Opening her eyes, she shot Elliot a warning look where she stood in the doorway before pulling back from Wes’s hold. Not until the door was shut behind Elliot did she speak. “Wes, we need to talk.”
Wes stiffened, his gaze locking on hers as if he could read what was going on there. She prayed he couldn’t.
“Would you mind if we sat?”
Wes took the chair paired with hers, sticking to the very edge so he could lean close to her. “What happened last night out in the garden? No one would tell us anything. I’m going out of my mind here, Charlotte. What—”
She put a hand up, hoping her smile softened her words. “I can’t tell you if you don’t let me talk.”
Reluctantly Wes eased back in his chair. Charlotte gave herself a few seconds to breathe, to try to gather her words, but her thoughts scattered like pebbles in a pond, so she stuck to facts for now.
“Some of the men involved in this situation with Becky got a little too close last night.”
She didn’t tell him the team had known it might happen, nor that she’d been more bait than victim. Wes really would lose his mind then.
“They what?”
The last word was a shout, and she winced. Wes missed it, shooting out of his chair to pace across the study.
“The whole purpose of King and his team being here is to keep you safe. If they can’t protect you from an attack in a public venue, how can they hope to protect you here? Or anywhere else?” He spun around. “Charlotte, let me take you away somewhere. They won’t find you, I promise. We can hide till all of this passes.”
“No, Wes.”
He rushed her way, coming to rest on his knees in front of her chair. “Please. I will keep you safe.”
“I have a responsibility to Creating Families, Wes. To Becky and her baby. I can’t leave.”
He grabbed her hands, his grip hard. “None of that is more important than your life!”
Extricating one hand, she laid it gently atop his. “Yes, it is.”
“Charlotte—” The desperation in his eyes, his hold tugged at her heart. He ducked his head, and when it rose again, the emotion blazing in his face took her breath. “Charlotte, I love you. Please, please come with me. I need you safe.”
Without warning he rose on his knees and his lips met hers.
Time stopped. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, barely hidden, the question rose: would this change anything? Would kissing Wes finally spark some emotion between them that she’d never acknowledged? But no. The feel of his lips on hers was pleasant, earnest. It wasn’t fire blazing up from her soul to meet his. It wasn’t a roar of hunger demanding to be fed. Instead, tears tingled at the back of her nose and eyes.
She was going to lose him. This was it. Wes would never forgive her, not just for rejecting him, but for turning to King instead.
She forced herself to back away until her spine met the chair. “Wes, no.”
His beautiful blue eyes opened, so like King’s they made the tears slip from her eyes. She sucked in a shuddery breath.
Wes was quiet for so long that she wondered if he’d ever speak. Then, “It’s King, isn’t it? He’s the reason you won’t leave.”
He’s always been the reason, for everything. She wouldn’t hurt Wes by telling him that.
“I won’t leave because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want to get hurt, believe me. But leaving is not an option.” She paused, put a hand up to stroke the clean-shaven cheek of the man she would always love like a brother. “But King and I are back together, Wes.”
His face went blank; his breath stopped. “What?”
She blinked, feeling more tears on her cheeks. “You know I’ve always loved him.”
“He left you, Charlotte.”
“He did.” And it had nearly killed her. “But second chances happen, and this is ours.”
“No.” Anguish darkened his eyes to navy. “No.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He jerked to his feet, turned his back on her. She waited, her heart breaking in two as she watched his shoulders straighten, watched him force himself under control. Long minutes passed with only the sound of her tears and Wes’s heavy breathing. And then he faced her.
“Wes—”
“I understand.”
No, he didn’t. But he would want her to accept his words.
His smile only lifted half of his mouth, the pain in it ripping at her insides. “You’ve always been open with me, Charlotte. Always.” He took an aborted step forward but jerked to a stop. “We’ve been best friends for years, and I’d always hoped… But no, it wasn’t meant to be, was it?” He gave her a slight bow. “I’ll leave you be.”
“Wes?”
Those straight shoulders didn’t waver as he made his way to the door. Charlotte called him again, unsure what to say but feeling the need to ease his pain. Wes never responded.
When the door closed behind him, she collapsed in her chair, the tears overwhelming her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
King and Saint headed for Jessica Arnold’s apartment as soon as their meeting concluded. Dain gave them both a sour look as they left the room. Regret simmered below the surface at his boss’s displeasure, but King refused to let it grow. Dain and regulations and everyone else’s opinions had taken a step back the minute he’d made love to Charlotte. She was his priority now, nothing and no one else. He wouldn’t let anything come before her again, even his job.
Saint’s low whistle told King his friend hadn’t missed the look either. He didn’t acknowledge the sound until they’d reached the car. Turning the key in the ignition, he gave Saint an annoyed glance. “Spill it.”
Saint flashed a smile his way as he kicked the seat back, his long legs filling up the footwell. “I don’t spill. Anything I let loose is a hundred percent intentional.”
King shuddered. “Ew.”
Saint chuckled.
