“That’s it? You’re dismissing me?” Laura asked.

Her comment earned a confused scowl from Max. “You want to go home, right?”

The promise of home and freedom made her spirits jump for joy. But soon after, her sense of responsibility to the infant reared its head. Her stomach clenched.

Protect the baby.

A niggling sensation in her gut wouldn’t be quieted. She had to look out for the innocent baby she’d cradled in her arms. No one had given her the job. Only her conscience, her love for children. Along with the certainty that things with Max Caldwell weren’t what they seemed.

Protect the baby.

She’d worry about getting away from Max and sorting through the facts later. Right now, baby Elmer needed her. Spurred by her determination to assure the baby’s safety, she made her decision and wouldn’t look back.

“I’m not going home. I’m staying with you,” she said.

Dear Reader,

In Protective Custody is near and dear to my heart. Not only did it win the RWA Golden Heart Award for Romantic Suspense, but the story also features characters and settings that are special to me.

While Max and Laura quickly came alive for me, it was baby Elmer who stole my heart. Writing Elmer, I was transported back to the days when my own precious son was a newborn, including my frustration when he continually lost his pacifier. Thank goodness my son eventually learned his thumb worked just as well.

Max and Laura’s story begins in New Orleans, the crown jewel for the state I call home and the city where I was awarded my coveted Golden Heart. Later, Max and Laura take refuge in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, where my grandmother lived until I was out of college. After I married, I vacationed with my in-laws near Boone on several occasions. I modeled Parsons after a real family-owned general store I frequented on these trips.

In In Protectie Custody, two lost souls learn that home is more than a place and family is more about love than blood. Enjoy!

Best wishes,

Beth Cornelison

In Protective Custody
Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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BETH CORNELISON

started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including the coveted Golden Heart Award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ s Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.

She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 52505, Shreveport, LA 71135-2505 or visit her Web site at www.bethcornelison.com.

Dedication

To my parents, who gave me roots and wings.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Jill Floyd and Linda Rooks, my critique partners on this book. Special thanks to my editor, Allison Lyons, for her continued faith and hard work. And all my love to Paul and Jeffery.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Mr. Caldwell, your sister has been shot.”

Max Caldwell wiped sooty sweat from his face with the back of his hand and strained to hear the voice on the phone over the ruckus of the fire station. “Can you repeat that? What did Emily do?”

“She’s in critical condition from a gunshot wound to the chest.”

Max’s stomach pitched, and he slumped against the painted concrete wall. A gunshot wound?

“Dr. Hoffman needs your permission to perform an emergency C-section and deliver her baby right away.” The woman rattled off the name of the New Orleans hospital where Emily had been admitted.

Max plugged one ear with his finger to mute the shouts and laughter of the other firemen. Just back from saving an antebellum home from an electrical fire, his fellow firefighters were pumped with adrenaline. Their boisterous celebrating made it hard to hear, much less grasp the enormity of what the woman said.

“What about her husband, Joe Rialto? Shouldn’t he make that decision?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Rialto was pronounced dead on arrival.”

“Joe is…dead?” Max plowed his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and swore under his breath. The sour taste of dread climbed his throat, and his limbs shook. “O-okay, do whatever you have to but…save my sister.”

A disturbing silence followed. His chest tightened.

“Hello? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir. I… We will naturally do everything we can for her, but…the odds are not in favor of your sister surviving, Mr. Caldwell. It’s the baby we’re trying to save now.”

“Damn it!” Max yelled into the phone, an uncharacteristic wave of panic raising his voice. “She’s all I have! Don’t let her die!”

The fire station fell silent, and he glanced up to find all eyes staring at him. He turned his back to the other men and gripped the phone like a lifeline to his sister. The lingering scent of smoke and the stink of sweat and Ben-Gay suffocated him. He needed air. Couldn’t breathe.

“We’ll do our best, of course.”

His fire station was at least twenty minutes from the hospital, and he’d have to fight the New Orleans rush-hour traffic. Max squeezed his eyes closed and silently begged God not to take his sister. Then drawing a deep breath, he murmured, “Save the baby. I’m on my way.”

“Joe?” Emily gazed at Max with unfocused eyes. Her voice sounded thready and hoarse.

