Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11) Page 8

  Stubborn, wasn’t she? “Ma’am, they’re not here.”

  “Yes, they are.” She went to her knees beside the ratty-looking twin bed. After dragging a suitcase out from under the bed, she bent and called, “Hey, guys. It’s Beth.”

  A couple of puppylike squeaks sounded, and two skinny boys squirmed out. Ear-length brown hair, brown eyes, lightly brown skin. He’d guess a Hispanic/Caucasian mix. They hurtled into Beth’s arms, almost knocking her over.

  “Well, damn,” Dan muttered.

  “No shit.” The uniform had checked the rooms. He and Dan had checked the rooms. But the bed was so fucking low and so packed with shit under it, no one would have fit. No adult.

  He should’ve searched more carefully.

  “I’ll have children’s services meet us at the station.” Dan pulled out his cell.

  “Mrs. King, how did you know they were there?” Max asked.

  “Make it Beth.” She had an arm curled around each child, and the boys clung to her so tightly, it was a wonder she could breathe. “They phoned me.”

  Dan tucked his phone away. “The uniformed officer called for them since the neighbor thought they might be in here.” Worry carved lines into his hard face. “Were they unable to answer? Are they hurt?”

  Hurt? The idea made Beth freeze. She hadn’t even checked. Connor was clinging to her too tightly to dislodge, so she kissed the top of his head and asked Grant, “Are you guys all right, honey?”

  Grant nodded and stood up, although he stayed close to her. All seven years independent, he watched the two men with wary eyes. Understandable. The detectives were both over six feet, and Max was as power lifter, muscular as Master Raoul. With jackets off, they had all their police regalia—weapons and badges—on full display.

  Actually, even without the gear, Dan was a bit scary with his coldly detached cop-expression. And his new partner was equally intimidating.

  “Guys, this is Connor”—she rubbed her cheek on brown hair soft as kitten’s fur—“and his brother, Grant.”

  As he studied the cops, Grant wrapped his hand around her wrist as if to ensure she wouldn’t leave them—and her heart hurt for him. Children older than toddlers should be bold little explorers, filled with the courage that came from knowing they were loved and adorable and amazing. This little boy shouldn’t be afraid of a couple of detectives.

  She squeezed Grant’s shoulder. “My boys, meet Detective Sawyer and Detective Drago.”

  “Decktives?” Connor’s head lifted from her shoulder, and he stared at their badges with open fear. “Beff, they’re cops.”

  “Yes, they are. But they’re also friends of mine. It’s okay to talk to them.” She tucked him against her side and did the same with Grant, making it clear to everyone they were under her protection. “Don’t worry, honey. If they scare you, I’ll yell at them.”

  Dan’s mouth quirked. Although the other detective’s face rivaled Dan’s for hardness, his eyes lit with laughter.

  But Connor gasped in unfeigned terror and put his small hand over her mouth. “Shhh. They’ll hurt you.”

  The detectives lost any trace of amusement.

  Dan sat down on the bed, instantly appearing less threatening.

  Max took two steps back and went down on one knee, resting his forearms on his thigh. Interesting how much his face resembled his cousin’s. Both had squared-off chins, sharply carved cheekbones, and straight noses. But Alastair’s mother had bequeathed him the chocolate-colored skin, fuller lips, and slight Oriental tilt to his light hazel eyes. Max had sharp blue eyes and light skin, despite an outdoorsman’s tan. Alastair moved like a big, lean cat. Max was powerfully muscled—and his rough and tough attitude matched Nolan’s.

  When Max smiled at her, she had to say both cousins had incredibly gorgeous smiles. “Beth, can you give us a rundown on what you—and they—know?”

  “Sure, but there’s not much.” Snuggling the two boys against her, she hoped the detective proved as nice as his cousin was. “They told me how the paramedics took their mother away and that they were under the bed.”

  The men stayed silent, probably trying to find a non-threatening way to ask why the kids hadn’t come out before. “How come you hid from the cops, Grant?”

  He looked at her as if she were an imbecile. “They take kids away. And don’t let them stay together.”

  “They’d send us to places wiff mean boys and knives, and the boys’d hurts us,” Connor confided, his brown eyes earnest.

