Peek-a-boo Protector
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“He obviously has a grudge against you,” he said in a gruff tone. “But, his damn mother gave him an alibi.”
“That figures. She’s pretty bitter.”
He gave a clipped nod. “I don’t care. If we find his prints at your house, or if those boot prints are his size, I’ll bring him in.” He closed the distance between them. “I warned him to stay away from you, so if he gives you any trouble, call me.”
“I will.” Emmie began to fuss, and Sam jiggled her up and down, soothing her with soft whispers.
John’s gaze darkened. “What did you decide to do about the baby?”
“I rearranged my calendar so I can take off a few days. That way, I can take care of her myself.”
John frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She stiffened. “You don’t think I can take care of a baby?”
He cursed under his breath. “Dammit, Sam, stop being so defensive. I just thought you’d put her in foster care.”
Sam bit her lip. If Mazie was still taking in kids, she might. But the other two homes she used were full. And Emmie was so tiny…“She’s been through enough. Hopefully you’ll find her parents, and it will only be for a few days.”
“I guess you know what you’re doing.” He shifted, then rapped his knuckles on the desk. “I checked the hospitals and morgue but found nothing. Of course, if the woman is dead, the perp could have dumped her body anywhere in the mountains. She might not be found for days.”
A tense silence stretched between them, filled with the things he hadn’t said. That with the isolated areas in the mountains, the body might never be found.
His phone rang, and he reached for it. She started toward the door, but he gestured for her to wait. “Chief Wise. Yeah? What did you find?” He paused and scribbled something down on a notepad. “I see. Thanks.”
“What?” Sam asked as he disconnected the call.
“That was the Atlanta PD. They traced the owner of the car the woman was driving. Harry Finch was out of town, but flew back into Atlanta yesterday and discovered his car had been stolen.”
Sam’s throat thickened as a dozen different scenarios raced through her head. “The poor woman. She must have been desperate.”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Either that or she’s a criminal. Maybe she kidnapped the baby, as well.”
Sam hugged the baby closer to her chest. She didn’t want to think Emmie had been kidnapped, but she had to admit that anything was possible.
She’d protect her until they found out.
AS SOON AS SAM LEFT, John checked national police databases and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, searching photos and names for hours. By late afternoon, his search hadn’t turned up a lead, and he was getting antsy, so he decided to drive to the newly built lab that serviced the North Georgia area and push them to run the forensics tests.
On the drive, he checked with the officers who’d searched the woods again, but their search had yielded nothing new. A half hour later, he entered the concrete building and walked straight to the lab.
CSI Turner met him. “Chief Wise.”
“I need the results of the forensics evidence your team brought in.”
“The blood will take time.” Turner gestured for him to follow him to the computer. “I was just about to run the prints from the front door. There are three different ones and so smudged, I’m not sure we’ll get a match.”
“Exclude Samantha Corley’s,” John said, stating the obvious.
Turner nodded and fed in the other two. “This one is a male’s,” Turner said. But a half hour later, they hadn’t found a match.
“He must not be in the system,” John said. Meaning he hadn’t been arrested, didn’t have a government job, and he hadn’t served in the military. Not much to go on, but it might help.
“Check the ones from the car,” John said. “I want to know who this woman is.”
John claimed the seat beside him and watched Turner feed the prints into the system. Print after print flashed onto the screen, the computer doing its magic, placing them side by side then overlaying them to see if they matched.
“Did you run the baby prints yet?”
“Sorry, we’re backed up. But I’ll get someone on it ASAP.” He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “Did you check Atlanta hospitals?”
“Yeah,” John said wearily. “Although we have no idea if that’s where the baby was born. For all we know this woman could have crossed a half dozen state lines before she reached Atlanta. The car that she drove to the house was stolen. We could be looking at a mother in trouble, or a kidnapped baby.”
Turner jerked his gaze toward him. “You receive any Amber Alerts?”
John shook his head. “No, and you’d think if someone’s little girl was taken, they’d have gone to the police.”
“Could be a custody issue.”
John nodded. Domestic issues turned violent all the time. And this one might have led to a murder.
The computer flashed, and Turner clicked a few keys to highlight the information. “We’ve got a match.”
John’s heart hammered in his chest. The print belonged to a woman all right.
A woman he knew.
Honey Dawson.
Holy hell. How was he going to tell Samantha that the missing woman was her best friend?
SAM GATHERED BABY SLEEPERS, outfits, socks, diapers, bottles, formula, wipes, soap and powder, washcloths, a hooded towel and various other items she thought she might need. She also purchased a baby sling and a portable crib, rationalizing that she could always donate it to a charity once she didn’t need it anymore.
Or keep it for herself.
