Table of Contents
Title Page
Blurb
Also by Ella Sheridan
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
Deny Me
Southern Nights: Enigma 4
Ella Sheridan
Blurb
King Moncrief was born to a life of privilege and wealth—and walked away. From his life, and from the woman he loved. He answered the call to serve, first as a cop, then as a security specialist for JCL Securities. Protection is in his blood, but it can’t keep him warm at night. Not when dreams of what could have been, what will never be, leave him cold to the core.
Charlotte Alexander lost the two most important things in her life just out of high school: her childhood sweetheart and her only chance at having a family of her own. Now her energy is poured into the charity she founded, Creating Families, helping babies and their mothers find a better life. But something isn’t right at CF, and when Charlotte is targeted by a killer, there’s only one place she can turn.
Back to the past. To the man who walked away. The man she denied but never forgot.
Also by Ella Sheridan
Assassins
Assassin’s Mark
Assassin’s Prey
Assassin’s Heart
Assassin’s Game
Southern Nights
Teach Me
Trust Me
Take Me
Southern Nights: Enigma
Come for Me
Deceive Me
Destroy Me
Deny Me
Desire Me (Coming January, 2021)
If Only
Only for the Weekend
Only for the Night
Only for the Moment
Secrets
Unavailable
Undisclosed
Unshakable
∞
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Copyright
Southern Nights: Enigma: Deny Me
© 2020 Ella Sheridan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover Art Design by Brynna Curry
Published in the United States.
Dedication
To King. You’ve waited a long time to return to your heart. Thank you for not giving up on me.
Acknowledgment
To Erika, for your friendship and your love for each character that appears on the page. I think they love you just as much. (Me too!)
To Kelly, Gina, and Dani, for hours spent racking your brains with me (without strangling me!). My characters are grateful you kept me from quitting on this story time and again.
Author’s Note
The infamous Swan House in Buckhead, Georgia, north of Atlanta proper, is a well-known, beautiful 1920s home that was used to film scenes for the president’s mansion in Hunger Games. Anyone who has visited will immediately realize I have taken liberties with the location. Not only are events not allowed inside, but there is no attached ballroom (this is a separate location on the Atlanta History Museum grounds), and the gardens are not exactly as described when King and Charlotte visit them (though they are fairly close). Please forgive an author’s arrogance in making the setting fit the book as opposed to the opposite.
~ Ella
Chapter One
The trailer park was definitely on the wrong side of the tracks, but Charlotte Alexander had never cared. She’d been here numerous times—to pick Becky up for appointments, drop her off afterward, to bring groceries or paperwork or supplies she’d stocked for the baby’s arrival. Three weeks. That’s how close they were to delivery. The couple planning to adopt Becky’s baby were ecstatic.
Tomorrow they’d be heartbroken.
This afternoon the dilapidated state of the white and rust trailer served to remind Charlotte of everything that was at stake, not just for the baby but for Becky. She parked her car in the patchy grass in front of the girl’s home, her gaze falling on shiny chrome and slick paint. A motorcycle gleamed in the weak sunlight filtering through the pines overhead. A very expensive motorcycle. She didn’t know enough about brands to identify it, but the sheer power in its body screamed money. Something Becky and her family didn’t have.
Or shouldn’t.
Her belly twisted as she stared at the machine, beautiful in comparison to the old pickup next to it, the neglected home beside it. Only one person in that trailer could drive a bike that size—Becky’s father, Richard Jones. Big and mean, he’d intimidated Charlotte from the get-go, but because she was helping get Becky’s baby “out of my goddamn house,” as he put it, Richard had kept his distance. Today might not go as well, but intimidated or not, Charlotte needed answers. Needed to make sure Becky and the baby were all right.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she pushed open her car door on the exhale and stepped out. Her heel sank into the red clay soil as she put her weight on it. There’d been no time to change after the late lunch she’d hosted with potential contributors earlier, and she was highly conscious of the luxury inherent in her dress clothes as she crossed the stubby grass toward rickety wooden stairs leading to the front door. Her usual daily uniform—dress slacks and button-downs—worked for the office and interacting with both less fortunate girls and couples from all walks of life, but schmoozing those in her social circle for funding was a fact of life she’d accepted long ago. And moneyed contributors preferred moneyed directors; hence, the fancy clothes.