Max’s heart thundered like a rookie’s on his first four-alarm call as he leaned forward and gently squeezed her hand. She’d been unresponsive for two days, so even weak, her voice was music to his ears. The doctors had warned him Emily might never regain consciousness.

“No, Em. It’s me. Max.”

“Where’s…Joe?”

“Shh. Don’t talk. Save your strength.” He fumbled to mash the call button to alert the nurses’ station that his sister had awakened.

“What happened?” Emily whispered.

Max grinned slightly, not really surprised that his younger sister ignored his directions. In twenty-one years, she’d never done what he told her. The spoiled brat.

“Don’t try to talk. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and you need to save your strength.”

He stroked her fingers with his thumb, and a lump swelled in his throat. God in heaven, how did he tell his sister she was a widow? A single mother? They’d lost so much in their lives already. Both of their parents. Max’s unborn child, then his marriage. Now Joe.

Focus on the positive. Emily’s baby was doing well.

A nurse in purple scrubs poked her head into the room. “Yes?”

“She’s awake.”

“Wonderful.” The nurse hustled toward the bed and checked the machines hooked to Emily. She took Emily’s blood pressure then smiled at Max. “Her vitals have improved. I’ll get the doctor.”

He nodded in response then turned back to Emily when the nurse exited.

“Hey, congratulations. You’re a mama. The doctors delivered your son by C-section a couple of nights ago, and he’s doing great. Six pounds, five ounces of future starting quarterback. I’m saving a spot for him on my Pee Wee team.” He hoped the cheer in his voice didn’t sound as fake to her as it did to him.

Emily’s eyes warmed, and a faint smile touched her lips. “He’s…okay?”

Her whisper was barely audible now. He could tell even the few words she’d spoken had taxed her limited strength.

“He’s perfect. And he needs his mama to rest now. He needs you to get well.” Max brushed a wisp of hair, as black as his own, from his sister’s forehead then gave her cheek a kiss. “And so do I.”

She closed her eyes, probably succumbing to fatigue rather than in acquiescence, since Emily lived to defy him.

Her marriage to a man she barely knew and her immediate pregnancy at the tender age of twenty-one typified her willfulness. God, please let her live to defy me again.

The door opened, and Emily’s in-laws stepped into the room.

“There’s our girl,” Joe’s father said with a politician’s smile.

Mrs. Rialto, whose puffy red eyes and splotchy face bore evidence of her grief over her son’s death, cast a watery-eyed glance to Emily.

A nurse in scrubs caught Anthony Rialto’s arm. “Excuse me, sir. You’ll have to wait outside. Only one visitor at a time.”

Joe’s father scoffed and, giving the nurse a superior grin, lifted the woman’s hand from his suit sleeve. “Nonsense. We’re family. We only want a minute with her.” His expression grew more ingratiating, though still edged with impatience. “Surely you can bend the rules this once.”

Max felt Emily’s grip on his fingers tighten slightly. He glanced at her, but Emily’s attention was focused on the Rialtos.

“Sir, the rules—” the nurse said.

“Only a minute,” Anthony interrupted. He winked at the nurse and placed a hand at his wife’s back to escort her farther into the room.

The nurse sighed her exasperation but stepped out of the room without pressing the issue.

Emily’s eyes widened as her in-laws approached, and what little color she had in her cheeks paled. Her reaction puzzled Max, put him on alert. Though wary, Max rose to greet the couple, extending a hand to Anthony.

“Well, well, Emily. So glad you’re feeling better. We have business to discuss.” Ignoring Max’s offered handshake, Joe’s father swept past Max with the air of a man used to having his way. The wealthy New Orleans business tycoon exuded power and an iron will.

Max was unmoved by the man’s credentials in the business world. He’d protect his sister’s interests at any cost.

As her father-in-law approached the bedside, Emily shrank into the mattress.

“B-business?” Emily’s wary eyes cut to Max in a silent plea for help.

“Not now.” Max grabbed the older man’s shoulder, and his grip bit into the expensive silk suit Anthony wore.

The man sent him a dark glower and shook off Max’s hand. “Now! The baby could be released as early as tomorrow night, after Joe’s funeral. Besides, we can’t wait around and risk her dying without signing.”

Max bit out an earthy obscenity. Of all the heartless…

“Signing?” Emily squeaked. The monitor registering her heartbeat beeped faster.