“You know what I meant,” King said, steering his car toward the gate without a glance in the rearview to see if Charlotte stood in one of the front windows, looking down on them. “If you’ve got something to say, get it over with.”
Saint sobered quickly. “I don’t have nothing to say about Charlotte, bro.” He crossed one leg over the other, his knee poking dangerously close to the gearshift. “I knew what was gonna happen between you two from day one, so sleeping with her, client or not, isn’t a surprise to me. The only thing I have to say is congratulations. She’s a good woman.”
King let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you. She is.” Far better than he deserved. “I know I should’ve waited, but…”
“But when it’s right, it’s right.”
“How would you know?” Saint was a serial dater. He wasn’t a dog, but neither did he show any inclination toward sticking with one woman. Not yet, anyway.
“Hey, if it’s one thing I know, it’s love.”
King scoffed. “Right.”
Saint backhanded him in the bicep. King huffed out a laugh.
“My mamá and papá have been married four decades. My abuela and abuelo, almost double that. You don’t get that kind of longevity unless you’re completely apathetic or love each other passionately. I’ve seen it”—he slapped his own chest this time—“so I know. You and Charlotte, you’re good together.”
“You haven’t really seen us together,” King pointed out.
“I saw you carry her off into the sunset last night. That was enough.”
King couldn’t argue with that. He’d been shaking with Charlotte in his arms, imagining everything that could have happened to her, how many ways she could have been hurt. Holding her safe, knowing with absolute certainty that she was okay had seared away the last of his denial. He’d wanted her in his arms forever. And no, they hadn’t discussed it, but he had a feeling his friend wasn’t wrong.
They hit I85 headed north and used 285 to loop around Atlanta toward Walton County. Jessica Arnold hadn’t just swi
tched jobs; she’d changed apartments as well. Because she’d received a warning that there might be problems with the baby-selling ring she’d gotten mixed up in? King didn’t know, but they’d sure as hell find out today. He had that feeling in his gut that said his team was zeroing in on their suspect. They would stop whoever was targeting women from CF, the Feds would make arrests and tighten the belt on whatever leg of the nationwide ring was operating in Georgia, and Becky, her baby, and Charlotte would be safe. They just needed to keep following the thread to the end.
He had a feeling Jessica Arnold was the biggest part of that thread so far.
They took I20 to Oxford and exited, heading north. The apartment complex was situated in a rural area about ten miles out, one of those random, built-up towns with not much more than a Walmart, a McDonald’s, and a couple of grocery stores. King circled to the middle of the complex, building 1624, apartment D. “Ready?”
Saint slipped off his seat belt and opened the door. “As I’ll ever be.”
They might both be muscular, but their boots made barely a sound on the metal stairs. King had been trained in the police academy and on the streets to keep quiet. Saint? His friend was an open book about almost everything in his life, everything but that. If Dain knew where Saint had been trained, he’d kept it confidential. The big man moved like a panther in the forest, not a sound escaping as they crossed the concrete landing to the door of Arnold’s apartment. King met his friend’s eyes, received a nod, and knocked firmly on the door.
A couple of minutes passed. King was preparing to knock again until movement behind the door told him their prey had arrived.
“Who is it?”
Moments like this, King wished it wouldn’t be impersonating an officer to pull out police credentials. Instead he flashed his JCL badge. “We’re investigators with JCL Securities, Ms. Arnold. Could we speak for a moment?”
No movement. A single woman alone, she’d have plenty of reasons not to open the door. Of course, the same applied if she was guilty of something and looking to ditch them, too. King kept the scowl on his face but stepped back, allowing Saint to flash a bright white smile at the peephole.
“Ms. Arnold, we just have a few questions. Would you like to call our superiors and confirm?”
King counted to thirty before the sound of the lock opening reached them. Saint’s smile turned smug as he turned to King. “Works every time,” he whispered.
“Shut the hell up,” King whispered back. Smug bastard.
And not wrong—that grin did work every time.
Jessica Arnold was a pretty woman with average height, weight, hair and eye color. As she stood in the doorway in comfortable leggings and a soft T-shirt reaching her thighs, it became obvious they’d interrupted a casual day at home just as they’d hoped. Saint’s eyes warmed as they traveled over her, and King could see the appeal. A little young and probably more than a little naive, but hey, that wasn’t her fault. He’d reserve judgment until he found out if she was guilty of what they suspected.
“Ms. Arnold,” Saint said, “we needed to speak with you about Becky Jones.”
The woman’s brow creased in a way that seemed genuine. “I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She was a patient at Fulton Memorial’s clinic, a sixteen-year-old who was pregnant. We were told you ran a support group at the hospital for single mothers.”
The confusion froze on her face. “The support group?”
“Yes,” Saint said. “Would it be possible to discuss this inside? We know medical information is…delicate.” He flashed her another smile. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
“Um.” King swore he saw beads of sweat pop up on her brow. “There were several Becky’s there. We were quite full most of the time.”
“Right. This is Becky Jones.” Saint withdrew a small image of Becky from last year’s class photos. “Do you recognize her now?”