Right now, though, the same clothes that helped draw large donations underscored the vast ravine between her life and sixteen-year-old Becky’s, something she never wanted to rub in the girl’s face. Today she had no choice.
The rail wobbled as she grabbed it on the first step up the stairs. When her foot landed on the
second step, the sound of the chain lock sliding reached her ears. She paused in her climb.
The door cracked open a few inches. Becky’s features were pinched as she peered out of the narrow opening. “What are you doing here?”
The whispered words carried the rasp of fear. Anxiety was etched into the dark circles under her tired eyes, and a faint purple bruise marred her cheekbone.
“Becky, hon…” Instinctively her hand rose, needing to touch the girl, to reassure her. To yank her from the trailer and carry her far away where she’d never have to worry about being hit again. “Are you okay?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Charlotte.” Tears welled, but Becky sniffed them away. “You need to go. Now.”
“Come with me.”
The door opened a few more inches, allowing the swell of Becky’s belly to push through. Charlotte had walked beside the girl every step of the way after she’d come to Creating Families to talk about giving her child up for adoption. She’d watched that mound go from a tiny swell to a basketball. Taking a personal interest in the women who came to her organization was a point of pride with Charlotte. They didn’t only care for the babies they helped adopt—caring for the mothers, during and long after their pregnancies, helping them build new lives for themselves, was a hallmark of Creating Families’ work. But she’d always had a special place in her heart for Becky, maybe because the girl reminded her of herself at that age. Of what might have been had the love of her life not walked away without a backward glance.
Had her body not betrayed her.
Shoving the memories aside, she gripped the railing hard enough that a splinter sank beneath her skin. “Becky, please. Come with me. He can’t force you—”
“Yes, he can.” A wary glance over her shoulder told Charlotte exactly why Becky was whispering. “I know why you’re here. I know you don’t understand why I’d back out of the adoption. Trust me, if I had any choice, I wouldn’t. But I—”
“Who you talking to?”
The barked question sent a jolt through Becky’s body. Her eyes went wide, her grip tightening on the door just before it was torn from her hand. Richard towered behind her, his unshaven face and stained white tank so cliché Charlotte would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so busy trying not to reveal a hint of fear. The man’s mean eyes narrowed on her, turning her knees to water.
“Why you here, rich bitch?”
Speak, Charlotte. Becky needs you.
“I came to check on Becky.”
A heavy palm landed on Becky’s thin shoulder. The girl jumped. “Nothing for you to check on here, lady.” The man sneered. “We don’t need your charity no more.”
How had such a sweet girl come from this asshole?
“Becky doesn’t—”
“That’s right, she don’t. Her bastard don’t either. She don’t have to go through with no adoption. Now get out of here before I make sure you regret bothering us.”
She glanced toward Becky, whose face had gone ashen. Worry for the girl kept Charlotte in place. “Sir, I just want—”
A growl tore from the man’s mouth as he shoved Becky aside. “Get off my property, bitch!”
His bulk pushing onto the stairs caused Charlotte to teeter backward. One heel slipped from the step. For a second she thought she could pull herself back upright, and then she was falling through the air, her stomach lurching at the loss of equilibrium. Pain slammed into her as her butt landed on the concrete pad below the stairs.
Becky’s father huffed a laugh. Staring down his nose, he hocked out a glob of spit that landed perilously close to her hand. “Remember what I said. Come back and I’ll make you regret it. Becky ain’t your concern no more.”
The door slammed behind him, the slide of the chain lock being repositioned reaching her ears past the ringing that filled them. It took a minute before she could gather herself enough to struggle to her feet, seconds when she searched the windows of the trailer in hopes of seeing Becky’s face, making some kind of connection with the girl she’d grown so close to, but no face appeared. No sound came. Nothing.
She stood, dusting dirt from her backside with hands that shook like leaves, uncertain what to do. Whatever it was, she couldn’t do it alone. “I’ll be back, hon. I promise,” she said, knowing Becky couldn’t hear her but desperate to let the girl know. It felt like a betrayal to walk back to her car, slide behind the wheel, but what choice did she have?
David hadn’t defeated Goliath empty-handed. Her only choice was to find her stones and return to battle. That didn’t make it easier to back the car away from the trailer and drive off. She didn’t feel like David; she felt like a monster, leaving the victim with her abuser.