Max’s chest clenched. She’d just regained consciousness, and her condition was still too unstable for them to upset her this way. “This can wait. Emily has to rest.”

“Lydia.” Anthony snapped his fingers. “Give me the papers.”

Joe’s mother sidled past Max with an apologetic grimace and a swirl of exotic perfume as she dug some folded sheets from her purse.

Anthony snatched them from her. “Custody papers for our grandson. If you die, he belongs with us. We’ve lost Joe, but we won’t lose Joe’s son.”

Emily gasped. “Joe’s d-dead?”

The man’s thoughtlessness roiled like lava in Max’s gut, and he squeezed his hands into fists.

“Didn’t your brother tell you?” Lydia asked.

His sister’s eyes found his and filled with tears. The proof of her grief kicked him in the chest, stealing his breath.

The erratic display on the cardiac monitor verified how news of her husband’s death affected Emily. Max didn’t need a doctor to tell him this stress would set her recovery back.

Rage for the Rialtos’ insensitivity exploded inside him like a backdraft. “Get out and take your damn custody papers with you! She won’t be signing anything. Do you hear me?”

“But my grandson—” Lydia sniffed.

“Excuse me, folks.” Emily’s doctor stepped into the room, a frown creasing his brow. “Mrs. Rialto is very weak and needs rest. If I have to, I’ll call security and ban all visitors from her room.” The doctor directed a hard look on Mr. Rialto. “No exceptions. Do I make myself clear?”

Anthony stepped away, glaring a menacing challenge to Max. “Don’t think this is over, Caldwell. Whether or not she signs, we will have that baby. Make no mistake.”

Grabbing his wife’s arm, Anthony stormed from the room, but the chill of his parting threat hung in the air.

Max saw Emily shiver, and apprehension shimmied through him, as well. From the first time he’d met the senior Rialtos at Emily’s wedding, something about the shipping mogul and his kowtowing wife had rubbed Max the wrong way. Something beyond their ostentatious wealth and the man’s condescending attitude. Anthony’s disregard for Emily’s well-being cemented Max’s disdain for his sister’s father-in-law.

Cutting a quick glance to the doctor, who wore a mask of concern as he felt for Emily’s pulse, Max decided he should give the doctor room to work. Pressing a kiss to Emily’s cheek, he excused himself to the corridor.

In the hall, a homicide detective wearing a wrinkled suit and a grim expression sat in a folding chair, waiting for the chance to question Emily about the shooting.

Max’s lungs felt leaden. Rubbing eyes as scratchy as his two-day beard, he struggled for a breath. What in God’s name had Emily gotten herself into this time?

Ignoring the suspicious look from the cop, Max headed to the cafeteria for coffee. He needed time to collect himself before seeing Emily again and another hit of caffeine to get him through the afternoon.

When he returned to her room several minutes later, Emily was unresponsive again. Damn the Rialtos for upsetting her like that! Max gritted his teeth and fought for his composure. He had to stay in control for Emily’s sake.

Even the suggestion that he could lose his baby sister, whom he’d helped raise, knotted his chest and haunted him with sickening dread. She was his only surviving family. He’d do anything, anything to better her chances of recovery. For now that meant serving as watchdog, keeping the wolves who would discourage and upset her away.

He bowed his head and clutched her hand. Please, God, don’t take my sister. I’ll do anything….

“You want me to what?” Max stared at Emily in disbelief, and a prickle crawled up his spine. She couldn’t be serious, could she?

“Take m’baby… Hide ’im.” Emily’s slurred speech indicated how much talking wore her out. She’d wakened again the next morning after a long, worrisome night. For her health’s sake, Max had tried to avoid discussing her in-laws, but Emily would not be swayed. Her pale face and haggard expression showed the degree of her distress.

“Look, nothing’s going to happen to your baby,” Max crooned, hoping to placate her. After witnessing the ill effects of stress and worry on her condition the day before, he knew he had to calm her somehow. Her weak system couldn’t handle the strain.

“I know losing Joe has upset you, but…now is not the time to talk about this. You have to save your energy and get stronger—”

“Max—”

“—so you can take care of your son. Now quiet down and—”

“Lis’n!” Emily winced in pain, and even more color drained from her face.

