Page 9 of Deny Me
More creaking, then, “Please go away.”
The words barely reached his ears through the barrier of the door. A female voice. Becky?
Was she alone?
He glanced at Saint. Caution darkened his teammate’s face.
“Jones, open the door!”
“Please, just leave!” The female again, stronger this time. Strong enough that he could hear the tears in her voice. “Leave me alone!”
Me, notus. “Becky?”
A sob filtered through the door. The child was terrified. Was Jones inside, threatening her?
That wasn’t the vibe King was getting, and sometimes you had to go with your instincts.
With a jerk of his head to Saint, he grasped the knob of the screen and pulled it open. “Becky,” he called. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Please!” Gasping cries got louder when he twisted the knob on the front door.
“Becky.” The lock was flimsy—he didn’t even try to break it, simply jiggled the knob and it opened. He pushed the door in a few inches until the chain lock near the top reached its full length. “Becky, my name is King. It’s okay. Charlotte sent me. I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.”
The girl was still crying. He waited on the top step, staring into the darkness beyond the door, praying she was staring back. Letting her get as good a look at him as she needed to feel safe. Words left his lips, reassurances peppered liberally with Charlotte’s name, hoping to soothe Becky. He hadn’t spoken his ex-fiancée’s name in years, and in less than a day, he’d said it too many times to count—and every one felt like a mark on his soul, but he kept saying it. Kept reassuring her.
And was rewarded when the creaking of footsteps finally approached the door. He let go of the knob and eased back, his hands out. Saint waited, hand on his weapon, at the bottom of the steps.
A tear-splotched face appeared in the crack. “I thought he called you.”
“What, sweetheart?”
Wes had said she was sixteen, but King doubted it. Medium build, blondish-brown hair, solemn eyes staring up at him. So young. King forced himself to stay on alert despite the sympathy tugging at him as shudders shook her hard.
“I thought you were the men he called.”
“Do you mean Richard?” He shook his head. “I don’t know who he called. Charlotte asked us to come check on you.”
Technically she’d asked the cops, but King didn’t think Becky cared about technicalities right now. Her face scrunched as the tears began again. “He left me. He left me here for the men to come and get me. To take my baby.”
Saint grunted, echoing the shock drop-kicking King at the girl’s words. Her hysterical words, and he couldn’t blame her. A young girl like this, left alone, believing men were coming to steal her child. No help, no way to keep herself and her baby safe. Hysteria was the calmest response he could think of.
“Who told you someone was coming to take your baby, sweetheart?”
“Richard.” A sob hiccupped in her throat. “He made me back out of the adoption. Said he’d be getting a lot of money for my baby.”
Holy shit. If Richard had been telling the truth, her fear was completely justified.
He shot Saint a grim look. His friend jerked his chin toward the door. Knowing Saint would watch his back, he got down on his haunches. “Becky, can you let me in?”
She hesitated.
“I know you don’t have a reason to trust me, but Charlotte really did send us.” He pulled out his phone. “She couldn’t come herself because she was in a car accident.”
The girl’s eyes went wide. Before he could offer to call Wes, the door closed, and he heard the sound of the chain being dragged. Becky opened the door a few more inches this time to stare at him intently. “Is Charlotte okay?”
“She’s okay.”As far as we know.He offered his cell to her. “I don’t know if she can answer the phone, but I can call Wes. You know Mr. Moncrief, right? Do you want to speak to him?”
She glanced at the phone, at him, at Saint. Finally a deep sigh left her. She shifted the door open more. “Come in.”
