Page 25 of Tortured Tones

Shit. I rushed to the front door, entered my code, and ran into the living room. “Charlotte, sweetie.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice as I knelt and gently eased the markers from her fingers. “These are for coloring. Not eating. Yucky.” Damn. Had she tried every shade in the twelve-pack? Luckily they were safe watercolors, but still. What the hell? Just as I packed the markers away, Charlotte shrieked. Her cry echoed throughout the huge room, and she burst into tears.

“Hey.” I rubbed her arm. “It’s okay. We can color soon. Are you hungry? How about we clean up and get something to eat?”

Charlotte screamed even more. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Snot ran from her nose.

Shit.

Taking her in my arms, I gave her a cuddle and headed to the kitchen to find a cloth or something to clean her face with. “Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s okay.”

I grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box on top of the microwave and wiped her cheeks and mouth. Gently. Softly. Just like I did when Josh was upset. “Where’s Cole or Ma?”

Her little lips trembled as she flopped forward, cried, and tried to wriggle out of my arms.

“Cole?” I called out. No answer. I yelled louder. “Cole?” Where the hell is he?

Seconds later, Hannah came rushing out of the guest room and down the hallway. “Oh, my. What’s happened?” She tied her robe and dashed forward to take Charlotte.

“She was here on the floor, eating the markers. Where’s Cole?”

“I don’t know.” Hannah cuddled and kissed Charlotte’s ink-stained cheek. “I heard him up with Charlotte earlier. I took the opportunity to stay in bed for a little longer but must have dozed off. I woke up when she cried, and you called out.”

“She’s okay.” I rubbed and patted Charlotte’s back. “Just not happy I took her coloring markers away.”

“I’ve got her.” Hannah nodded gratefully. “Thank you. You go find Cole.”

I rushed upstairs and knocked on his bedroom door. There was no answer. I eased the door open. The huge king-sized bed, covered in a tangle of black bed coverings, was vacant. So were the bathroom and closet.

I zoomed around upstairs and checked every room. There was no sign of him. Returning downstairs, I checked the rest of the house. Games room, home theatre, music room...then, the gym.

Found him. By the window, with earbuds in, he sat on the rowing machine, pulling on the cable and sliding back and forth on the seat at pace.

I clenched my teeth and my fists and took a step toward him, but then froze at the distant darkness clouding his eyes. The anguish slammed into my chest. I’d never seen someone look so...lost. So sad.

Well, I was about to give him something else to worry about.

I stormed over to him. “Cole?” No response. Ergh! Damn earbuds. I waved in front of his face, then clipped him on the head. “What the fuck?”

He ripped out his headphones and clutched his chest. “Jesus Christ!” He raked in heavy breaths. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“What are you doing?” I flicked my hand at him. “You left your daughter alone in the living room. What were you thinking?”

He groaned and rose to his feet. After swiping his workout towel off the floor, he wiped his damp hair, brow, neck, and arms. Jolted from my concerns for his daughter, I sucked in a sharp breath. I scanned the sweaty red shirt that clung to his chest and outlined his corrugated abs, toned arm muscles that were carved with perfect definition, and sculpted legs that were long and tanned. If I wasn’t so mad, I’d take more time to appreciate the view. There was no denying he was the best-looking client I’d ever had.

He jammed his hands on hips. “She’s not alone. I’m here. So is Hannah.”

“Hannah was asleep. Charlotte’s three. She can’t be left unattended.”

“She has toys. She was coloring. She’s fine.”

I took a step toward him, lifting my chin. “Are you fucking stupid? I found her eating markers. She was covered in ink.”

“Shit.” He hooked his towel around his neck and took a step toward the door. “Is she okay?”

“Yes.” I caught his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “She is now. Hannah’s with her. But in the future, you can’t leave a three-year-old alone. Not ever.”

“What would you know?” He pulled free of my hold, snatched his water bottle off the weights bench, and downed a few mouthfuls.

I drew my shoulders back. He didn’t need to know anything about me, but I was a mother. My anxious regard was for his daughter. “I have a child.”

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