Page 2 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

THAT STUBBORN , stubborn woman. Obstinate as ever after all these years.

A light breeze caught Luna’s dark hair, and the long strands fanned out like an ebony banner as she marched away. The tendons in Corbin’s neck vibrated. Why couldn’t she stay and talk to him for once?

He shook his head. That woman had serious walls up.

No, not just walls—she was fortified better than Fort Knox. He shouldn’t be surprised. Rather than face pain and work through the messy stuff, Luna always cut and ran. They’d done everything wrong, and they’d paid for it.

Apparently, he was still paying for it.

Back then, he’d thought their bond was elastic enough to always bring her back. But now it was painfully clear she would always run.

Even from him.

The wail of distant sirens snapped him back to the present. Backup was approaching fast, and if he wanted to maintain his involvement in the case, he had to insert himself as the first responder.

Using his phone, he photographed the scene in wide shots first to document the layout. The street. The diner. The few cars lining the street. Next, details. Stryker’s Jeep. The skid marks where the SUV had peeled away. The gash in the side of the cars.

His eyes fell on the sidewalk, where paper dots lay scattered. Those telltale markers from a Taser could be critical evidence linking the kidnapping to the suspects. He crouched and snapped photos, ensuring he captured the placement of each.

With no witnesses and the evidence secured as best as he could manage alone, he turned and stepped inside the diner.

The air around him seemed to shift, just for a heartbeat.

This was Stryker’s place, but Corbin avoided coming here.

Every corner, every worn booth, reminded him of Luna—of how empty it felt when she’d left.

He pushed past the feeling and crossed the worn linoleum in a few long strides and found Marge cradling a bawling Angie in her arms.

“They shot Stryker! Right in the street! They just ... shot him!” The waitress had her head buried in Marge’s shoulder, muffling her words.

Crying women. He’d never been great with them. Whatever came out of his mouth always made things worse. “Look, they didn’t shoot him. Not with a gun, okay?” He tried to soften his tone. “Taser. It was a Taser. He’ll be fine.”

At least he should be until the kidnappers got Stryker to wherever they were taking him. Then ... well, he didn’t want to chase that rabbit trail. One problem at a time.

Angie lifted her head and shuddered a breath. Dark trails of mascara cut through the tears on her face. “What’d they want with him?”

“I don’t know.” But he’d find out. “Listen, I need to ask you a few quick questions. Anything you can remember could be vital.”

Angie’s hand trembled as she wiped her nose with a palm. “It ... it all happened so ... so fast. I ... I don’t know if I seen anything good or not.”

“That’s normal to feel that way. You might remember more once the adrenaline wears off.”

She sniffed. “Yeah, maybe.”

Marge held her daughter with one arm. Decades of cigarette smoking showed in her sagging skin and nicotine-stained teeth.

The boys in the neighborhood used to steal smokes from her unattended pack on the counter.

He’d tried one once. A feeble attempt to impress Luna.

To prove he was one of the cool guys. The smoke had caught in his lungs and sent him into a coughing fit.

When the tears cleared from his eyes, he’d found Stryker hovering over him, arms folded, shaking his head.

That little stunt had earned him a ten-mile beach run with Stryker by his side, lecturing him all the way.

He looked again at the women sitting at a table, hands clasped together, clinging to each other for support.

The incident had hit them hard. Not because they’d witnessed the crime.

They’d seen their fair share of violence living in Millie Beach.

But they knew Stryker. Everyone did. These women loved him because he made the world a better place.

A safer place. And now, maybe the world wasn’t so safe after all.

“Either of you notice any unusual people hanging around or strange vehicles parked nearby?”

“I was back in the kitchen.” Marge sounded like she gargled with gravel every morning. “Didn’t see nothing but the backs of yer heads runnin’ out the door. Thought you’d outgrown them dine and dash days, though.”

“Wait.” Angie straightened. Her puffy eyes widened, and she pulsed a finger in his direction. “I remember you. Yeah. You and ... and that girl who was in here. Luna and Corbin. You’re them Warrior kids, right?”

Small towns. You either loved them or hated them, and right now he was leaning heavily toward the latter. In this town, everyone knew everyone else’s business. Or thought they did. It came in handy during investigations. Not so much when your own life was on display for the busybody gossips.