Her lungs tightened as she drew in a breath. Not that she had hope of having a baby anytime soon. That would require a man.
At least for her, it would. Other women chose alternative means, but she was old-fashioned. She wanted the whole nine yards. The man, the romance, the proposal first.
The family that she’d once had and lost.
Of course, getting pregnant also required sex, and she was inexperienced in that area and had no prospects in sight.
Unless she decided to adopt…
What if the little girl’s mother was dead and she had no family who wanted to take her in?
Stop, Sam. You learned long ago not to get too attached.
The baby cooed, and she patted her back, juggled her purse to retrieve her credit card and paid for her purchases, then hurried to the car. Emmie began to fuss, and Sam sang her a lullaby as she fastened her in the car seat, then tipped the young man who was loading the supplies into the trunk of her SUV.
It was growing dark, storm clouds brewing on the horizon. She needed to get home. She didn’t want to be driving with Emmie in the car during one of the notorious thunderstorms famous in the South.
The baby kicked the blanket off her feet, and Sam adjusted it, then climbed in the driver’s seat, started the car and wove from the parking lot through town. Fall leaves fluttered from the trees as the gusty wind picked up, and car lights dotted the small town, the tourists already pouring in for the upcoming fall festival and to see the array of colorful leaves.
As she turned onto the narrow winding road leading toward her cabin, car lights blinded her from behind. She tensed, slowing around the curve, but the car sped up, zooming on her tail.
Then suddenly it slammed into her rear. What was happening? Was the car out of control?
He sped up, tires screeching then rammed into her again. Sam gritted her teeth, grasping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. The crazy fool—he was going to get them all killed.
A chill slithered up her spine at the thought, then the truth hit her. What if the driver was the same person who’d been in her house the night before?
Dear God, he knew where she lived. But why come back for her?
Emmie piped up, and she suddenly realized that he knew she had the baby.
He was after Emmie. And he’d kill her to get the child. Would he kill the baby, too?
Chapter Four
Sam silently cursed the man trying to run her off the road, jerked the wheel to the right to avoid careening into the embankment then swung the car onto the graveled drive toward her house.
The baby wailed from the backseat as if she sensed the danger, and Sam sped up, glancing over her shoulder at the lights bearing down on her.
“He’s not going to hurt you, little one,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you and find your mama.”
But the man sped up, too, moving closer on her tail.
She hit the accelerator, shooting forward, and he lost control for a moment and skimmed a tree. The skid gave her just enough time to throw the car into park, grab the baby from the backseat and race inside.
She slammed the door, put the baby carrier on the floor then grabbed her shotgun. Outside, the sound of the car roared nearer, gears and tires grinding, then the engine died and a door slammed.
Emmie wailed louder, kicking her feet and waving her fist, and Sam’s temper rose. Why would someone want to hurt this baby?
Sam’s hands shook as she moved the curtain aside and glanced out the window. She needed to call 9-1-1, but there wasn’t time. The dark sedan was parked off the drive by a thick pocket of trees, and the silhouette of a man slithered through the shadows, creeping toward the side window.
“I’ll be right back, sweetie,” she said softly. She slowly opened the door, then inched outside onto the porch and around toward the side. The man was crouching low in the bushes, weaving toward the window. The sound of glass shattering sounded over the wind. Panic hit her again.
He was trying to break in.
Her insides knotted. She had to protect the baby. “You’re not going to get to Emmie,” she muttered as she raised the gun, braced it against her hip and aimed. The bushes rustled, wind whipping through the trees, but she fired at the bushes, gritting her teeth at the kick.
A curse rent the air, the bushes rustled again and she fired a second shot. Another curse echoed through the wind, then the man jumped up and ran toward the woods and his car. She fired again, determined he know she meant business. The shell pinged off the gravel near his feet. He jumped into the car, started the engine, swung the car around and tore down the drive, slinging gravel in his wake.
She was trembling, but waited until he disappeared then ran inside and locked the door. Emmie was crying harder, her cheeks red, her sniffles twisting Sam’s heart.
She scooped the precious baby into her arms and began to soothe her. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s all right. The bad man is gone now.”
But she had a sinking feeling he would be back.
She stroked Emmie’s back, swaying her gently in her arms and pacing frantically in front of the window to make sure the man didn’t return as she dialed 9-1-1 again.
AT JOHN’S REQUEST, the lab confirmed that the blood on the floor of Sam’s house was Honey’s. They still had to compare the baby’s blood and DNA with Honey’s. Meanwhile, John had to tell Samantha Corley what he’d learned, that it was Honey’s blood on her floor.
His phone buzzed on his way to her house, and he snapped it open. “Chief Wise.”
“Chief, a 9-1-1 call just came in from Samantha Corley’s house.”
Again? Dammit.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “What now?”
