Deny Me (Southern Nights Enigma Book 4)

by Ella Sheridan

  When King didn’t answer, she dared a glance over her shoulder. He was staring, but not at her—at her office. Seeing that calculating look made her squirm. He was seeing too much. “King?”

  His gaze narrowed on her, and she had little doubt he not only saw her reaction but understood what was making her uncomfortable. “Hmm?”

  “What do I need to look for first?”

  A vee formed between his brows as he considered that, then strode to the opposite side of her desk. He wasn’t going to hover over her shoulder, but she noticed he didn’t take one of the seats waiting there. Sitting had never been King’s style. “Let’s start with adoptions that didn’t go through. Women who backed out for whatever reason. We can send the names to the office to run birth and adoption records, see what we come up with.”

  They could, but how long would that take? “Or I could just call,” she offered. “You know we keep in touch with our mothers and our families for several years after their adoptions are finalized.” Creating Families did have adoptions that fell through. Even then, given the unique nature of their organization, they did keep in close contact, but there were a few…

  Riffling through the files, she came to one belonging to a woman who’d canceled her adoption about six months ago.

  “Then you already know which ones kept their babies and which went on to adopt through another avenue?”

  Did she? “I guess they could hide it, but there have been a couple who chose private adoptions, often with family members.”

  “Let’s see what we can find,” King finally said. “If we can at least eliminate mothers who did indeed keep their children, that narrows the list. We can then see if there are any connections between them that might give us a lead.”

  “Like?”

  “Large financial deposits around the time of their child’s birth.”

  “How are you going to find out something like that?”

  King’s mouth quirked at the high, surprised tone of her words, but he didn’t respond. You don’t want to know, that’s what he was telling her.

  All right, she didn’t want to know. Instead she got to work.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “All right.” Charlotte picked up the list of names from where it sat next to the small stack of files she’d weeded out. “Here is the list of adoptions that were canceled in the past five years.”

  King had barely taken his eyes off her since the moment he sat in the chair directly in front of her desk. Which meant not squirming had taken all her self-control. Looking at him now, she kept her focus on the smooth curve of his lips, though they were only slightly less distracting than those eyes.

  King held his hand out. Instinct had her pulling the paper closer. “I can’t give this to you, King.”

  “Why not? They didn’t go through with their adoptions.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Until Wes goes through the legalities with me, I can’t hand over any of our clients’ names.”

  His lips tightened as he considered her words. Then, “We need to contact them.”

  “If anyone needs to contact them, then it’ll be me.”

  King leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees. “And what are you going to say?”

  Good question. She certainly couldn’t ask each woman outright if they’d taken money for their babies. Narrowing her eyes on the opposite wall, she tipped back in her office chair and considered options until a lightbulb went off in her head. Then she leaned forward and picked up the phone.

  “Charlotte—”

  Jesus. Of all the things she wished he wouldn’t do, saying her name was at the top of her list. It made her lower belly tighten in a way she’d never experienced with any other man, certainly not just from her name on their lips. She pushed the thought away and leveled a stern look his way. “I’ve got this.”

  She started with the earliest case on the list, Andrea Perez. The woman would be twenty-three now, but at the time the eighteen-year-old had been a freshman college student desperate for help. Charlotte tapped in her number and waited for someone to pick up.

  “Andrea? This is Charlotte Alexander from Creating Families. How are you?”

  The sound of a toddler squealing in the background almost covered Andrea’s surprised greeting.

  “So why I’m calling…” Charlotte paused. So much was riding on these conversations, much more than just words. What if she missed the clues she needed to protect all her clients, not just Becky?

  She met King’s narrowed gaze across the desk and pushed her doubts aside. There was nothing for it but to try.

  “CF is creating a division to support moms who choose to keep their children instead of adopt. We’re wondering if some of our past clients who chose that route would be willing to speak to us about their experiences and needs during that time, maybe suggest ways we could support single moms that are unique to their situation.”

  Andrea immediately agreed, even sharing how she’d gone on to have her second child after meeting her now husband and her little boy had gotten a bit older. Charlotte hung up twenty minutes later feeling happy that Andrea was safe and sound, and yet also frustrated.

  “Good idea,” King said when she clicked off the call.

  She pushed every ounce of frustration into a scowl. “I have them occasionally, you know. And it’s not a lie,” she added, more defensive than she would’ve liked. Lying never sat well with her, and she certainly couldn’t lie over and over, to clients she’d helped take care of for months of their and their babies’ lives. “CF is planning an expansion, and we definitely need to know ways to care for each client, no matter their circumstances.”

  King’s eyes softened on her. “You’ve built something good here, Charlotte.”

  “I’ve tried,” she said, then picked up the phone and moved to the next name.

  Not everyone was home, so Charlotte left messages and moved on. One woman, Lauren, who would have given birth three years ago, heard Charlotte’s name and slammed the phone down. When Charlotte called back, she got no answer. She added Lauren’s name, along with a couple others with the same response, to a “maybe” list to check out more thoroughly.