Full-blown panic shattered the woman’s composure. “No, of course not. I mean…no, she’s not familiar.” She stepped back, and King knew she was going to close the door on them. “This must be a mistake. I’m sure someone else—”
“No,” King growled, low and deep. “No mistake. I think you’re exactly who we need to speak to.”
“No no no!” She gripped the edge of the door. “You need to—”
King caught the door right before it contacted with the jamb. He let his shoulders widen the space as he loomed over Arnold. “I don’t think we do.”
The nurse was backpedaling as fast as she could go. “I’m calling the cops. Get out of here.”
“You’re not going to call the cops, Jessica,” Saint told her softly.
She did a double take. “I’m not?”
“No, you’re not,” King snapped. “Not unless you want them to find out exactly what you were doing with the women who came to you looking for help in that support group.”
“I did help them!”
“I’m sure that’s what you thought you were doing,” Saint said. Gently grasping her arm, he led her over to the couch surrounded by boxes in the small living room. “And we need to talk about exactly how you helped them.”
Arnold plopped onto the couch and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t want to get in trouble. I just wanted—”
“You wanted to sell their babies,” King barked. “Bet you got a nice cut, didn’t you?”
“Of course not,” she wailed, eyes wide with disbelief as she raised her head. “He said they were safe!”
“Who was safe?”
“The babies!” Tears streaked her face, causing her to stutter as she struggled to speak. “The families agreed to hand the babies over for adoption, and he would take them to good homes. Yes, they were given money to compensate, get on their feet.” A flash of defiance crossed her face. “But not me—I never took money. Never!”
They’d already assumed that—she had no suspicious deposits or offshore accounts that they could find—but the confirmation was clear in her voice, her eyes. She was telling the truth.
Naive, indeed.
“Except not all of the girls agreed to the adoptions, did they?” Saint said, voice still soft but threaded with steel now. “Some of them decided to keep their babies.”
“No, of course not.” Confusion clouded Arnold’s eyes. “They wanted to adopt.”
“You spoke to every single girl who gave up her child?” King asked, not near as nicely as Saint had.
“Y-yes. Yes, I did. Every girl in the group.”
She was hiding something; King knew it, and when he met Saint’s eyes, his friend knew it too.
King followed the hunch. “What about outside the group?”
Arnold tightened her lips, refusing to answer or meet his eyes. King advanced on her, getting close enough that their knees brushed as he bent over the woman. Only when her terrified eyes stared up at him did he ask again. “Every. Single. Girl? There wasn’t a single connection that didn’t directly involve the mother?”
“I mean, some of the girls are scared.” She wrung her hands together, her posture sagging as King eased back a touch. “They rely on their families to help them. I—”
“You gave this information to some of the families of the mothers you met.”
She wasn’t wringing her hands anymore; she was gripping them tight together, but even so, King could see their shaking. “Only to help! They were scared. Desperate. Poor. The babies were going up for adoption anyway.” Tears started falling. “No one was hurt. Why shouldn’t the mothers get a nest egg to start a new life, right?”
King straightened, his face telling her all she needed to know about how right he thought she was. The woman shrank back again, her gaze searching out Saint instead. “Right?”
Saint kept his body relaxed, open, reeling her in. “Right. So who did you put them in touch with, then? Someone you knew well, right? Someone you knew was safe?”
She’d been used, whoever it was. Jessica Arnold had done thi
s out of the “goodness of her heart”—sold children, some without their mother’s consent. When she fully realized that…
“Of course,” she said, hope lighting her eyes. “I’d never risk those precious babies. I put the families in contact with my boyfriend. He’s a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” King asked sharply. A buzzing started in his ears, crowding out thought, replacing it with fear.
Arnold startled, stammered. “Y-yes, he is. Th-the adoptions were fully legal. Nothing to worry about.”
She had a lot to worry about, and he was pretty sure she knew it. She might’ve started off believing it was all legal, but something had spooked her or she wouldn’t have run off.
He wanted to know what that something was. He wanted a name. But the words wouldn’t leave his mouth because once they did, once they were out there, the answer would be too. And he wanted to hide from it as long as possible.
He turned his back on Saint and the woman, walked the length of the room, praying the entire time.
Saint took over. “Who is your lawyer boyfriend?”
King glanced quickly over his shoulder and caught Arnold’s gaze darting between them. The woman licked her lips slowly, hesitant to answer, but finally she did. “His name is Wes. Wesley Moncrief.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I don’t believe it.”
King could feel Saint’s gaze on him—his skeptical gaze. King couldn’t even blame him. After all, they’d just had a witness describe Wes, claim he was the mastermind behind selling the babies for adoption. Claim he’d dated her, slept with her, told her they needed to cool things off until the sudden police interest died down.
And still, King couldn’t believe it was true. There was an open, gaping chasm between the reality of what they’d heard and what he’d always believed was the truth about his cousin, and nothing he told himself seemed to bridge that gap. He didn’t think anything ever could.
He simply couldn’t believe her, no matter what the evidence said.
Deny Me Page 17
