Simone jerked away from Charlie’s touch. “You think I hurt my baby? Is that what this interrogation is about?”
“Take it easy.” Nate put a protective arm around his wife’s waist. “Drex is our friend. He’s not accusing us of anything. He’s trying to help Bobby.” Nate’s Adam’s apple bobbed visibly. “But…are you sure those bruises started this morning, babe?”
Simone started to shake outright, and Nate tightened his arm around her, and then turned back to Charlie. “Does it really matter when Simone made the appointment or when the bruises on his bottom happened? I just want to make sure our baby is okay. I mean, I Googled bruising while Simone was dressing Bobby, and I found an article that said that could be a sign of leukemia.” Nate’s voice dropped an octave. “This is my kid, Drex. So, I just need to know what the hell is going on.”
“I’d like to put Bobby in the hospital overnight to run some tests and—”
Simone tightened her hold on Bobby. “You can’t put my baby in the hospital unless I say you can.”
“I certainly don’t want to put him the hospital without your consent, but the truth is I can get child protective services involved if I have to.”
Nate’s face reddened, and his voice rose in alarm. “For Chrissake, are you both crazy? Butting heads isn’t going to help anything.” He pried his son loose from Simone’s arms and gently cradled him in his own. “Bobby comes first. Period. So if Drex says Bobby needs to go in the hospital for tests, that’s where he’s going.”
Tuesday Evening
CHARLIE OPENED THE Carlisle front door, registered the scene in front of him, and then, with a burst of adrenaline churning blood through his veins and turbocharging his muscles, he bounded across the room. This was no fight or flight response—this was a 100 percent, grade-A, punch-your-goddamn-lights-out response.
Nathan Henry Carlisle Senior, also known to his family as Sir, had Anna’s wrists manacled in his grip. “All you gotta do is tell me where they are, sweetheart, and I’ll let you go.” His voice was urgent, yet low and cajoling—like he was coaxing a gun from the hands of a toddler.
Anna stood her ground, not flinching or acknowledging the implied threat as to what might happen if she didn’t tell him where Simone and Bobby were hiding.
Charlie hit his mark. Towering above Mr. Carlisle, he said, “Get your fucking hands off her now.” He could feel his voice vibrating through his clamped teeth.
In a flash, Carlisle released Anna’s wrists and put his hands up in a take-it-easy gesture.
Considering the fact that Charlie had a good three inches and at least forty pounds on the guy, it was smart of him not to argue the point. Unlike Charlie’s father, Nate’s dad wasn’t the type to resort to violence. He was, however, the type to try to make you believe that he might.
Nathan Henry Carlisle Senior was all about intimidation.
He ruled his family not with an iron fist, but with an iron heart.
Before Nate’s glory days in football, his dad had referred to him as a super-sized momma’s boy. It was only after Nate made a name for himself that his father labeled him a chip off the old block.
The cool thing about Nate, though, was that no matter how hard he tried to be one, he really wasn’t a chip off the old block at all. Nate cared far less about appearances than was befitting a Carlisle, and that had rubbed a sore spot in his relationship with his father.
Charlie glanced around his old friend’s living room, where family photographs, rather than football trophies, set the tone—despite the fact that Nate had plenty of those trophies languishing in his closet. His gaze landed on Nate, who slumped on the couch, his chin boring a hole in his chest, his lips thinned into a worried line, his eyes downcast but red and puffy enough for Charlie to see from clear across the room that he’d been crying.
His throat tightened, and his attention swung back to Anna, who was still waging a standoff with Nate’s father. Carlisle’s body canted toward her. Hands fisted at her sides, her body retaliated, canting toward Carlisle.
The meek girl he knew in high school would’ve avoided confrontation and stepped back. This side of Anna was new to Charlie, and he wondered what else had changed about her in the past decade. Frowning, he smoothed a hand across his hair. It simply wasn’t possible she could be covering up for Simone.
“Where are they, Anna?” he asked, with that same angry vibration in his voice. Deliberately, he relaxed his jaw, which was beginning to ache.