When she grew eerily quiet, Max’s heartbeat stilled. “Emily?” He patted her hand. “Emily!”

The lids of her soulful brown eyes fluttered open. “Rialtos…dangerous.”

Max frowned. “Dangerous?”

An ominous tension made the air thick. Emily’s face reflected the strain, and her eyes grew dark.

“I…didn’t know,” Emily whispered. The sadness in her eyes pleaded for her brother’s forgiveness and understanding.

A vise-like tightness squeezed his chest. He knew she wouldn’t rest until she’d had her say. Arguing would only waste her breath and his, so he sat in the chair beside her bed and squeezed her hand.

Emily whispered something he couldn’t understand. Max leaned closer. “Say it again.”

“Drugs.”

Drugs? A chill burrowed into Max’s bones.

“Joe was involved with drugs? You mean he used them?”

“No.”

“Then you’re saying he sold drugs or smuggled them or—”

She closed her eyes and dropped her chin slightly. Yes.

Max sighed. “Em, why didn’t you leave Joe when you found out about this?”

Emily raised a misty gaze then looked away.

Because she was pregnant with Joe’s child.

“Em, what—” He snapped his mouth closed and swallowed his questions, his rebuke. Now was not the time to get into whatever poor choices Joe had made. Emily needed to stay calm and concentrate on healing.

“All of…them,” Emily whispered. “Dang’rous.”

“Not now, Em. We’ll talk about this later, once you’re better.”

Whatever she thought her in-laws were involved in could wait. Hadn’t he already bitten his tongue regarding the Rialtos for more than a year? While Max had instinctively distrusted Joe from the start, Emily had been blinded by love.

Emily drew an unsteady breath and frowned. “Joe…murder’d.”

This much he already knew. The police had filled Max in on witness accounts of how an armed man had barged into the restaurant where Emily and Joe had been dining and shot her husband in cold blood.

Max choked back the bile that rose in his throat, imagining his sister’s fear and pain the night Joe’s killer had opened fire on them. The horror. The violence.

“I know, Em. The police are working a few leads to try to find the man—”

“Joe…murder’d.”

Acid burned his gut. Was she saying she knew who killed Joe? That his murder was somehow linked to his family and drugs?

Max mentally reviewed what he knew of Joe and his father. Their shipping business was small but enormously lucrative. And could easily have been infiltrated by drug smugglers.

Or did Joe’s murder mean the Rialtos’ involvement was consensual?

That possibility kicked Max’s pulse up a notch, stirred a cold frisson of suspicion in his bones. Either way, living on the fringes of such a volatile business was no life for Emily. Or her son.

“Pr’tect…baby from…Rialtos.” Emily’s pleas echoed his own thoughts, and a foreboding chill washed through him.

“Maybe you could get a restraining order to—”

Emily shook her head, her eyes reflecting the same skepticism that twisted in him. After witnessing Anthony Rialto in action, Max knew she was right. A court order wouldn’t stop the Rialtos from taking what they wanted.

He tried to reason out a better option, but Emily nixed every idea, offering cold truths she’d learned about her father-in-law. When he suggested involving the police, she claimed Anthony Rialto had dirty cops on his payroll.

Gasping her beliefs one key word at a time, she argued breathlessly that if the Rialtos got the baby when he was released from the hospital, they’d take him out of the country and fight her custody rights. Her impassioned pleas for her child, even as she fought for her own life, wrenched Max’s emotions in knots.

“You’re only…one I…trust. Don’t…let baby…outta…your sight.” She was truly winded now, struggling for air, and Max place his free hand over her lips.

“Easy. Hush now.” He clenched his teeth and sighed. “I won’t go to the police, and I won’t let Joe’s family get near your son. I promise.”

Her grip loosened, and relief softened the tension in her face. “You’ll…take…m’baby? Hide?”

Her breathlessness plucked at his heart as much as her determination. The pleading in her eyes tore him apart. The fear and resignation in her voice tormented him.

What else could he do? The Rialtos didn’t negotiate. They had the money, the lawyers, the power and influence to get their way, right or wrong.

“But what about you, Em? I can’t leave you like this. And I can’t care for a baby and be here for you at the same time.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Max knew he’d lost. He was a sucker for a woman’s tears. Especially Emily’s.

