Page 18 of Marked

He kept his hands on her arms as she sucked in slow, laborious breaths. Every time she exhaled her body coiled. Then she covered her face with one hand and began sobbing.

Jesus Christ.

He wasn’t a father, never would be, but even he could imagine the hell she was going through. From what he’d witnessed last night, he could tell the woman was fiercely protective of her kid. And her love and fear for her had been evident in her eyes.

Fear of him.

He moved his thumbs gently over her chilled skin. It was almost 9:00 p.m. She’d probably been out looking for her daughter for hours. And she likely hadn’t eaten a thing.

“I’m going to help you up, all right?” He kept his voice even to prevent her from aiming the gun at his head again.

She gulped then nodded. Moving his hands to her sides, he bore her weight as she stood on shaky legs.

Not releasing his hold on her, in case she teetered over, he led her to the sofa. Her frame was so slight. His hands closed easily over her ribcage, and if it was possible for her to have lost ten pounds since he struggled with her in the alley two nights ago, she had.

She perched on the edge of the cushion, ready to bolt—or shoot him—at any second. She kept her knees pressed together in her slim-fitting slacks. Her white tank shirt showed off her smooth, sleek tanned arms. Her sloppy ponytail barely held the dark strands of her hair away from her face, and black makeup was smeared around her eyes. Rough, but damn, still gorgeous as hell.

He reached toward the chair he’d shed his sweatshirt on earlier that day.

“Sorry, I’m not the throw-blanket type, but you can cover up with this if you’re cold.” He placed the material on her lap.

She didn’t shove it off, nor did she embrace it.

“I’m going to put on some coffee.” He tilted his head until she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Don’t shoot, okay?”

His mild attempt at humor, something he wasn’t fluent in on a good day, was lost on her.

He raised his hands and backed toward the kitchen. She didn’t take her gaze off him but also didn’t aim at him. He shook coffee grounds into the pot, added water, and clicked on the machine. Then he retraced his steps back into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of her.

Her pink tongue swept over her bottom lip. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he guessed she wanted the hell out of here.

“Your daughter.” He cleared his throat. “She’s missing?”

Detective Aldridge’s full bottom lip parted from the top one, and she squeezed her eyes together. More tears leaked out. Fuck. He didn’t even have a tissue. Scrubbing his hand over his beard, he waited out her internal battle.

“Yes,” she choked. “S-She was at the park with her babysitter and... someone took her. Just like that.” She lowered her gaze to the gun in her lap. “We searched the grounds for hours. The longer it takes to—”

Her voice broke and she shook her head.

She didn’t need to finish. The longer a child was missing, the less likely they’d be found alive. He didn’t need to be a cop to know that.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You said you know me, Detective, and I believe you. But I know a lot about you too.” His words came out flat, unthreatening.

She swished her lips to the side and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I know you helped take down Lionsgate Kinship. My brother Nash, and his fiancée, Lexi, uncovered a child-trafficking ring. You were part of that bust.”

Her large eyes widened, and he saw focus in them for the first time since she’d stormed inside. “You think it could be someone inside Lionsgate?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Hell if I know. But there’s a lot of snakes in that organization who haven’t been caught. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to interfere with the investigation.” A beat passed. “Is it ongoing?”

Mistrust flashed in her eyes. “I can’t discuss that with you.”

He lifted a hand. “Something for you to think about.”

She swallowed. The coffee maker beeped, and he got to his feet. He didn’t bother to ask how she wanted her brew. She probably wouldn’t even taste it.

He dropped in a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk anyway then carried the mugs to the living room. Taking a seat on the coffee table again, he handed her the sweetened coffee. He took his black.

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