Page 4 of Deny Me
“There you are. You were in a little accident, okay? We’re about to have you out of here.”
“Accident?” Glancing around, she realized she was sitting in her car. That’s why he was so close—the man was leaning in the open door, between her and the steering wheel, which, given how short she was, wasn’t much room. “Why—”
A glance down and his uniform shirt registered in her pounding brain. A caduceus on the pocket. An EMT? Paramedic? She didn’t know the difference and didn’t care right now. She wanted out.
“As soon as we can, Charlotte,” the man said. Only then did she realize she’d spoken aloud. “You can’t take that big a hit and just keep going, now. None of us are the Energizer bunny, right?” He chuckled, and some of her panic eased. He wouldn’t be laughing if she was going to die, would he? “Gotta let us check you out.”
Check out what? She fumbled for her seat belt latch, the need to get out starting to rival the pounding in her head. A sharp pain shot through her hand. The man’s face wavered in front of her.
How badly was she hurt? He’d said she took a hit. What kind of hit?
A curve. A truck. A bomb going off in her head.
The memories took seconds to replay in her mind, but her body thought it was real. Shock jolted through her. She moaned as the movement sent a wave of agony from her head to her toes.
“Truck,” she croaked. The word made no more impact than a droplet of water in the close confines of the car. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“Yeah, we know,” the man said, and she wondered how. “Here comes the basket. We’ll strap you in to get you out of here. Nothing to worry about, right? Just trust me.”
Just trust me.
She’d wanted to tell someone else that. Who?
Becky.
The man eased away, and panic set up a rough rhythm inside her, making it hard to breathe. Grabbing his arm sent a stab of pain through her, but she refused to let go. “Becky. She needs…help,” she told him, frantic to make him understand. Because she’d seen the truck that hit her. Recognized it. It had been parked outside Becky’s trailer when Charlotte got there. “Send someone, please.”
Kind eyes stared down at her, wavering again as her vision chose that moment to dim. “I hear ya, Charlotte. Close your eyes now.”
“No.” She shook her head, and blackness rose at the edge of her vision.No, damn it. No!“Becky…”
Chapter Three
A huge yawn crept over King Moncrief before he could hold it back. The sound of his jaw popping was loud in his ears.
“Look at that yawn,” Saint, his best friend, crowed. “Only one thing makes you that tired, right, buddy?”
And with best friends like that…Saint knew him far too well to think he’d been out partying, but that didn’t stop the prick from giving him a hard time.
“Jet lag?” Elliot asked, tossing the files she carried onto the conference table. Since King had returned from an off-the-record assignment in Ireland just yesterday, it was a reasonable—and much more likely—guess.
“No,” Saint growled.
Elliot’s chuckle was rich with amused condescension. King’s laugh was more subdued. Jet lag was definitely kicking his ass this morning.
Work had provided all the excitement they needed lately. Dain, their team lead, had almost lost his wife to a workplace hostage situation; Elliot’s slaver father had tracked her down and almost killed her; and just last week, a close friend of their team, Fionn McCullough, had needed help in Ireland to protect his mother from the head of an Irish cartel.
Hopefully things would slow down now. They could do their jobs for JCL Securities, relax on their off days, and get back to some sense of normal. At least until Dain and Olivia’s baby was born, but that was closer to Christmas, nearly two months away.
The door to the conference room opened, and Dain walked in. “Morning.” He strode to the head of the table, a cup of coffee in his hand, his thick black Mohawk spiking the air like he’d jammed his fingers through it on the way here. “We’ve got some cleanup on a couple of cases that we need to get to work on—”
Groans circled the table.Cleanupwas code for paperwork, and no one wanted to do paperwork.
Dain flashed a sadistic grin. “Stop whining, babies.”
Saint fake cried. Elliot knocked him upside the back of the head.
“King, you’re excused.”
