Page 7 of Deny Me
Not that he should go; this guy had tried to kill a woman. Allegedly. Could have already killed his daughter. King refused to add his cousin to that list.
Jesus.Charlotte had almost died.
“Why me?” he asked again. He’d been estranged from his family, from Charlotte, for years.
Something flickered in Wes’s eyes. “Because I need you.”
The knot in King’s gut got bigger. “Charlotte is not going to want me involved; you know that.”
“She never has to know. Just go out and check on Becky, see what you can find. That’s what you do, right?”
“Wes…”
“King.” Wes leaned forward, his intensity pinning King to his seat. “I haven’t asked anything of you, ever. I supported you even when your parents cut you off. I gave you the distance you obviously wanted. But I’m asking you now, please, help me keep her safe. Just…ask some questions. Investigate. If you say there’s nothing there, well then…” He spread his hands. “You’re the only person I know to ask. The only person I know who can do this.”
The desperation in his cousin’s face couldn’t be ignored. Wes needed him—to protect Charlotte, the woman he’d walked away from a decade ago. The woman Wes obviously had strong feelings for, maybe even loved.
Did Charlotte return those feelings?
He refused to think about that. What mattered was her safety and Wes’s request, not his own feelings. Feelings he shouldn’t have.
Finally he nodded. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll go out and check on things. Give me the address.”
Wes slumped, his relief palpable. “I appreciate it.”
“Let me talk to my team lead and I’ll head out. I’ll call you when I’m through.” King rounded the desk to pull Wes into a hug, holding him a bit longer than he normally would, savoring the contact with his own flesh and blood. “I missed you, man.” And he had, more than he’d realized.
Wes drew back slowly, giving him a worry-tinged smile. “You too.”
Chapter Four
Of course Saint insisted on going along. King could feel the man’s stare boring into him from the passenger seat. The bastard was going to open his mouth here in a minute, and King was going to feed him his fist. Being with his team had taught him to tap into the primal instincts “proper” young men weren’t supposed to have, according to his parents. Thank God he’d escaped them years ago.
Saint probably wouldn’t agree when King’s punch connected to his mouth.
“So…who is this girl, now?”
He tensed, ready to strike.
A car accident is why you’re here. Do you really want to cause another one?
Damn it. His inner Jiminy Cricket was right.
“Becky’s a friend of a friend,” he ground out, deliberately misunderstanding the question.
Saint’s chuckle was the one he used when he knew he was being played—it sounded amused, but it was really more like a signal that the bloodhound was coming out. “Not the girl we’re going to see. The one that’s got you twisted up in knots.”
“No knots, dickwad.” None he’d admit to, anyway.
Which explained why his gut felt like he needed an entire bottle of Tums.
“You know that won’t play with me, right?”
It wouldn’t. If King was lucky, he’d be able to hold Saint off for a little while. It was the best he could hope for.
Luckily they came to the turnoff for the trailer park before King could reply.
The broken post and falling letters on the sign out front said the place had seen better days. A few of the lots were well-groomed, with potted plants and neat patios, while some looked like they’d been abandoned ten years ago. King drove to an empty lot near the back and parked before the drive curved to the left. Both men got out.
