Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“We’re looking for a house in the area and we want to know what the neighborhood is like,” Kenna told Jax, keeping her voice low as they approached the front door.
He knocked, and she shifted beside him—noting he did the same—probably also trying not to stand on the doorstep like a cop. Like two cops, one of them pregnant.
She unzipped her jacket and tucked her shirt tighter around her abdomen. Where a moment ago it would’ve draped and hidden her six-months-pregnant rounded belly that wasn’t all that big anyway, now it was on display.
“Good idea,” he whispered.
She tucked her hands in her maternity jeans pockets, also emphasizing the bump under her shirt. Over in the front window, the blinds shifted. Someone looked out to see who was on the doorstep. She knocked again, a jaunty rhythm she tried to make sound light.
When the door opened, Kenna was smiling at Jax.
It was the first thing whoever answered saw, and she trusted Jax to protect her if it came to that.
She would take the lead from his hold on her hand, because he would alert her if she needed to move.
If his fingers tightened suddenly, or he spun her around, there was danger.
She looked over her shoulder, already smiling. A pang of recognition hit her, as in that instant she knew what kind of situation this young woman lived in. But she had learned a long time ago not to let how she was feeling on the inside show in her expression.
“Hi, sorry.” Kenna turned from her husband to the slender woman in the doorway. “Sorry to disturb you.”
Megan Tiller. Seventeen when Samantha Ambrose was killed six years ago, missing that length of time despite her parents’ meager attempts to find her. Or the police, who had deemed her as a runaway who’d taken off with her boyfriend. Escaping home, looking for something else.
Jax eased an arm around her waist. “We’re thinking about moving into the area.”
“Gotta get out of our apartment before the baby comes.” Kenna put both hands over the baby. “You know how it is. Maybe you don’t—I don’t know you. But we did a viewing over at a house down the street.”
The young woman looked a little shellshocked. Exhausted, which wasn’t unprecedented with a young child. Behind her, the hall remained dark.
“What’s this neighborhood like—if you don’t mind us asking?”
Megan hesitated. Her hair could use product and styling, but it was clean.
Could be she simply didn’t have the money for those things.
She wore clothes that were probably purchased from a secondhand store or which she’d kept for a long time.
Indications a person was on a strict budget were often simply that. Nothing more.
And sometimes they were a sign of the kind of situation Kenna believed this was.
Megan Tiller had dropped off the map. She lived in a house that was still owned by the boyfriend she’d had years ago, the one who died months later in Afghanistan.
Someone kept up the payments, and no one had ever told the mortgage company that he’d died.
Kenna couldn’t figure how that’d been allowed to continue.
Unless you were Dominatus and you wanted this woman to remain here, no questions asked.
Megan held the door with one hand and sucked in a choppy breath. “It’s a nice enough neighborhood. Quiet.” She shrugged one shoulder, and the sweater slipped a bit. Kenna caught the edge of a purple mark on her neck.
Jax rubbed a hand over Kenna’s hip. “What about local schools?” He motioned to a hook just inside the door, where the kid had hung his backpack.
Megan looked at it and practically flinched. “Fine, I guess. It’s school.”
“That helps!” Kenna said, excited but not so loud she would startle this woman.
“We won’t need one right away, with this one being little.
But eventually, we’ll want to know she’s going somewhere that’s safe, where she can learn and make friends.
” She grinned so wide it felt stiff, and she hoped it didn’t look totally fake.
“This is probably an imposition, but we’ve been out a while and I really have to pee.
” She exhaled a flustered breath. “Is it okay if I use your bathroom?”
Kenna started to step inside before she was even finished with the question.
As if Megan would never have any intention of saying no.
Anyone with a good-willed heart would let a pregnant woman in a door rather than force her to walk into it, and she banked on the fact Megan wasn’t a bad person.
Kenna had seen the way she cared for the child who’d come home.
The way she hadn’t left the house.
How she’d waited for him to come in and they’d embraced the way they did.
This was a woman who cared for her child no matter what was swirling around her. She was a protector. A survivor.
“You can’t come in.” Megan froze, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
Kenna looked around the dark interior of the house, dimly lit by lights overhead with missing bulbs. The hallway was stark but clean, nothing on the walls. Thin old carpet covered the hallway floor.
“Megan, we know who you are,” Jax said in a soft voice. “Are you safe here? Do you need help?”
Kenna turned to the living room, where the little boy sat on the floor with his back to the wall. Knees curled up. An old metal train with faded paint was on the floor beside him. He held a small plastic bowl, two Cheerios in his fingers. He stared at her.
She stepped up to the threshold and saw there was only one recliner, over which someone had draped a US Army blanket.
No couch. A coffee table beside the recliner had an ashtray on it, which accounted for the cigar smell in here.
Big TV on the wall, wires hanging down connecting to the box on the bookcase under it.
Nothing on the walls.
Plenty of people didn’t have much material wealth, and abuse happened in every stratus of society. Kenna bit her lip. Don’t assume. Poverty didn’t mean Megan wasn’t happy with her life, or finding contentment in her choices. So what if she and the kid had nowhere to sit.
