Page 5 of Deny Me
King straightened, grimacing as tension pulled at his fatigued muscles. “What did I do?”
“Nothing. You have a visitor.” His boss settled in the chair at the head of the table and opened the laptop he’d been carrying. “There’s nothing urgent that we can’t handle, so head on over and see what he wants. He’s waiting for you at Lori’s desk.”
Who the hell was visiting him on a Monday at seven thirty in the morning?
Instead of wasting time asking questions, he nodded at his teammates, flipped Saint a bird while Dain was distracted by his computer, then took himself and his coffee out the door.
JCL Securities had made a name for itself from the day the business opened. Conlan James and Jack Quinn, the owners, were already well-known in the local security community before they’d gone into business together. Now, just eight years later, they were the premier security company in the US. King had joined them, and Dain’s team, after several years with the Atlanta PD, and he hadn’t looked back. The hands-on approach to keeping people safe, to saving lives, was all he’d hoped for when he’d left home a decade ago.
Service was in his heart, even if it wasn’t in his blood. It was his passion. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling for a woman what he felt for his work.
At least, not anymore.
“Morning, Miss Lori.” He wasn’t sure why he called Lori Jordan, the front receptionist,miss. It just seemed to fit, had since the day he’d met her. She’d been with the company from day one and ruled the office with an iron fist gloved in Southern sweetness that could charm the gruffest, snootiest clients. “A Mohawked bird told me someone was here to see me?”
“More like a falcon.” Lori grinned. “A big one. That man has predator written all over him.”
It was the best description of Dain he’d ever heard. “No argument here.”
“You do have a visitor.” Lori nodded toward the corner where a small fountain trickled quietly. “A Mr. Wes Moncrief. I’m assuming you’re related?”
All his focus zeroed in on the tall man in a ten-thousand-dollar suit sitting in a plush armchair. His body was tense, his elbows on his knees, the fingers laced together in front of his face white where he squeezed them.
Wes. His first cousin. The cousin he hadn’t seen in a decade.
The reason for that gap pounded at his brain, threatening his control. King tightened the straps on the memories as he strode across the room.
“Is it Mom and Dad?” he asked carefully. Wes’s body language screamed disaster, and there was only one reason his first cousin would be here, now, in his office, looking like that.
Wes’s blond head popped up, his gaze, a few shades darker than King’s own light blue, grabbing on to his like a lifeline. “What?”
King pulled Wes to his feet, absently noting that his cousin had filled out in the years they’d been apart. He’d grown into a man from the high-school-aged kid he’d been back then, despite already being in law school. Wes was the genius in the family. Based on the suit, he’d say his cousin already had his practice established—and King had missed it. Grief crept along the edges of his mind.
“Mom and Dad. Did something happen to them?”
“No.” Wes shook his head, the vee between his brows deepening. “No, I’m here about Charlotte.”
All the breath left King’s lungs at the sound of her name. The straps keeping his past in check broke with a sharp snap, a million memories, sensations, emotions hitting him at once. Things he’d tried hard to forget. Things he’d never been able to completely erase. “Is she all right?”
God, please let her be all right.
“She’s—” Wes shoved a hand through his already mussed hair. “She’s all right. For now.” Glancing around the room, he lowered his voice. “Can we talk in private?”
“Of course. This way.”
King’s response sounded so calm, like he didn’t want to shake his cousin until the answers to all his questions were forced through his rattling teeth. But no, he was King Moncrief. He was logical, in control. Cold, some people said.
He felt anything but cold right now.
The drumbeat of their steps echoed threateningly as they walked down the hall. They passed the conference room where his team was meeting, and he caught Saint’s gaze following them. Farther down the hall, he opened the door to a smallish room with a window, the desk in the middle taking up most of the space. “Have a seat.”
Wes took the armchair in front of the desk, while King settled behind it. He’d left for Ireland in a rush last week, and the evidence of his hurry lay in the chaos on his normally neat desk. He ignored it, zeroing in on Wes. “Tell me.”
Worry clouded his cousin’s eyes. “Someone tried to kill Charlotte.”
If Wes had punched him in the gut, he couldn’t have been more surprised, but he kept the reaction locked behind a facade of calm along with everything else roiling inside him. “Why do you think that?”
“Because it’s what she told me.” He rubbed his eyes.