“I don’t know anything about babies,” he mumbled, dragging a hand over his stubbled chin.

“You’ll…learn. All new…fathers do.”

“But I’m not his father.”

“If…I die—”

Ice sluiced through his veins. “Don’t talk that way! You can’t die. You have a baby to raise.”

“Raise him…for me.”

A cold ball of fear lodged in his throat. He’d tried the family-man thing once.

And failed. Miserably.

He was all wrong for the job of raising a child.

Another tear escaped his sister’s eyelashes. Hell!

“How am I supposed to get the baby out of the hospital without Joe’s family knowing? They’ve hovered around the nursery like a pack of wolves since he was born.”

That news seemed to suck the spirit from Emily. The hope in her eyes dimmed, and pain sliced Max’s chest. If she gave up hope and quit fighting for her life…

He had to do something. But what she asked of him was daunting. A baby! Memories of his failed marriage rose to haunt him. Emily’s need battled the demons of his past.

Finally, Emily’s desperate, tormented expression swayed him. He leaned close and whispered fiercely in her ear. “Emily, listen to me. For once in your life, do what I’m telling you. I’ll make a deal with you, okay?”

She met his gaze, hope lighting her eyes.

“I’ll find a way to get your son out of here, to hide him from Joe’s family and keep him safe for you, if…” He wagged a finger in her face to punctuate his point. Already the hurdles of getting the baby past the Rialtos loomed in his mind. “Swear to me, promise me now, you will fight. You cannot give up hope. You have to get well, so that you can take care of your baby yourself. Like I tell my Pee Wee football kids—no quitters on my team. Understand?”

A flicker of warmth lit her eyes, and Max knew he’d made the only choice he could. If his promise would give Emily the hope she needed to survive, he’d promise her the moon and figure out how to get it. Despite his track record.

Maybe helping Emily would redeem him in some small way for his failures in the past. He refused to let her down.

“I’ll keep your son safe for you.”

The next afternoon, Max backed out of his sister’s hospital room and closed the door. Tucked to his chest, he carried the duffel bag he’d used to bring her clean pajamas and a pillow from home. The police detective, having gotten a few minutes alone with Emily earlier in the day, had finally left the hospital. Only one hurdle remained.

Max cast a wry grin to the beefy-armed thug standing guard at her door. “She’s nursing the baby and doesn’t want her big brother watching,” he lied.

The Rialtos’ lackey, obviously assigned as watchdog while the family attended Joe’s funeral, shifted his bulky weight and cut a nervous glance toward Emily’s door. Max’s ploy worked as he’d hoped. The guard seemed uncomfortable with the idea of a breast-feeding mother and didn’t enter the room to check on them.

Max aimed a finger at the duffel bag. “I’m gonna drop her dirty clothes at the laundry and get a bite to eat. Want anything from the snack bar?”

The Rialtos’ man glowered at Max and shook his head.

“Whatever.” Max turned and headed for the elevator, praying that the baby hidden in the duffel continued to sleep until he got out of the hospital. He hoped no one looked too closely through the large gap in the duffel’s zipper he’d left open for air.

After he’d promised to take care of her son, Emily’s mood and condition had improved enough that her doctor and the baby’s pediatrician had both agreed to let her see her son. And Max’s sketchy plan began to take shape. He spoke to the pediatrician privately and convinced the man to sign for the baby’s discharge while the Rialtos attended Joe’s funeral.

During Emily’s visit with the discharged baby, they waited for his nephew to fall asleep. Now, careful not to jostle the boy in the vented bag, Max exited the medical center New Orleans natives fondly called Charity Hospital. He made his way across the divided street to the visitors’ parking garage.

Phase one of his mission complete, Max buckled his nephew in the car seat he’d bought on the way to the hospital that afternoon. When he slid behind the wheel of his Jeep Cherokee and cranked the engine, the radio blared from the rear speakers. Mick Jagger woke the sleeping baby, who tuned up and added his vocals to the Stones.

Max cringed and turned in the seat to try to comfort the infant. “Hey, easy, little guy.”

As he jiggled the baby’s seat, he spotted the Rialtos’ thug at the front door of the hospital. The man scanned the street then zeroed in on Max’s SUV. Reaching under his coat, the henchman started toward the parking garage. No doubt Mr. Thug kept something besides his wallet tucked inside his jacket.

