Hank waited for his eyes to adjust, ignoring Jeff's how-the-hell-does-he-know-that expression.
"She's here." Pete stood over the couch, staring at a passed-out woman who hadn't budged at the noise.
"Is she-" Jeff swallowed.
"She's breathin'." Pete nudged her shoulder, turning her so they could see her face. “Ma’am?”
"Jesus." Hank recoiled at the beaten face. Her left eye swollen shut. Dried blood trickled from her split lip. An ugly, purple bruise raised on her cheekbone. Was this what Annie had looked like? His hand fisting, he released a ragged breath.
Lowering his large frame to the floor, Pete kneeled next to her. He lifted the lid on her good eye. "She's high. Pills or heroin." His voice clinical, he checked her arms. "There's too many bruises to tell." Rising to his feet, his gaze swept the room. "Somebody call for an ambulance. I'm gonna look around. If Phil lives here, he's likely holding her stash, too."
"How do you know all this?" Jeff pulled out his phone to call for an ambulance.
"Because abusers like to control their victims." Hank's voice was hoarse with fury.
"And addicts don't like to share." Pete's voice drifted from the hallway as he entered a bedroom. A minute later, he surfaced. "Got a crumpled paystub from the insurance company where he's workin'."
Two minutes later, Pete reappeared in the living room. "It's opioids," he confirmed. "I found a couple stashes of pills in the bathroom."
"Where do you look?" Traynor's expression was curious.
"Tampon box. Toilet tank-" He raised a sealed baggie to eye level. "Found these floating in the tank." His gaze scanned the room. "Sometimes inside the toilet paper roll." He shook his head. "Hell—anywhere. Behind a light switch. That vent's a good spot." He pointed to the dusty corner.
"So, she hides them from Phil, too?"
"My guess is he's started using, too. That means he's probably stealing her pills." He glanced at Hank and frowned. "Dude—you okay?"
Hank stood there, feet planted. Unable to move. He could hear Traynor . . . asking questions. Knew he'd called the police. Could hear the soft wail of sirens in the background, growing louder as they closed in. But, his brain had . . . shut down. Detached somehow. Derailed to a dangerous place. One where he envisioned Phil's fist . . . striking Tommy. Where he could hear the terror of a four-year-old shrieking. The horrible sound of a fist striking a toddler. A baby. Jase had only been two. How long would they remember what he’d done?
"Annie." His muttered voice hoarse with pain. The image of her, courageously protecting her boys . . . absorbing the blows Phil inflicted. Her soft, beautiful body—a punching bag for a psychopath. His chest tightened with anguish. With a vortex of fury. His eyes remembered the security camera image of Phil in the dining hall. His brain swirled with a single need. Revenge. Destruction. A single question taunted him, tormenting his mind. How would he not kill the bastard?
Pete stared at his clenched fists. Shot a look at Traynor. "Gimme the keys, Hank. I'll drive us back."
PHIL HAD FINALLY FOUND a parking space. Wasting most of his lunch hour, he'd cased New Beginnings for forty minutes—from three different angles. Long enough to confirm the giant he'd run into the previous week—wasn't on the door today. Long enough for his Vike to kick in. His fourth today. "You need to slow down." Betsy had started bitching—how fast the bottle disappeared—But, that was only when she was awake.
He'd skip the couple he'd planned for later. Phil nodded at his reflection in the rearview mirror. So—he'd taken them early. "To take the edge off." Shake off the nerves. Dealing with Annie always stressed him out.
If he'd just taken her out Saturday morning . . . in the middle of friggin' nowhere. But, her boyfriend’s truck had been sorta big. Sideswiping her coulda got him killed. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Then stared at it. Was it the same shirt he’d worn yesterday? Or was that last week? He sniffed the armpit. Would anyone at work notice?
He shook his head. Thinking too much distracted him. Patted the knife in his coat pocket. Still there. Touched the single pill remaining in his pocket. Could he really wait until tonight for it?
He exited the old Taurus, the engine still knocking. Once Annie was gone- He'd take her car. If he could find it . . . "Bitch hid it somewhere." He straightened his shirt, his senses prickling. The construction noise. Dust. Workers milling around. He was . . . hyper aware. His senses heightened by the beautiful pill in his pocket. Everything breathtakingly clear.
