Seven
A child. Their intruder was a child. Charlotte pegged him as no more than thirteen, though it was a little hard to tell in the flashlight’s glare. He was skinny and dirty, with the kind of sharp angles in his face that only came with hunger.
Horrified, she tossed the branch away. “Oh, my God. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
As the boy still hadn’t caught his breath, he didn’t answer.
Malcolm shifted the light so it wasn’t shining in his eyes and took a step forward. The kid curled in on himself as if bracing for a blow.
Every maternal instinct she had flared to life. She didn’t for a moment believe that Malcolm would strike a child, but she wouldn’t put it past him to use his size to intimidate. He wasn’t exactly the cuddly sort.
Instead, he offered a hand to help the boy up.
T