“She said someone tried to run her off the road and followed her to her house.”
He adjusted his holster and weapon, grabbed his jacket and rushed to the door. “I’m on my way.”
John flipped on the siren and raced toward Sam’s. The wind beat at his car as he swerved around slower traffic, beeped at a truck to move over and let him by, then swung onto the mountain road leading to her place.
Five minutes later, he veered onto her driveway, scanning the woods as he flew up her drive and scanned the perimeter of her property. Dark clouds hung heavy in the night, the threat of bad weather ominous.
He screeched to a stop behind her car, wielded his gun in case the perp was lurking around, then walked toward the porch, his senses alert. Trees rustled, an animal howled and the ping of falling rocks echoed from the neighboring woods.
He climbed the steps, then knocked. “Samantha, it’s John.”
His pulse raced as he waited, but finally he heard the lock shifting and the door opened with a screech.
The sight of Sam terrified and holding a baby in her arms made his chest clench and pulled at heartstrings he didn’t know he had.
Heartstrings he’d only felt one other time—years ago when he thought his high school girlfriend was carrying his baby. He’d been willing to sacrifice his career and dreams to do right by the child, but his father had called him a fool. His father was right. Later he’d learned that the girl had lied to him, that the baby wasn’t his.
Since then his trust in women was shot.
He’d vowed to focus on his goals, never to let a woman sidetrack him again.
But Sam, who fought so hard to protect others, especially children, was shaking and terrified. Not for herself, either. That was obvious.
She was frightened for the innocent little girl in her arms.
He couldn’t help himself. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him then pulled her up against him. “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly.
She leaned against him, a testament to her emotional state, and sighed against his chest. “Some man tried to run me off the road,” she whispered hoarsely. “He followed me home, then tried to break in the window.”
Anger surged through him, and he tightened his grip on her, the baby calming as the two of them held her between them.
“It’s all right now,” he said. “I’ll catch this SOB.”
She pulled away slightly, composing herself, her eyes tormented. “John, I think he wants the baby.”
John’s jaw tightened. “What makes you think that? It could have been someone else, some man disgruntled from one of your cases. Don’t forget that Leonard Cultrain is out of jail and has a grudge against you.”
She frowned. “It wasn’t Leonard. Think about it, John. Last night a woman was hurt here in my house. But I didn’t see the man and can’t identify him, so why come after me?” She turned a panicked look up at him. “He wanted Emmie, John, and he came back to get her. I think he might hurt her, too, just like he did the mother. That’s the reason the woman hid the baby in my closet.”
His blood ran cold. If this maniac hurt the baby, it would be over John’s dead body.
She paced away, rocking the little girl in her arms with such love that again John’s chest clenched.
Sam would make a wonderful mother.
He had to tell her the truth about Honey.
But hearing that her best friend might have stolen this child, or if the baby was hers, that they were in danger, wouldn’t be easy.
And the worst-case scenario—Honey might be dead.
SAM TOOK A CALMING BREATH, grateful for John’s presence. Slowly her adrenaline was waning, and Emmie was starting to whimper again and needed to be fed.
“Let me get her a bottle,” she said.
“We need to talk, but go ahead and take care of the baby first,” John said. “I’ll check the window for prints and forensics, then board it up for the night.”
She nodded. “There’s some extra plywood and a hammer in the garage.”
He nodded, and she hurried into the kitchen with the baby while he went outside. She felt his absence in the room the moment he stepped away from her. When he’d pulled her up against him and cradled her and Emmie, she’d felt protected.
Maybe for the first time in her life.
Which was a fantasy. She couldn’t rely on anyone else—she had to stand on her own.
She always had.
Except for Honey—when the doe-like girl had befriended her years ago, Sam had clung to her sweetness. The two of them had bonded over lost families, a lack of love and the toughness they’d been forced to adopt to survive.
Memories of high school flooded her as she heated the bottle, hugged the baby to her and watched her eat, her tiny hand gripping Sam’s as if she was afraid she would lose her, too.
“I don’t know where your mama is, precious, but I’ll take care of you until she comes back.”
A pain seized her chest. What if Emmie’s mother didn’t return? What if she was lost, hurt?
Even dead?
No, she couldn’t think like that. The baby’s mother was coming back. John would find her and reunite them.
Her pulse spiked. When had she ever trusted, or had faith in, a man?
But she instinctively knew that John was the real deal. He would do what he said. He’d been a hero in the town when they were young, a football star.
And the boy every girl had wanted.
His father had been a politician and had pushed him hard.
And although she’d never admitted it, she’d secretly harbored a crush on the guy herself.
But boys had paid no attention to her. She was awkward and shy, not like Honey who was vivacious and sweet and feminine. Despite her background, Honey turned all the boys’ heads and had made varsity cheerleader her freshman year.