A block away from the building, he staggered to a stop. A truck. The truck . . . rounding the corner. Cursing, he did an about-face back to the car. His heart pounding; sweating like a pig, he watched it—watched three guys jump out. His breath huffing out. Hot. He was so hot. The giant—and the guy from the park. And . . . some other jerk. He turned the engine over, his brain screaming with laughter. Shouldn't have waited. Gotta come back. Shouldn't have waited.
"IS EVERYTHING OKAY, Henry?" He was quiet. Too quiet. Annie had gotten used to his stories. His smile. The easygoing demeanor that seemed to unwind the knot between her shoulders. "Aren't you hungry? You missed lunch today."
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I had to run out . . . for a meeting." He glanced down at his dinner plate, seeming to see it for the first time. Lifted his fork. Took a bite.
"Can I have your green beans?"
Hank seemed to flicker to life over Jason's innocent question. "Good job, bud. You're going to get big and strong eating those." He scooped several forkfuls onto Jason's plate.
Grateful to see a flash of his smile, Annie tried to set her mind at ease. Since they'd left the farm the previous day, Henry seemed—different. Quiet. Almost . . . sad.
"Next time at the farm . . . I'm gonna run down the hill so fast." His thick, tangled lashes brushed his cheeks. "I'll be faster than Bo."
"Me, too." Not to be outdone, Tommy leaned over to swipe the few remaining green beans from Hank's plate.
"When can we go back, Mr. Hank?"
Henry stilled beside her. "Hopefully . . . really soon."
Heart pounding, she squeezed his hand. Please don't change your mind, she prayed. Was she being shortsighted? Was it wrong to put him off? When they wanted to be together? When the boys could finally be happy?
"No worries, love." Henry's gravelly voice tickled her ear, as though he sensed her turmoil. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. Exhaling a relieved sigh, she sagged back in her chair. "You boys ready to help build the window seat tonight? We need to finish it so you can paint it and the ladies can make some cushions."
"Miss Robin's already started them. There's a sewing group on the third floor." Annie forced aside her concerns. He was probably just stressed. From what Sharon had said, the construction was ramping up, big time. And Mari had mentioned a few extra projects they were hoping Specialty would take on. She worried her bottom lip. Henry had so much on his plate. He'd taken on the daycare center—by himself. Using his nights. And weekends. The only day he'd taken off, he'd spent with them at the farm. As much as she loved him for giving back to the shelter that had been so good to her, Annie worried about him getting sick. He was working fourteen hours a day.
"Maybe you can hang the shelves the kids painted?" His low voice distracted her from her thoughts. "We still need an extra coat of coral on the wall, too. If we finish it tonight, that whole end of the room will be done."
His fingers entwined with hers, they rested on her thigh. She loved how he seemed to like touching her. As though he needed it. Like she now needed it. "As long as you can handle Tommy and Jase helping you—I can take care of those tonight."
"I accept your challenge." Eyes glinting, he smiled. "And I'll raise you one. If we can finish by eight, I've lined up one of the kitchen workers to watch the boys on his break. We could have ten minutes to ourselves."
"Not nearly long enough, but I'll take it." She smiled back, drinking in the promise in his eyes. "I'll make sure I get all the coral paint off my hands . . . because Lord
knows where it could end up—on you."
His smothered laugh sent relief coursing through her. He'd returned. From the pensive, quiet place he'd retreated. The Henry she knew was back.
"ARE YOU SURE THERE's nothing wrong? Where will you be?"
Annie's arms around his neck, her lush body pressed to his, Hank willed away his desire to take her against the wall. Instead, he brushed his mouth along her collarbone, loving when she shuddered against him. "It's two days, love. I have . . . appointments," he lied. "I try to store them all up . . . so it doesn't impact the project."
"Are you feeling okay?" She pressed her palm to his forehead."
"Sweet, I'm fine."
"Then . . . like the dentist?" She pulled back several inches to study him. "Henry . . . are you sure you're not-" Her gaze dropped. "Having second thoughts about us?"