“Hell!” Max had no time to do anything about the crying child. His first priority was getting out of Dodge. Fast. He might have the child with Emily’s permission, but the Rialtos made their own rules.

Max pulled out of the garage and darted into the evening traffic. Emily’s son continued to wail like a fire engine siren. The thought of the Rialtos’ armed guard on his heels kicked Max’s pulse up a notch. He zipped through a yellow light, anxious to put distance between himself and the gorilla at the hospital.

He thought of the wistful expression on Emily’s face as she’d kissed her son goodbye, and his throat clogged.

“I’ve done my part, Em. Now you fight, damn it!” He hated not being at her side. What if she got worse or…?

Don’t think that way. Visualize success. Make it happen. Wasn’t that what he told the kids he coached in the Pee Wee football league?

Max drew a deep breath and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Focus. Focus.

But the baby’s cries reached a fervid pitch, and he couldn’t think, much less concentrate on the problems at hand. As he headed away from the hospital, he encountered a roadblock where a construction crew was fixing the street. A backlog of cars inched toward the detour.

Frustrated with his slow progress, Max zipped around a bus of tourists and turned down a side street. He crawled a few more blocks until he turned onto Canal Street headed toward the French Quarter. Snarled in traffic, Max flicked a glance to his rearview mirror. No sign of the armed henchman. But Max knew the thug hadn’t given up. He was still hunting him.

When a group of women dashed in front of him to catch one of the city’s famous streetcars, he stood on the brakes to avoid hitting them. The near miss sent an extra jolt of adrenaline through his already edgy system. By the time he turned on Baronne, headed toward the Crescent City Connection and his home in Belle Chasse, his nephew’s screams had completely frayed his nerves. What if the kid was in pain?

Remembering the pacifier he’d jammed in his pocket at the hospital, Max fished the little plastic device from his jeans and picked off the lint that clung to the nipple.

“Easy, little guy,” he crooned to the baby. “Here.” He twisted toward the backseat and fumbled to find the baby’s mouth. Tiny fists hit his hand as Max searched for his target. By now, the child’s screams could curdle blood.

He swerved to avoid a pedestrian who seemed more interested in the panhandling saxophone player on the corner than the traffic. Keeping an eye on the bumper in front of him, Max groped blindly across the baby’s face until he found his nephew’s mouth, opened wide in a deafening howl. The infant latched on to his finger and sucked hard.

“Try this instead.” He swapped the pacifier for his finger, and a blessed silence filled the car.

For about thirty seconds.

He heard the soft clunk when the pacifier fell out of the baby’s mouth, and Max braced himself.

His nephew let out an angry wail. Max groaned. Escaping the Rialtos’ thug no longer seemed his biggest problem. What if he never got the little banshee to stop crying?

Max could enter a burning house with confidence in his firefighting skill and training, but knowing he was in charge of a tiny, needy, noisy life scared him spitless. What if he did the wrong thing and hurt the kid? What if he didn’t get the hang of it the way a new father was supposed to? If he failed this time, he’d let two people down, Emily and her son.

Sighing, he turned toward the backseat and fumbled in the car seat for the lost pacifier. When his fingers closed around the cool plastic, relief zinged through his blood.

He stuck the device in the baby’s mouth and glanced back to the traffic—just as his Cherokee plowed into the back of a white Camry with a nauseating crunch.

More screeching tires. Then the jarring crunch of another car hitting him from behind.

Max muttered a scorching curse.

The driver of the Camry climbed out and glared at him.

And his nephew lost his pacifier again.

Laura Dalton winced as she watched the black Cherokee ram into the Camry. Right after that, a pickup truck smashed into the back of the Cherokee. The crunch of the collisions skittered through her system, shooting adrenaline through her veins. Heart thudding, she pulled onto a side street and climbed from her Honda on shaky legs to see if she could help.

Please don’t let anyone be hurt. She could handle all the baby barf and dirty diapers that her job at the day care center doled out, but the sight of blood sent her into a panic.

She scowled, realizing none of the other drivers who’d witnessed the accident had stopped to assist or give their statements to the cops.

But Laura knew too well what it was like to need someone yet have no one to turn to. She couldn’t easily turn her back when she saw a chance to help.