Odd though that John was one of the few guys in school who’d never hit on Honey.
Of course, he’d never paid attention to her, either. Why should he now?
His family had money and prestige where she was just one of the foster kids everyone pitied. The gossip about her father being a dirty cop, causing his own wife’s death, haunted her, as well.
Honey had been the only one who’d understood…
The door squeaked open and she froze, her nerves on alert, but she breathed out in relief when John poked his head in. “It’s me, Sam.”
She pressed a finger to her lip gesturing for him to be quiet, then eased the baby into her infant seat to sleep. Tonight she’d put together the portable crib so the sweet child would have a bed.
“I took a plaster cast of the footprint near the window,” John said. “It looks similar to the one from last night, so you may be right. This may be the same guy who attacked the baby’s mother. But there weren’t any fingerprints so he must have worn gloves.”
“You think he’s a professional of some kind?”
John shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Anyone who watches crime shows these days knows to wear gloves.”
“True.” Which made his job harder.
“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
She shook her head. “No, it looked like some kind of dark sedan, but he was behind me and his lights were blinding.”
“You said he rammed into you intentionally?”
She nodded. “Yes, at least twice. I was afraid we might go over the side of the mountain.”
“I’ll see if he left paint from his car on yours and take a sample.” Her eyes clouded over as if she was reliving the scene, and he rubbed her arms with his big hands. “I’ll find him, Sam, I promise,” he said. “Just give me time.”
She stared into his eyes and the tension seeped from her, yet another kind of tension vibrated between them. She longed to have him hold her again.
Then his gaze turned hooded, his jaw tightened and a wary expression darkened his face. “Sam?”
Alarm rippled through her. “What is it, John? Did you find something?”
He nodded. “Let’s sit down.”
Her pulse spiked, but she allowed him to lead her to one of the kitchen chairs. He claimed the one opposite her and planted his beefy fists on his knees. “I did get some interesting results from the fingerprints in the car from last night.”
She swallowed, nerves tingling as she realized he thought the news would upset her. “Whom do they belong to?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, then he cleared his throat. “Your friend Honey Dawson.”
Sam’s breath caught. Honey? Honey had driven the car here?
Pain and panic ripped through her as she remembered the blood on the floor in her kitchen.
Dear Lord…Honey must have been in trouble and she’d come to her for help.
But why hadn’t Honey told her she was pregnant? And who would want to hurt Honey?
She jerked her head toward the infant seat. And the baby…The little girl had baby fine, soft blond hair. And those green eyes…
Was Emmie Honey’s little girl?
JOHN SAW THE WHEELS TURNING in Samantha’s mind and knew she assumed the baby was Honey’s. But he was a cop and he had to go on facts.
And the facts were stacking up against Honey.
“Emmie is Honey’s,” Sam said with newfound awe in her eyes as she stroked the baby’s soft curls.
“We can’t say that for certain,” John said. “Remember, the car was stolen.” He paused, knowing Sam wouldn’t like his train of thought, but he was a cop and had to look at the facts. “Honey might have stolen the baby, too. Maybe this guy is trying to recover the child for himself or for the parents.”
“No. That’s crazy. Honey would never kidnap a child.” Sam’s dark brown eyes flashed with anger, and her shoulders snapped up in a defensive gesture. “This is Honey’s little girl. She looks just like her.”
“DNA will have to tell us that, Sam,” John said. “Until then, we can’t make assumptions.”
Sam laid a hand on the baby seat as if she expected him to tear the little girl from her. “Honey would never steal a child, John. I know her. And Emmie—I should have known. Honey always talked about naming her kids after Dallas Cowboy players. Emmit was one of the famous running backs during the Dallas Cowboys’ glory days.”
“Look, Sam, I understand she was your best friend, but it’s obvious that Honey was in trouble. She’s been gone over a year now. You have no idea what kind of mess she’s gotten herself into.”
Sam folded her arms. “I know Honey would have to be desperate to steal a car. That she came to me for help and I wasn’t here for her.”
John silently cursed. “Sam, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Honey.”
“What did happen to her? I saw all that blood,” Sam said, her tone full of terror. “Do you think that man…that he killed her, John?”
He hesitated, hated to give her hope and then have her disappointed. But he also hated to squash that hope. “I don’t know,” John said. “But at least we know who we’re looking for. I’ll file a missing persons report on Honey, and hopefully someone will come forward with information.”
She nodded, stroking the baby’s cheek with her finger, tears welling in her eyes. “I hope so, John. Honey wouldn’t want her little girl to grow up without a mother.”
The pain of Sam’s past reverberated in her voice, and his heart squeezed. Sam had always seemed so strong, tough, a fighter.
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