"How can you think that?" His body hard with wanting her, Hank eased her back against the wall, under the brightly colored shelves she'd hung an hour earlier. Their only hope at privacy . . . out of sight of the daycare center door. "Annie—it doesn't work that way. At least not for me." He nudged her chin up. "I love you." He kissed her hard, savoring the softness of her lips, the sweet sigh as she opened for him. "That's . . . forever. No matter how long you decide to wait. Even if you . . . decided you didn't want me-"
"That will never happen, Henry."
Her voice threaded with worry, he raised her hand to his lips. "I hope not, love. But . . . what I'm trying to say is . . . I want you to take as long as you need. I love you too much to rush you." He raised a hand to encompass their location. "However long all this takes to settle—I'll be waiting. As soon as you're ready, I want you and the boys. Living with me," he emphasized, the words nearly choking him. His house had been depressingly quiet after he'd dropped them off the previous night. He'd spent several minutes, just wandering the halls. Down to the boys bedroom, where indentations of their little bodies still remained on the haphazardly made bed. To his bedroom . . . empty now. Her presence there—but, not. Her toothbrush in the holder. Her scent on his pillow.
Please be soon. He bit back the plea. She'd been pushed and shoved for too long. He couldn't do it to her, too.
"They want it so much," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I want it, too. I just . . . can't shake the need to be more established." A notch of worry appeared between her brows. "To at least have a job-"
He pressed his lips there. "I know, love. We'll get there."
Honey brown eyes flooded with relief. "So, you're really . . . it's just—things you need to take care of?"
He nodded. "But, while I'm gone, I don't want you to leave the building."
"I won't go anywhere," she promised. She'd been frightened when he told her Phil had actually tried several times. But, she needed to know the risk if she took a chance. "But, the boys . . . need to go to school."
Hank closed his eyes. The bastard wouldn't touch them at school—he hoped. Annie was his target. But, if he did . . . You'll know about it. Hank ignored the guilt knotting his shoulders.
"You'll be back on Thursday?" Her teeth worried her bottom lip.
He ran his thumb across the soft, sensitive, pink flesh, absorbing her shiver when he lowered his mouth to hers. He hated lying to Annie. But, she had enough stress for three women. His mind drifted back to Betsy. Bleeding. Broken. I'm coming for you, Phil. It was time to do a little hunting. "I promise."
"DUDE, WHERE THE HELL are you?"
Two days later, Hank intercepted the call from Pete, knowing if he ignored it, the giant would just keep calling. Pete had to be wondering. "I'm still . . . running errands. Appointments," he corrected.
"Shit—you've gone after him." The marine’s sigh was aggravated. "I should’ve guessed it yesterday. Damn it, Hank. You shoulda took me with you."
"I'm not-"
"You are." Shea's voice was forceful on the other end of the phone. "Well, you should at least know the latest."
"What's that?" Hank scanned the parking lot, searching for the blue Taurus. He'd waited two damned hours at the seedy apartment building that morning. But—no Phil. The previous day, Annie’s ex had proven shockingly predictable. Rising at 0700, Phil left the grungy apartment at 0730 to drag himself into work; took lunch at precisely noon. At 4:30, he'd climbed into his 2005 Taurus and drove to New Beginnings, where he'd spent two hours spying on the building—but never making a move. To end the night, McKenna stopped at a dive bar about a mile from the should-be-condemned apartment. The Banjo Lounge—where he'd sat at the bar, proceeding to get wasted until nearly 2300 hours.
"He ain't at work, Hank."
Startled from his surveillance, he stared at his phone. "How the hell-"
"Phil got picked up last night. The cops roughed him up a little . . . cuz of the Betsy thing. And the New Beginnings attack."
"How'd they know to pick him up?"
Pete laughed. "I put a bug in someone's ear. Drunk driving . . . and he tested positive for opioids, too. That allowed them to keep him in a holding cell overnight. He's gotta be feelin' pretty rough about now."
"Has he been released yet?" Hell—after a night like that, the bastard would probably head home to sleep it off. Or at least get a shower.