  “If we’re not together, I can’t watch out for Connor,” Grant whispered.

  Beth hugged him. Best big brother ever. “I can see why you’d worry. But these are good cops. And I won’t let anyone split you apart.” If Dan and Max couldn’t protect the boys, darned if she wouldn’t.

  “Can you tell us what happened today, guys?” Dan pulled out a notepad.

  When Grant didn’t speak, Connor said, “We were watching TV, and Mama and Jermaine came home, and they were mad at each other, and then they were mad at us.”

  “He called us fucking beggars and said we stole food. He hit me.” Flushed with anger, Grant touched his bruised cheek and nose. Dried blood still showed on his lip and chin and the stains trailed down the Iron Man T-shirt.

  The memory of how much a man’s big fist could hurt would never go away completely, Beth knew. She tugged him a little closer.

  “Mama called Jermaine a name, and they fighted, and she throwed things.” Connor’s waving hands showed someone grabbing anything and throwing anywhere.

  No wonder the living room was a disaster zone.

  “A dish got Connor,” Grant said.

  Connor craned his neck to look over his shoulder where the back of his shirt was stiff and sticky with blood.

  Beth touched the hem. “May I see?” When he nodded, she pulled it up, turning him so the men could see as well. A nasty gash was no longer bleeding, but purple bruises were forming around it.

  Fury lit Max’s blue gaze, but his tone was mild. “I bet that hurt. Your mom didn’t give you a Band-Aid or anything?”

  “We ran out the back.” Grant’s hand clamped down on Beth’s. “Did Jermaine hit her ’cause we ran away? Is that why she had to go to the hospital?” His voice shook. “Is it my fault?”

  “Oh, no, Grant.” Beth shook her head.

  “No.” Dan’s voice deepened. A Shadowlands Master in full dominant mode sounded much like God. “She wasn’t injured, Grant, she was sick. That’s why she lost her temper. That’s why she went to the hospital.”

  Sick or overdosed? Crystal meth could be bad if a person had too much. Beth caught Max’s gaze and raised her eyebrows. He understood and the grave shake of his head answered her question.

  As Beth looked down at the little boys, worry nagged at her. What would happen to them if Drusilla remained in the hospital or rehab for very long?

  Chapter Six

  Within an hour, Beth sat between the two boys in a small interview room in the Tampa police station.

  Fidgeting uneasily, Connor had pulled his chair right next to Beth’s. Before leaving the house, she’d used Max’s first aid kit to bandage the boy’s gashed back, and he was comfortable enough to lean against her, almost in her lap.

  Grant had a chair on her left, also pulled as close as it could get. Although the investigator from the Department of Children and Families had shown up, the children weren’t about to leave Beth’s side.

  She couldn’t blame them—she wouldn’t sit anywhere near Price either. The DCF social worker sat on the other side of the metal table. His unbuttoned suit coat revealed a beer gut, and his light brown hair had been combed over in an unsuccessful attempt to hide a bald pate. The jerk hadn’t concealed his boredom as the two detectives quizzed the boys about the day’s events.

  Arms folded over his chest, Max leaned against a wall. Using a laptop, Dan sat beside Price.

  A tug on her arm made her bend down to Connor. He whispered, “I wish Nolanman was here.”<
br />
  Nolanman. The name made her smile. When she’d met the children, she’d called Nolan her Iron Man, her hero who’d saved her from a bad guy, and the boys had dubbed him Nolanman. Sir was uneasy with being elevated to hero status, but in her opinion, that was where he belonged.

  “Nolan is coming as soon as he can.” She’d phoned him before leaving Drusilla’s house.

  “He needs to hurry,” Grant told her solemnly.

  “I think we’re about done here.” Dan pushed the laptop back, then glanced at her and Price. “Do we have a next-of-kin for Drusilla?”

  Darn it, Drusilla. Why didn’t you stay clean? For the boys’ sake, if nothing else. When Price didn’t speak up, Beth answered, “According to the shelter records, there are no relatives. Their father died serving in Iraq. Jermaine Hinton moved into the apartment last spring and he was a”—she remembered the children—“wasn’t nice to her.”

