search of the bedroom provided just as much help as the bathroom. She couldn’t go anywhere in this skimpy outfit, least of all prancing around in front of King. Her body’s already confusing reaction was enough to make her realize she needed as much armor on as possible when she was around the man.
She cracked the bathroom door, allowing a sliver of light into the darkened bedroom and paced quietly at the foot of the bed, careful not to wake Faith. How much time did she have? Could she stand to wait until tomorrow
to talk to him and find out exactly what he thought her brother had done? No, of course she couldn’t, she had to find a way to make him see reason tonight.
From the silent death knell that had rang throughout the foyer earlier when they mentioned who she was, she knew King wasn’t the only man on his team under the misconception about her brother. She’d bit her tongue for as long as she could, and she knew that if King just told her everything, she’d be able to show him that he was obviously mistaken.
She took a deep breath and adjusted her top, attempting to pull the material at least an inch higher, but as soon as she let go, it slid right back into place.
Frustrated she went back to the bathroom and speared her fingers through her towel-dried hair, attempting to put some semblance of order to the mopping mayhem of loose curls. Finally satisfied that she’d done the best she could, she gave herself a once-over and rolled her eyes. This outfit could qualify for any strip club.
She left the bathroom and went out of the bedroom, telling herself her clothing did not matter. King had probably been with dozens of women. A man that ruggedly handsome would have had his choice to pick from. He probably wouldn’t even notice her clothing, or lack thereof.
Determined she put her hand on his doorknob and chickened out, choosing to go with a light knock and wait for permission to enter. She had no desire to barge in on him changing clothes or something; it was hard enough to keep her eyes off of his chest when he walked around shirtless.
When he told her to enter in that deep gravelly voice of his she straightened her spine and pulled back her shoulders, opening the door. She froze on the spot, chicken that she was and wavered in the doorway.
King lounged back on a thick leather padded bench that ran the length of the foot of his bed, his elbows propped on the mattress behind him and his long shaggy black hair hung long and loose. As she watched, he slowly sat up, the obviously hard big muscles of his chest and arms rippling with the movement. She swallowed as a rush of butterflies tickled her stomach.
Mayhem’s King: Operation Mayhem Page 7