The driver of the Camry climbed out and scowled at his crumpled fender, but he seemed unharmed. One down. As she approached the scene, the driver of the Cherokee, a tall, good-looking man with jet black hair, got out and stepped to his back door. While he leaned in the backseat of his car, Laura made her way to the pickup where the driver had yet to emerge.

She knocked on the truck’s window, and the blond teenage girl at the wheel rolled down the window.

“Are you all right?” Laura asked, searching the teen’s pale face.

“I…yeah. Oh, God…my dad’s gonna kill me!” The girl buried her face in her hands and groaned.

“But you’re okay physically? You’re not hurt?”

“No. I’m fine…thanks.” The girl flashed her a weak smile.

Laura returned a relieved grin. “Just remind your dad what’s important. You’re safe. That’s what matters. I have a cell phone in my car if you need to call your parents.”

“Okay. Thanks.” The girl gave her another timid grin, flashing a set of braces.

The familiar howl of a baby in distress called Laura’s attention away from the teenager in the truck.

The Cherokee’s driver pulled an infant, still strapped in a baby carrier, out of his backseat and set the carrier on the ground beside the car. Images of an injured child flashed through Laura’s mind, chilling her blood. “Oh, no.”

She hurried over to the raven-haired man who hunkered over the car seat, fumbling to unfasten the baby from the straps.

“Is she hurt?” Laura asked.

“It’s a boy. And he’s okay. I think.” The man added an obscenity as he struggled with trembling hands to free the infant from the straps.

“Here. Let me.” She nudged the man aside and mashed the release button that freed the baby of the seat straps. The infant’s cries wrenched her heart. He was tiny, like a newborn, and his face had turned beet red from bawling.

The man raked a hand through his black hair, leaving the thick waves rumpled. Taking his son from her, he awkwardly put the infant on his shoulder and rubbed the baby’s back. “Thanks.”

“Glad to help.”

Deep worry lines etched the man’s face as he surveyed his crumpled bumper and scanned the gathering crowd. Obviously shaken by the accident, he patted the baby’s back harder and began pacing. “Easy, fella. You’ll be all right. Shh.”

The baby’s howls didn’t abate, and the louder the baby cried, the more agitated the father grew.

Laura couldn’t blame him. The infant’s shrieks had her edgy too. She hated hearing a child in distress. At the day care center, she was always the first worker rushing to soothe an upset child.

She remembered too well what it felt like to be young, scared and all alone. No one to comfort you, no one to dry your tears, no one who even noticed you were there.

She fell in step with the dark-haired father as he strode anxiously back and forth beside his wrecked Cherokee, muttering.

“If you’d like, I’ll hold your son while you talk to the police.”

The man came to an abrupt halt, and his head snapped up. He pinned her with a dark brown stare. “What?”

“I work with children, and I’m good at calming them down, if you want me to—”

“The cops. Damn!” He squeezed his eyes closed, scrunching his face in frustration.

Laura tipped her head and studied the father, who seemed even more disconcerted now. A thin sheen of perspiration dampened his forehead, and a palpable tension vibrated from his square jaw. His concern seemed ridiculously out of proportion to the circumstances.

“Is there a problem, sir? I’d be happy to help if—”

He spun to her with an abrupt jerk. “Where’s your car?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your car. I need it.” He tore his dark gaze away and glanced nervously around the accident scene.

“My car? Wh-why?”

The man’s odd behavior set her on edge. She backed away from him a step, only to have him grab her arm. His touch sent a strange jolt through her. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her. The sensation of his strong, hot hand on her arm was overwhelming. He balanced the baby with one hand while his long fingers tightened around her upper arm. The first inkling of panic fluttered to life in her chest.

“I’ve gotta get out of here before—” He clamped his mouth shut and sighed. “Where’s your car?”

The baby now screamed so hard Laura feared he’d hurt himself. Her stomach bunched with worry for the infant’s well-being. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to hold your baby just for a minute? I really think I could calm him down.”

The father gave her a wary look then glanced down at the hollering infant. Finally he released her arm and thrust the tiny boy at her. “I’m sure not having any luck. Go ahead.”

Laura cradled the wiggling infant against her chest and rocked him gently. “How old is he? He’s so small.”