  “Why the hell did she go back to him?” Dan asked.

  His ruddy face darkening, Price shot Beth a look of dislike. “Mr. Hinton had completed the court-ordered anger management class. Mrs. McCormick felt she and the children would be safe.”

  “Guess not,” Max muttered.

  “You ready to take charge of them?” Dan asked Price. “They’ll go into foster care?”

  The small bodies on each side of Beth went rigid.

  “Foster care,” Grant whispered with the same terror as he’d uttered cop.

  “You’ll keep them together, right?” Beth asked quickly. “They need—”

  “I will, of course, try.” Price’s indifferent tone said he wouldn’t try. The lazy bum would do whatever came easiest.

  Beth hardened her voice. “I want to know you’ll do more than just try.”

  “No need.” The deep, rough voice came from the doorway behind her. “Beth and I are licensed.” Nolan strode into the room, his black T-shirt, jeans, and work boots covered in dirt.

  The boys turned, saw him, and squealed in delight. They hit him so hard he actually rocked back a step.

  “Hey, men,” he said in his guttural growl that to her always meant safety. The children obviously felt the same. When he went down on one knee, they burrowed against him like puppies.

  He winced when Connor’s head bumped his shoulder, but being Nolan, he’d push through the pain to give comfort.

  As Beth watched, she tried to pull her thoughts into order. Foster care. Why hadn’t she remembered that she and Nolan had obtained a foster care license? Would the certification allow them to care for boys who weren’t up for adoption?

  And…should they? Beth bit her lip. Her heart wanted to take them home, keep them safe, feed them, and give them everything they’d been missing. But Drusilla wouldn’t be in the hospital forever and she’d take her boys back. They’d return to a place where they weren’t safe, and Beth wouldn’t be able to save them.

  Max gave her an understanding look and pushed off the wall. “Hey, guys. Come and help me buy some drinks. I think Beth is thirsty.”

  Two pairs of worried, young eyes studied her. Afraid she’d leave them.

  “Nolan and I will be right here when you get back.” She made herself smile.

  Reassured, the boys took Max’s hands. Connor told him solemnly, “Beff always brings us juice. We can get her something this time.”

  So sweet.

  Once they’d left the room, Dan started a low-voiced conversation with Price.

  Beth turned to Nolan. “Sir…”

  “No reason not to help these two out while we’re waiting for our own, is there?” His dark gaze moved over her face, and understanding filled his eyes. “Ah, that’s not what you’re worried about. It’s because it’ll break your heart to give them back. Not be able to keep them safe.”

  She nodded.

  “Can you handle the pain?” His expression didn’t change as he rested his hip against the table and waited for her to decide. Not pushing, not ordering. Her Sir, master of patience.

  She remembered how Connor’s tiny hand had twisted in Nolan’s shirt. Holding on. They were terrified of what was to come, where they’d go. Jerkface Price might very well split them up.

  She pulled in a slow breath. Losing them after loving them, guarding them, having them close would surely destroy her—and that didn’t matter. Not when weighed against the welfare of two little boys. “Yes. We’ll take them.”

  Nolan nodded as if he’d known her answer already.

  “I’m sorry, but the children need to be placed quickly.” Price’s mouth pinched as if he’d sucked on a sour lemon. “I don’t have time to review and inspect your home.”

  “Inspections were done already,” Nolan said.

  “Nonetheless,” Price snapped. “There are procedures, protocols, other—”

  “The boys know us,” Nolan said. “Placement with us would be in their best interest.”

  Because of past altercations, Price didn’t like her. And one time, Nolan had gotten in his face about not moving faster to help a battered mother, so he didn’t like Nolan either. She wasn’t surprised he was putting up obstacles.

  “I’m sorry, but—” As Price blathered on, Nolan pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Z? Could use your help here.”

  Beth blinked. Well. Master Z—Zachary Grayson, the owner of the Shadowlands—was an extremely wealthy, child psychologist as well as a powerful force in Tampa. Talk about bringing in the big guns right away. Poor Price had no clue what he was in for.

  * * * * *

  Beth and the children ended up in Dan’s office while the war was fought.

