Page 9 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

SORRY? HE WAS SORRY? She shook her head as she ordered her Uber because she couldn’t believe those three words were supposed to make up for abandoning her all those years ago.

The last time Luna had set foot in Millie Beach she was a teenager with dreams as vast as the ocean. She’d spent her years since vowing never to return. Now she remembered why.

This place was a magnet for regret. A breeding ground for heartache.

Even the crimes here were laced with a desperate, reckless edge.

Meth labs booby-trapped to destroy evidence and take out anyone who got too close?

That was some twisted logic born of addiction.

A maladaptive defense mechanism to protect themselves at all costs—even if it meant taking innocent lives.

A sharp twinge shot through her ankle. She stopped and leaned against a nearby palm tree.

Her hand reached to rub the sore spot, but she stopped herself.

The denim, charred and stiff, clung to the blistered skin beneath.

She gingerly pulled up the leg. A bright red burn, angry and raw, marked her skin.

Great. Just great. Now she had a burn to add to the list of regrets. Singed hair. Possible smoke inhalation. Ex-boyfriend. And on top of everything else, she’d destroyed her new jeans.

She straightened, biting back a wince. The burn throbbed, a dull ache that radiated up her leg. She’d need to clean it, keep it covered. The last thing she needed was an infection.

Her gaze drifted toward the ambulance. The red and blue lights still flashed. Paramedics bustled around the open back doors. Maybe she should go back. Have the burn dressed. At least a thick gauze pad would keep her jeans from rubbing against the raw skin.

She opened the ride app and canceled the car she’d ordered to drive her back to her rental car at the gym.

When she looked up, her eyes landed on a man walking toward her and the chaos behind her.

He shuffled along, head down, shoulders hunched, wearing a sweat-stained sleeveless shirt that revealed sun-weathered arms and faded tattoos that continued up his neck.

His worn jeans were caked with dirt at the knees, and his once-white tennis shoes had long ago surrendered to the permanent stain of St. Augustine grass. He looked familiar.

Abercorn. He walked through the gawkers held back by a line of police cruisers, their lights flashing, a silent barrier between the burning house and the rest of the world.

Then their eyes met.

He froze, his gaze widening. Then he turned and bolted like a rabbit darting for cover.

“Oh, snap.” She bolted after him.

He was fast, rounding the block and weaving through yards. Arms pumping.

“Police!” The word burst from her. Stupid. That was the last thing he needed to hear. He’d run faster now. For sure.

Abercorn headed toward the narrow alleyway between two buildings.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic. He saw her. He stumbled, his foot catching on a loose piece of concrete.

Closer. She was closing in.

He reached the alleyway, a narrow chasm of shadows between two dilapidated buildings. He hesitated, glancing back at her, his eyes darting. Then he scrambled up a chain-link fence, the rusted metal groaning under his weight. He disappeared over the top.

She pushed harder, the pain in her ankle a white-hot fire. Metal scraped against her palms as she pulled herself up. On the other side, she gasped, her lungs burning.

Abercorn was already halfway down the block, sprinting across a busy street, dodging cars that honked their annoyance. She could hear tires squealing, a chorus of angry shouts.

Luna didn’t hesitate. She followed him through the traffic, weaving between cars. A truck roared past, its horn blaring, the wind of its passage buffeting her. She could feel the heat of its engine, smell the diesel fumes.

She reached the other side, heart jackhammering. “Stop!”

Abercorn ignored her and scrambled up a dumpster positioned at the rear corner of the U-shaped motel building.

He reached the top, hesitated, then jumped, grabbing the railing of the motel’s second-story walkway.

He dangled precariously for a moment, arms straining, before swinging his legs up and hauling himself onto the walkway.

Luna didn’t hesitate. She scaled the dumpster, gagging on the stench of rotting garbage. From this vantage point, she could see Abercorn checking a door handle.

“Luna, what are you doing?” Corbin cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze.

She hadn’t even heard him. He must have been chasing her, chasing Abercorn, since the house. “It’s Abercorn! I saw him at the fire. He ran.”

“Which way did he go?” Corbin hauled himself onto the dumpster beside her.

“Down there.” She pointed toward a darkened doorway at the far end of the walkway. “Room 12, I think.”

“Stay put. This is police business.”

“I didn’t chase him this far to watch from the sidelines.” Luna launched herself at the railing.

“Luna, wait!”