Kenna wanted to look through the whole house and get a complete assessment of the situation. Instead of doing that, she turned back to Megan. “My name is Kenna Banbury and I’m a private investigator. This is my husband, Oliver Jaxton. He works with me. We’re a team.”
“Are you even pregnant?” Megan stared at her with a hard expression.
“Yes, I am.” Kenna gave her a moment with that. “We do want to help you. But we’d also like to ask you about Samantha Ambrose.”
Megan flinched, but it was barely visible. Kenna might not have seen what she thought she did.
“I’d ask if we can talk, but it doesn’t look like there’s anywhere to sit in here.” Kenna waved to the living room. “Do you have a kitchen table?”
“You can’t be in here.” Megan bit her lip.
Jax held out his hand, and Kenna clasped it, though they were further from each other than she’d have liked. “If you or your son are in danger, or scared about anything, or if you feel trapped…we can help you.”
Megan shook her head vigorously.
Kenna took a wild guess. “There are places you can go he won’t find you.”
“No, there aren’t,” Megan whispered. “I don’t know you guys. You need to leave now.”
“Are you expecting him to come home?” Jax’s hand tightened around Kenna’s. “If you get your things and bring your son, we can leave. He won’t find you.”
“I can’t leave the house.”
“Megan, I can’t leave you here,” Kenna said. “Not knowing you’re in danger. The police—”
“You don’t understand. I can’t leave the house.” She gasped but didn’t say more.
Kenna wanted to ask what Dominatus wanted with the two of them, or if it was because their captor held enough sway to get what he wanted.
The homeowner was the one who was supposed to have been Megan’s boyfriend at the time of Samantha’s death.
If he was dead, and not the one who forced them to be here, then who was the person keeping her living in this fear?
Jax said, “We know you didn’t even leave to meet your son at the bus.” He paused. “I’m guessing you don’t even check the mailbox.”
Megan stared at him, no unshed tears in her eyes. Just a slender woman with straight shoulders who had withstood who-knew-what in the past six years.
“Does he hurt your son?” Jax was fighting his frustration.
This woman didn’t need to see him lose his cool, but Kenna knew for a fact he was close to it. All because this family was in danger and her husband felt the way she did when it came to rescuing those who needed it.
Megan’s jaw flexed.
Kenna wanted to tell her that her son was beautiful, but that might not be a good thing in Megan’s world. “What’s his name?” There was so much more to say, but starting there could help Megan begin to trust them.
“Joseph.” Megan didn’t look at the boy. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, or eaten any more of the after-school snack since they came in.
Kenna needed a plan. “If you tell us everything about him, we can make sure the police take him down. He’ll be arrested, and it will never fall on you.
We’ll go after him like it’s a personal vendetta, and he’ll have no clue why until we explain he double-crossed us in business.
Something like that. You’ll be safe, and he won’t come after you. ”
“One of them will.”
“Because they’re connected to Dominatus?”
Megan’s eyes flared. Her body curled in on itself, a defensive reflex that had become instinctive. A way to protect herself against the threat.
“We know who they are,” Kenna said. “We’ve gone up against them before and survived. We can do it again. If it keeps Joseph safe, it will be worth it.”
Jax’s hand flexed around hers. She wasn’t going to trade their baby’s life for Joseph’s, but neither of them was prepared to walk away when another child was in danger.
Kenna continued, “We have friends who can keep you both safe from them. Friends who know exactly who Dominatus is and how to hide from them.”
Jax nodded, relaxing slightly but not much. “It’s true. We can do this for you both. But you have to trust us enough to go with us. Take the chance and be free.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen to you or Joseph.
” Kenna had to get through to her. “And we don’t want to leave you here, but we will if you think it’s best. Don’t think we’ll forget about you.
It’s going to become our mission to make sure you’re set free of this.
Whatever it is. You deserve to feel free.
Safe. To find some happiness. Everyone does. ”
Megan stared at her, and Kenna got the feeling she might as well be speaking a different language. Safety and happiness weren’t words Megan understood. The life she lived had no room for those things, or wishing for them to be true.
“We know what it’s like to be scared. To not know what Dominatus is going to do next.” Kenna paused. “We know what it’s like to be trapped. And we can help you.”
A tiny whimper came from the living room.
Kenna glanced over at Joseph and saw his attention on the front window. Before she could say something, the front door moved.
A man’s presence filled the space at the end of the hallway. But it was more than where he stood. It was the air in the home. “Why is—”
His eyes narrowed on Jax, this heavyset man with a barrel chest and shaved head. A tattoo up the side of his neck.
Kenna moved, propelled by Jax tugging on her hand or her direction first—she didn’t know which it was. Jax let go of her. Kenna swept Megan into the living room and out of the hall where Jax faced down the man who had entered.
Megan sucked in a breath, her gaze on Kenna’s gun, which she’d drawn.
Right. But there were safer ways for a pregnant woman to keep two charges protected. She palmed her cell phone with her off hand and speed-dialed the number she’d programmed.
Ramon answered before the first ring. “Almost there. Two minutes.”
“Hurry.” She hung up.
A gunshot exploded in the hall.