  Dan set them up with toys and blankets scrounged from somewhere. Max showed up with a bag of fast food and drinks. He told them in his universe, everything got better after a burger and fries.

  Now she was sitting on the pile of blankets on the floor with two well-stuffed boys sprawled across her lap. Her feet had fallen asleep, a toy was digging into her hip, and she wouldn’t have moved for the world.

  If only she knew what was going on…

  Then she heard a familiar, smooth, baritone. One that conveyed almost as much safety as her Master’s did.

  “I appreciate your help, Mrs. Molina.” Master Z entered the room accompanied by a short, middle-aged woman in a boxy, magenta suit. Nolan and Dan followed them. Price wasn’t in the group, thank goodness.

  Z’s silvery-gray gaze swept over her and the children. “I see they have piled onto their preferred caregiver, ensuring she won’t get away.”

  The woman beside him lifted her eyebrows. “So they have.”

  “Up you come, sugar. You need to meet Mrs. Molina.” Smiling, Nolan slid the children off and pulled Beth to her feet. As she crossed the room, she heard Connor’s piping voice. “Nolanman, we gots toys.”

  Z said, “Mrs. Molina, this is Beth King, Nolan’s wife. Beth, Mrs. Molina is a supervisor with the Department of Children and Families. She came to settle the children’s arrangements.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Beth held her hand out.

  “And you. Apparently, you and Mr. King know the children from their stay at Tomorrow Is Mine?” The woman’s grip was firm, her brown eyes steady. She glanced at Nolan who’d gone to one knee as Connor showed him their Happy Meals toys before asking Beth, “Did Mr. King have family there? Know one of the clients?”

  In other words, how had a man breached the shelter’s No Men Allowed rules? “No. My husband is a contractor and helps out with repairs.”

  Mrs. Molina still appeared puzzled. “A man? But—”

  “The shelter was falling down and on the verge of closing when Beth donated the money to keep it open,” Master Z said.

  His explanation sounded so altruistic, when she thought her reasons had simply been logical. Her very rich, very abusive husband had died without a will, and she’d inherited a wife’s share, despite his relatives’ attempts to cut her out. Since the money was an ugly reminder of him, she’d enjoyed donating it to
domestic violence shelters.

  Kyler’s family had been appalled.

  Z tilted his head. “Both of the Kings help at the shelter. People who know Beth usually wind up volunteering there—and that would include my wife.”

  Dan snorted. “And mine.”

  “I…see.” Amusement danced in Mrs. Molina’s warm brown eyes. “For one woman, you have a most effective—and long reach.”

  Beth frowned. “Long?”

  “Quite. Although I agreed that placing the children with you would be beneficial, obtaining all the required signatures would have been impossible without”—she actually snorted—“the pressure brought to bear from above.” Her glance at Z was both annoyed and admiring.

  Beth stared at Master Z. “What did you do?”

  He gave her a faint smile. “When my influence wasn’t enough, I did what any smart man does—I called my mother.”

  Beth’s mouth dropped open. She’d met the terrifyingly rich and refined Madeline Grayson. “You didn’t.”

  “I believe she spoke to the mayor.”

  “She did,” Mrs. Molina said in a dry voice.

  Well.

  “Tell Madeline thanks.” Nolan joined them, Connor securely settled on a hip, Grant beside him.

  “Hey, guys, you’re going home with us,” Beth told the boys.

  In response, Connor bounced in Nolan’s arms, and Grant curled his arms around Beth’s waist.

  And Mrs. Molina smiled.

  * * * * *

  At home, Nolan helped Grant and Connor out of the social worker’s car and made a mental note to pick up child booster seats for his and Beth’s vehicles. As the children took his hands and walked with him down the flagstone path, he felt a tightness in his chest. Yeah, he wanted children.

  Soon, it’d be their little girl holding his hand. Hopefully, more would follow her.

  Meantime, they could give these two waifs a safe home until their mother was well and able to care for them again.

  “Here we go, men.” Under the portico, he pushed open the front door and heard noises coming from the kitchen. Since he’d held his speed down so Mrs. Molina could follow, Beth was already home.