He didn’t want to talk about Luna. Wasn’t sure he could talk about her without betraying the storm of emotions that raged in side. Every question they might ask would be one he’d tortured himself with over the years.

Like why the very thought of her name still sent a jolt through his system.

Forget it. Get the conversation back on track.

“That’s right. I’m Special Agent Corbin King. Police are on the way to take your official statements about the kidnapping. In the meantime, do you have security cameras? Any surveillance I can take a look at?”

“That one there.” Marge nodded toward a dome camera perched above the register. “Plus, we got one out back to keep an eye on deliveries.”

“Nothing out front?”

“Nope.” Marge pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and dabbed at a dark streak on Angie’s cheek. “We ain’t that tech savvy.”

Of course not. That would be too easy. They’d have to check the other businesses lining the street. Find witnesses. “The register camera. Does it cover the dining area?”

“Lil bit.” Marge shrugged. “Not out to the street, though.”

“Okay, I’ll still need access to it.”

Angie leaned to her left, craning to see around him.

Through the massive plate glass windows dominating the front of the diner, he saw the police cruisers.

A green and white Silverado with the Broward County Sherrif’s logo on the side pulled up, and the driver’s door swung open.

Detective Blade St. James unfolded himself from the vehicle.

“Hang tight. I’ll be right back,” he said, heading up front.

Blade towered over the uniformed officers gathered around him. He motioned up and down the street, issuing rapid-fire commands. No doubt ordering them to secure the area, pull video, and interview witnesses.

The door chimed, and Blade filled the doorway.

“Well, if it isn’t the world’s tallest garden gnome.” Corbin had used that insult before, but Blade still grinned at him.

“And hello to you, Mr. Discount Miami Vice Wannabe.” Blade met him with a handshake.

Blade was nothing like his hard-edged name suggested.

As a kid, he’d been bullied for his tenderheartedness and doughy physique.

But time in Stryker’s court-ordered Warrior program at the Kingdom MMA Gym had transformed him.

Transformed them both, really. Blade had shot up like a weed, stretching his brawny frame to six-foot-four.

The program had given him the confidence to own his size.

Corbin... well, Corbin was still figuring that part out.

“You just wish you could look this good in a suit. But hey, thanks for coming.” His caseload had kept him buried, leaving little time for anything—or anyone—else lately.

“Soon as I heard Stryker’s name on the box, I hauled it over here.” Blade’s massive hand found Corbin’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “How you holdin’ up, brother?”

“I’m hanging in there.” Something loosened in his chest at the sight of Blade, the only person who truly got it. The only one who’d walked through the same fire and come out the other side. No one else understood what they’d survived together.

Juvie had been inevitable. Corbin, for a string of stupid mistakes fueled by anger and resentment.

Blade, for the noble act of defending a stranger with a knife.

But Stryker had intervened. He’d rescued them from the system, offered them a home at the Kingdom MMA Gym, and given them something no one else had. Hope.

Stryker had seen something worth saving where everyone else saw trouble.

For Corbin, whose only experience with family had been the sting of his father’s fists and a mother too lost in her bottles of cheap vodka to notice the bruises, the Warrior program had been his salvation.

Years of sweat, sacrifice, and shared pain on those mats had forged a connection deeper than any blood tie.

They’d bled together, learned to trust each other, and become the family Corbin never knew he craved.

So yeah, they were brothers. Not by blood or court documents, but in every way that mattered.

“Except all this.” He circled a finger. “They took Stryker. In broad daylight.”

“You saw it?”

“Right through that window. A dark SUV—black, maybe blue—pulled up. Three masked dudes dressed in black hopped out, tased Stryker, dragged him in the back, then hauled off. Happened in a matter of seconds. I’d dropped in to interview the staff about Carlie Tinch.”

“The commissioner’s daughter? That’s your missing person case?”

“Runaway, most likely. She’s got a history of it. Not to mention shoplifting, drugs, you know.” Corbin scratched the stubble on his jaw. “But bad things happen to runaways, especially young girls. I wanted to take another shot at interviews. See if any new leads materialized.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Six weeks. The commissioner’s breathing down my neck. Wants me to find her and convince her to join Stryker’s Warrior program.”

“That’s actually a great idea. Could really help her.”