Page 139 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“What the fuck is going on, Grant?” Nate says, already out of breath as he runs up behind me.
The turning of locks startles me, even though it’s exactly what I’m asking for. My hand is on the butt of my gun, my temper a rush of adrenaline that has that hand trembling.
“Keely, don’t open the door—” Davis shouts from somewhere inside the house, but the sound drowns out to a white buzz when I look down to see her standing there.
Her cheek is bruised beneath her eye.
Her bottom lip is cracked, and there is some dried blood smudged in the corner.
And more than anything is the way she looks at me.
Haunted.
Like I failed her.
Withdrawn.
Like I didn’t get to her in time.
Petrified.
Like I didn’t save her.
For a second, the picture of Emerson that fell from the folder flashes in my mind and the two of them meld together.
Emmy and Keely.
Keely and Emmy.
They could be one and the same.
“Don’t do it, Grant,” Nate warns, already grabbing my arm and trying to drag me back a step. “Don’t do it.”
“Do you have a warrant?” Mr. Davis says as he stands there with a cocky smirk.
“I have probable cause,” I say, lifting my chin toward his daughter.
“You don’t have shit,” he sneers. “She fell running up the stairs earlier. Got banged up real good, too, but we kissed it and made it all better. So, since you have no authority to be here.” He strides the short distance to the front door. “Then good bye.”
My palm is on the door slamming it back to prevent it from closing. Keely shrinks at the sound, and Davis curses at me.
“Grant,” Nate cautions, but all I can think of is willingly letting this little girl go back into this house.
Her blood is on my hands.
Keely isn’t Emmy.
I don’t have probable cause.
She asked for help.
Emmy isn’t Keely.
I don’t have any cause other than a rock painted like a watermelon.
“Get inside, Keels,” he demands, but never once looks at her. Tension ratchets with each second that we stare at each other, the predictability of what’s going to happen next changes with each and every one of my thoughts.
“No.” My hand is on her shoulder, keeping her put as she swivels those big, blue eyes of hers from her dad to me and back again, both of us wanting her for different things—I want to protect her, and he wants to hide his abuse.