Without conscious thought, without a decision on her part, she pointed the car toward home, but when she reached the turnoff, she kept going. That same mindlessness took her miles down the road, south of town, past Lake McIntosh. Toward the piece of land that, no matter how lush with trees and hills, no matter how soothing the rocky creek that wound through its heart, shouldn’t be a balm. It should be a reminder of all she’d lost because of her own foolishness.
Too bad it was the only place she felt truly safe.
The canopy enveloped her car in hushed shadows as she nosed her way onto the dirt road, the only access to the property. That was all it took for the hard shell she’d surrounded herself with back at the trailer to crack.
Why are you doing this? You know you shouldn’t be here.
And yet here was the only place she could just be, where she could let the shaking overtake her and cry the tears choking the back of her throat and give in to the fear shuddering through her in soul-sucking waves. Here, where no one could see. Where no one knew how weak she really was.
Where she could pretend that the arms that used to hold her safe, right here in this very spot, were still around her.
It was stupid. Senseless. That didn’t stop it from being true. The sobs came, shook her down to her bones. She sobbed until her stomach turned to stone and everything inside it threatened to come back up. Her chest went tight as a drum and she had a hard time breathing, but she let herself ride the waves until, finally, the stress subsided.
Long minutes later the muffled ring of her phone pulled her back to reality. Scrambling in her purse, she felt the cool rectangle of her cell all the way at the bottom and pulled it out. A glance at the screen brought a groan to her lips.
She tapped the green circle. “Mom.”
The word wasn’t as bright and cheery as she’d like, but hopefully it was close enough to fool her mother. Both her parents were supportive of her work, and at thirty they recognized the futility of convincing her to do anything else, but if they knew someone had threatened her? All bets would be off.
“What’s wrong?”
Thank God her mom couldn’t see the grimace that twisted her mouth. “Why would anything be wrong?”
“Don’t try that ‘answering a question with a question’ bit, young lady.” Kim Alexander might have been born and bred into the highest tier of Southern society, but she was also a hands-on mother who knew her daughter well, right down to the nuances of her voice. Damn it.
Leaning her head back on the headrest, Charlotte let a heavy sigh escape her, taking the last of her tears with it. The tension in her belly stayed behind. “Just some things going on at work, Mom. Really.”
“Did the luncheon go well today?”
Creating Families had gained generous donations this afternoon, no doubt about it. But it was what they’d lost, what Becky had lost, that consumed her.
“Very well.” She cranked her car, another sigh escaping her when the cool air from the vent hit her heated face. “I’m just about to head home.” It was early for her—normally she’d head to the office, work a few more hours, despite it being a Sunday, but today had been far longer than the actual hours she’d put in.
The silence on her mother’s end didn’t bode well for her chances of ending the interrogation.
Then, “I’ll make some tea; how does that sound?”
Tea cured a multitude of ills, according to Kim Alexander. “Make mine iced and you got it.”
“Sacrilege!” A smile flavored her mom’s words. Delicate laughter filtered through the line, curving Charlotte’s lips despite her worries. “I’ll make it anyway. Be careful, hon.”
Careful. She glanced at the beauty before her. She needed to be careful with more than just driving.
Packing her emotions and her memories away, she put the car in reverse. Headed toward the highway and home. But with every mile, Becky’s situation nagged at her. The pain in the girl’s eyes. The bruise on her cheek. There had to be something she could do.
First things first. Time for a legal opinion. Hitting speed-dial on her console, she waited for the phone to ring.
“You’ve reached Wes Moncrief. I’m away at the moment. Please leave a message and I will return your call.”
Beep.
“Hey, Wes. It’s Charlotte.” She didn’t have to identify herself—they’d known each other practically since birth, which was part of why he was her closest friend—but she did anyway. Always. Because…
She skittered away from that thought.
“Listen, I was hoping I could talk to you about something going on with one of the girls. I just…I don’t know.” She paused to round a curve, trying to bring her words together and failing. Chewed the inside of her lip. “I need some help.”
Accelerating through the bend in the road, she eyed the short straightaway ahead. Could Wes help? He served as legal counsel for Creating Families, but Becky had already terminated her agreement. What could he do?
“The situation’s complicated, but I’m hoping…” What? She slowed for the next curve. “I don’t know. We’ll talk later. Will I see you at—”
Deny Me (Southern Nights Enigma Book 4) Page 1