  By the time she hit the previous year’s names, she was up and pacing the limited space behind her desk. King watched her carefully, no doubt gleaning his own conclusions from what he could hear of her conversations. Saint had returned from his tour and took up position at the window of her office, a laptop in front of him, fingers flying at the speed of light. She didn’t ask what he was doing.

  The first name for the year was Violet Nelson.

  “Violet? It’s Charlotte from Creating Families. How are you doing?” The young woman had been only seventeen last year and still living with parents who hadn’t been much better than Becky’s father. Charlotte remembered being surprised when the girl backed out of the adoption that would provide her baby boy with a safe home and family.

  “Charlotte?” Violet’s voice cracked. She hastily cleared her throat.

  Nervous. Every instinct Charlotte had went alert.

  King must’ve seen something in her face, because he straightened.

  “Hey, Violet.” Instead of launching into her spiel, she followed her intuition. “I called to check on you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Wariness dripped from every word. Oh, sweetheart, what have you done?

  “Because you matter, and your baby matters.” Charlotte was ashamed to realize she only knew the baby’s name through Violet’s file. Why hadn’t she called sooner? Was she really that busy that she hadn’t taken the time to personally follow up with a young girl who’d needed them? “How is Nathan?”

  She heard the sound of indrawn breath, then a quiet sob that barely reached her ears. Automatically her gaze latched on to King’s, searching for strength, for guidance. Breathe, his beautiful eyes said. You can do this.

  She could. “Violet, tell me what’s wrong. Do you need help?”

&nb
sp; A long pause. “I can’t,” she finally choked out.

  “Can’t what?”

  King signaled to Saint; for what, she didn’t know. All her focus was centered on Violet’s words.

  “I can’t be talking to you. They’ll hurt me if I say anything.”

  If Violet and Nathan needed help, Charlotte would make it happen. Hell, she had King and Saint right here at her disposal. Forget legalities—she hit the button for the speaker phone. “I can protect you and Nathan, Violet, I promise. Who is going to hurt you? Your parents?”

  “Yes.”

  King scooted to the edge of his chair as Saint joined them at the desk. Charlotte motioned to both of them to stay quiet. “Why would they hurt you? Where is the baby? Is Nathan in danger too?”

  “They took him,” Violet said, the words broken. “They took him the minute we walked out of the hospital, and I never saw him again.”

  Rage flashed through Charlotte’s body, hot and vicious. The people doing this were going to be stopped one way or another. The cruelty of stealing a baby from its mother at a day or two old…

  Violet’s parents had done this, just like Becky’s dad. How many people were out there willing to sell their children and grandchildren for a buck? “Did they tell you who they gave him to? Why?”

  “No.” She gave a shuddering sigh. “But I knew. All of a sudden they were throwing money around, buying fancy things and bringing home drugs they’d never been able to afford. They took money for my baby.” Another long pause came, filled with Violet’s shuddering tears. “I’m never going to see him again, am I?”

  “You absolutely will,” Charlotte assured her. She didn’t care what it took, they were bringing Nathan home. “We’re going to do everything we can to find him for you, sweetheart. Where are you now? Are you still living at home?”

  “Yeah.” The word held a bitter twist. “They might have gotten money for my child, but they didn’t pass any of it along. Not that I wanted it. I wanted to know Nathan was safe. I wanted him with a family I knew would treat him well.”

  Charlotte had to ask, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Violet wasn’t to blame for this; her parents were. But how difficult would it be to track the child a year later?

  “They said if I told anyone, they might have to get rid of him.”

  Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut hard. They’d threatened her baby’s life to keep her quiet.

  She was getting Violet the hell out of there.

  “Are you safe right now? Are they hurting you?” she asked.

  “They’re barely home. Too busy partying.”

  Probably not for long. Drugs and shopping had a way of draining a bank account fast, and they’d had a year of it already.

  “Okay. I have a friend I want you to talk to. We’re going to set up a secure place, and then we’re coming to get you. Got it?” At this rate she might be setting up a safe house for a lot more than Becky and Violet. Luckily Violet was eighteen, so there were none of the legal concerns they had with Becky. “Violet?”

  “Got it.”

  The relief in those quiet words poured through Charlotte too. “King?”

  King cleared his throat and introduced himself, then set about getting the details they needed. Charlotte would contact Violet as soon as they had everything in place. They set up a time to call for more arrangements, a time when Violet’s parents wouldn’t be at home, then said goodbye.

  Charlotte threw the pen she was holding across the room. The ping it gave as the metal cracked against the wall wasn’t near satisfying enough. She whirled away from the desk with her next breath, pacing toward the back window.

  Moments later a warm presence stopped behind her. King’s hands gripped her arms, steadying her as she silently fell apart. No words, no arguments. He simply stood and let her seethe. Let her rage boil futilely beneath the surface, shaking her body from the bones out. Someone—or more than one someones—had done this. They’d come into the haven she’d built and torn away the safety she sought so hard to give. They’d destroyed her word, maybe not with every woman, but even one…

  “This is a fucking nightmare,” she muttered, planting her fists on either side of the window.