Pete sounded distracted as he yelled at one of the steel erectors to move his damn truck. He came back on the line. "I can find out."
"What about the car?"
"They were gonna impound it, but lucky for you—it's still sitting in the police department lot. The tow driver was too busy to get to it last night."
Hank started his truck. "Which precinct-"
Shea chuckled, giving him the address. "Maybe I'll see you later."
Distracted, he plugged the address into his GPS. Shea had known all along what he'd been planning. What the hell kind of connections did the former marine have?
TWO HOURS LATER, THE giant was back in his ear again. "Pete—you're not listening." Hank cut him off. "I'll take care of Phil. If anyone gets in trouble over this, it needs to be me." Perched in his truck, down the street from the police station, he glanced around before lifting his binoculars to his eyes.
"You need my help," his friend insisted. "You won't even know I'm there."
Yeah, right. Could a six-foot six mountain do anything under the radar? All he'd help with was getting them both caught. Besides, Hank didn't want him getting into any legal trouble. Or risking his military disability benefits. Pete had already seen his share of ugliness. He didn't need to go looking for more. "I'm fine."
"If I was with you—this wouldn't be taking so long."
He smothered his laughter. "Thanks for your vote of confidence." Disconnecting on his unlikely ally, he estimated the time it would take Phil to make bail.
If Hank were a betting man, he'd assume Phil's detour to the city jail last night would be enough of a schedule breaker that he would likely skip his afternoon trek to New Beginnings. That—and the fresh restraining order the shelter had taken out against him. Right about now, McKenna was probably experiencing a powerful thirst. Strung out from the arrest and gettin' manhandled by the cops, Phil's likely next stop would be The Banjo. Or going home to get high. Either way, Hank planned to be there to greet him.
"SUGAR, Y'ALL OKAY?"
Annie jumped at the hand on her arm, Sharon's worried frown disrupting the conversation in her head. Behind her, Marisol waited, clipboard in one hand, coffee in the other. Distracted, she rolled her cart to the next table, clearing the aisle so they could get past.
Mari plopped down at the table. "Want coffee? I'll run and get you a cup."
"No, thanks." Heartbeat accelerating, she caught the look that passed between them. "Is something wrong? Did Phil-"
"Easy, Sugar. Nothin's going on." Sharon studied her. "I've been watching you set this same table for ten minutes now. We were concerned something was bothering you."
Relief flooding her, Annie sagged back against the chair. "Before he left, Hank told me how many times Phil’s
attempted to get in here."
Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Don't worry. We got a restraining order and Pete's on high alert. He's been training the night guys . . . some sort of secret commando tactics-"
"I'm just preoccupied," she admitted. "With Hank gone-" She'd barely heard from him. A quick call the previous night, his gruff voice making her smile. She missed him. The boys down for bed, she'd tiptoed into the hall—just to hear about his day. To whisper she loved him. Loved him. Such a foreign feeling—after years of feeling completely alone. But now, she never wanted it to end.
"Does anyone know where Hank is?" Sharon frowned at the notes in her hand. "Stud Muffin said he just needed a break."
"He said he had several appointments lined up." She'd even cornered Pete when he'd come through the lunch line. Grilling him with questions before handing him a plate of meatloaf. Though he'd refused to budge, a flicker of something had crossed his face.
"Well, that's a relief. For a minute, I thought he might 'a gotten it in his head to go after Phil-" Sharon seemed to freeze, as though she'd forgotten who she was speaking to.
"What?" Annie stilled. Was that where he was? Was that . . . what she'd read on Pete's secretive face? "No—he wouldn't . . ." Not without discussing it.
Marisol frowned. "Stop scaring her." She turned to Annie. "He's been working six days a week for nearly three months," she reminded. "The poor man is probably exhausted. I'm sure he has stuff to do."
"I never thought . . ." Heart pounding, she prayed her friend was right. Henry didn't know what Phil was like.
"Forget I said that." Subdued, Sharon leaned across the table. "Everything going okay with you two?"
Annie remembered why it was dangerous to get into extended conversations with New Beginnings' director. "Everything is . . . wonderful."
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