She sailed through the air, the metal railing a blur. Her fingers grabbed the rusty steel. She swung her legs over, landing on the walkway with a jolt that sent a searing pain through her burned ankle.

Corbin landed on the walkway and pivoted to face her. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re injured.”

“I’m fine. And I’m not staying here.” She unsnapped her holster. “Let’s go.”

His gaze met hers. A flicker of ... what? Respect? Admiration? “Just ... try not to get yourself killed,” he said.

She followed, her leg throbbing with each step. He drew his sidearm and approached the darkened doorway.

“Stay close,” he said.

She didn’t argue. Her hand brushed against his arm as they moved through the shadows.

They reached the doorway of room 12.

The door stood ajar, a sliver of darkness beyond. The sound of a woman’s screams, high-pitched and frantic, spilled out onto the walkway.

Corbin didn’t hesitate. He pushed the door open.

A woman, young, her blond hair a tangled mess, cowered in the corner of the room, her hands covering her face.

Abercorn scrambled across the room, his back to them, flinging open the sliding glass doors that led to a small balcony.

He was already climbing over the railing, his lean body silhouetted against the bright afternoon sky.

“Go around!” Luna shouted, pointing toward the metal staircase at the end of the walkway.

Corbin didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted outside. She heard him crashing down the stairs, the clang of metal echoing through the courtyard.

The air inside the motel was stale, thick with the smell of mildew and cigarette smoke. The sound of a television, a muffled drone, drifted from one of the rooms.

Abercorn was halfway down the balcony railing now, legs dangling, desperation etched on his face. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the drop.

“Don’t do it, Charles.”

He let go. Abercorn hit the sandy ground with a thud, rolled, and scrambled to his feet.

She went over the railing. Didn’t climb down. Jumped. The landing sent fire through her ankle, but she lunged at Abercorn anyway, tackling him to the ground.

“What the ... hey! I didn’t do nothing!” He twisted beneath her.

“Oh yeah? Then why’d you run?” She grabbed a wrist and wrenched it behind his back.

His free elbow jabbed her ribs. Pain shot through her chest, and she lost her grip. He rolled away, scooped up a handful of sand, and flung it at her face.

Sand stung her eyes, scratching at her corneas. Blinking hard, she tried to clear her vision. Through the blur, she saw him scrambling between two parked cars, his skinny frame disappearing into the maze of metal.

She wasn’t giving up. She sprinted toward a rusty pickup truck, scrambled onto the hood, and used it as a springboard to launch herself into the air.

She landed on Abercorn’s back, driving him face-first into the asphalt. He used her momentum against her, rolling them both until he was on top, her arms trapped beneath his weight.

“Got him!” Corbin’s strong hands closed around Abercorn and yanked him to his feet.

For a moment she lay there, chest heaving, sand stinging her eyes. She wiped the grit from her face.

Corbin pulled Abercorn’s arms behind his back and clicked the cuffs shut on his wrists. He patted Abercorn down. A brisk, efficient search for hidden weapons.

Luna looked up at Corbin and saw his grim face, his jaw working. He stared down at Abercorn and his eyes blazed with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified her.

She’d never seen this side of him before.

And she wasn’t sure what it meant.

“You’re under arrest,” Corbin growled. He began reading Abercorn his rights. He sounded like he’d done it a million times.

She watched him, her heart still pounding against her ribs. He was different now. The boy she’d known, the one who’d held her hand under the bleachers, the one who’d whispered promises in the darkness of the gym, he was gone. Replaced by this ... this stranger. This cop.

The required Miranda warning finished, Corbin looked her up and down. His cop eyes cataloged every inch, searching for injuries she probably didn’t even know she had. “You okay?”

“I’ve been worse.” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze all of a sudden.

“I need to take him in,” he said. “You want to ride with me?”

Ride with him? Spend more time trapped in a car together? She couldn’t do it. He may have earned a little respect back there, but he still had a long way to go.

She was robbed of a response by the black SUV that slammed to a halt behind her. The door flew open.

A man in a dark suit hopped out. Tall. Broad shoulders. Silver hair slicked back. Face flushed. “King!” He stormed to Corbin. “You better have a good explanation for defying a direct order!”

Commissioner Jeffery Tinch. Corbin’s boss. She’d done her research. His words boomed in a tsunami of anger that crashed into Luna. She took a step back.

Corbin stood stiff. Shoulders squared. “Commissioner. Sir, I—”