  “We’re going to fix it, Charlotte, I promise.”

  She shouldn’t count on his promises, but what choice did she have? These women had no one. They’d been victimized by someone close to her, and whatever it took, she would make it right.

  Breaking away from King’s hold, she returned to her desk. They had to make a plan. As she took her seat, the list of maybes she’d made snagged her eye. She picked up a new pen and wrote Violet Nelson’s name at the bottom, then realized…

  “King…”

  His jaw was hard, his eyes inscrutable as he rounded the front of the desk to stand before her. “Yeah?”

  She dropped the pen on the desk’s scarred surface. “I know what it is,” she said. “The connection between them—I know what it is.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We work with several hospitals in the area, including Fulton County Memorial,” Charlotte explained.

  King glanced at the list she was tapping with the end of her pen. The thought of the first one sailing across the room, the way Charlotte shook with rage beneath his hands, sparked a need to make all this right—for the women who’d been hurt, definitely, but he couldn’t deny that it was mostly about Charlotte. Helping her. Taking care of her.

  Just like any client, right?

  He cleared the denial from his throat and refocused on the list. “So you think these girls came from Fulton County Memorial?”

  “Not all of them, but most of them,” Charlotte agreed. “We don’t know for certain which ones might be victims, but…”

  “Charlotte,” Saint said, joining them at the desk, “you know not all of these women were forced into this. Violet and Becky, yes, but you have to face the fact that the story may not be the same for everyone.”

  An identical warning had been circling the back of King’s mind, but he hadn’t been able to push it past his lips. The pained stare she aimed at Saint made him wish they could take it back, but Saint was right, she had to prepare herself.

  Charlotte blinked, and the next instant her body straightened, shoulders going back, muscles tightening with determination and a glint of her previous anger. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes. For right now, we have a connection to investigate.”

  She was tough; he’d always known that. “How does the hospital send you references?”

  “Not the hospital, per se. They have a support group for single mothers”—she began opening drawers, riffling through her desk—“where they present a variety of options to assist the women who come to them. If any of the women express an interest in adoption, the program gives them our information so they have a contact, can find out about the process, etc. Several area hospitals have similar groups, mostly run on a volunteer basis. Many of them are headed by nurses.”

  She gave up her search and reached for the phone on her desk, probably to contact Vicky for the information they needed. King’s hand stayed her grip on the receiver.

  “We need as few people to know about this as possible,” he reminded her, watching as realization, then grief washed across her face. She automatically turned to her team for assistance just like he did, but right now she couldn’t trust the very people she relied on. The pain of that truth couldn’t be easy to accept.

  Charlotte pulled her hand away. Cleared her throat. “Of course.” She stood. “I know where the information should be. I’ll be right back.”

  King nodded, watching her stiff body as she rounded the desk and walked from the room.

  His gaze shifted away from the door—and hit Saint’s.

  His teammate was shaking his head. “Brother…”

  A groan stuck in King’s throat. He could do without a lecture, and he felt one heading his way like a freight train about to hit.

  “Look,” Saint said
, “I get that there’s history between you two.”

  No, he didn’t. No one on his team truly understood. They hadn’t known about Charlotte until now for one very important reason—because theirs had never been a break-up-and-happily-go-our-separate-ways end. They’d uprooted their lives, torn out their hearts. He hadn’t been whole when he walked away from her, and as satisfying as his life was now, that hole had never disappeared or been filled by anyone else. “You don’t get anything, Saint.”

  “Then explain it to me, bro, because what I’m seeing, sensing? The tension when you come anywhere close to each other is more like electricity. The air’s so thick I can fucking touch it. No wonder her father was losing his shit.”

  King rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of the ache suddenly pounding there. Deny, deny, deny.

  “There’s no tension and nothing for her father to lose his shit over.”

  Saint snorted his opinion of that. “Dude, stop fooling yourself. Or trying to fool me—that ain’t happenin’. I thought when you put your hands on her a minute ago, the room might go up in flames. And say what you want, but I’ve worked with you a long time and I’ve never seen anything rock you. She does.”

  King dropped his hand, catching his friend’s cocky grin. “No, she doesn’t. You’re imagining things.”

  “Am I?”

  King cursed Saint’s black eyebrows and the way they arched at his lie. And then he cursed his friend’s perception—silently, then out loud. Saint’s chuckle earned him a glare, but obviously putting on a front was futile. Saint knew him too well to buy what he was selling.

  “Okay, fine,” he huffed and shot a look at the partially open door. “Of course Charlotte’s not like any other client. I was planning to marry her. We were building a life together.” I know her, inside and out. He’d certainly never slept with another client, but he couldn’t forget the feel of Charlotte’s body beneath his, how she’d been so tight around him that he’d thought he’d lose his shit before he even got all the way inside her. Some memories faded after ten years apart, but for him, those never had.