“Huh?” The man pulled out his wallet as he surveyed the area. “Oh, he’s…uh, just a couple days old. Listen, I need your help.” He seized her arm again and guided her farther away from the bustle of people examining the damage to the vehicles.

She shrugged out of his grip, glowering at him. “Would you stop grabbing me like that? What is your deal?”

The man wiped a palm on the leg of his jeans and took a deep breath. Then, raising a hand and lowering his voice, he explained over the baby’s continued howling, “My truck is trapped and probably not driveable. I need wheels. Fast.”

She narrowed her gaze on him, eyeing him with suspicion. “Why? What’s the hurry?”

He opened his mouth as if to answer but then closed it again. With another sigh, he fished his driver’s license and some small cards from his wallet. “It’s…the baby. I have to get him home. Quickly.” He stepped closer, and his expression reeked of desperation. But desperation over what? His own situation or the baby’s?

“Go on,” she prodded reluctantly.

“He’s…sick.” The man’s black eyebrows knitted in a frown. He glanced away, huffed then pinned her again with a pleading look. “He needs his medicine. That’s why he’s crying.”

Laura’s breath caught. “Medicine? Oh, my God…what—”

“Will you help us?”

“I…of course. But what about your car? The police haven’t written up the accident yet and—”

“I can’t wait around for the cops to get here. Don’t you hear him screaming? He needs his medicine. Now!”

“But the other drivers…” Indecision and apprehension swelled in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. When she hesitated, the man grunted and jabbed his wallet back in his rear pocket. With long-legged strides, he stalked over to the driver of the Camry and shoved a business card in the other man’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotta get the baby home. I’ll be in touch about the insurance. Are you hurt?”

When the Camry driver shook his head, the dark-haired man hustled over to the pickup and poked a card through the window to the teenager, too. He drilled a hard look on Laura as he returned. “No one’s hurt, and they have my contact numbers. Now can we go?”

The sounds of the baby’s wailing tore at her heart. What if the child really was sick, and he suffered because she wouldn’t help? How could she live with herself? Then again, how could she trust that this jittery-acting man was telling her the truth?

The man’s gaze froze on someone or something in the crowd, and his expression hardened. “Oh hell, he’s here! We’re outta time. Where is your car?”

His tone brooked no resistance.

“I…the Honda over there.” She tipped her head, directing his gaze across the intersection.

“Good. Let’s move!” With his fingers wrapped around her wrist, he grabbed the baby seat in his other hand and hustled her toward her Honda.

“Who did you see? Who’s here?” She stumbled to keep up with his long strides and struggled to keep a safe hold on the baby.

He cut a sharp glance toward her without slowing his pace. “Never mind. Just get us out of here!”

“I h-have a phone if you’d rather call your wife to have her bring the medicine here.” They reached the passenger side of her Accord, and he opened the back door. “That way you could take care of the paperwork for the accident—”

“No.” He put the baby’s car seat in the back then faced Laura. “That won’t work. My wife…isn’t home.”

When she made no move to get in, he opened the front door and pushed her toward the seat. “Get in! I’ll drive.”

“But—” Her legs bumped the frame of the car. She lost her balance, dropping clumsily into the passenger seat while clutching the baby to her chest. In the seconds it took her to gather her wits, the man ran around to the driver’s door.

A flash of panic crashed down on her. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. She needed to think, to reason with him or… Get out. Take the baby and run.

But he’d already cranked the engine. With a squeal of her tires, they sped away.

Chapter 2

Laura grabbed the armrest to steady herself as her abductor took a corner too fast.

Abductor. The word rattled through her brain with an ominous ring. Was he really kidnapping her? Had he kidnapped the baby, too?

He didn’t seem to have a weapon. He’d never threatened her. But his edginess rattled her. That and his no-questions-asked bullying.

She studied the rigid set of his jaw. “A-aren’t you going to put the baby in the car seat?”

“Can’t take the time now.”

“But it’s not safe!”

He silenced her with a dark glare. “Just hold him for now and sit tight.”

As he hurtled them around another corner, she spotted her cell phone in the console under the radio. But how could she get it without alerting her abductor?

She felt the man’s eyes on her and glanced up just as his gaze shifted to the phone. She held her breath. Prayed.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he growled. Snatching the phone from the console, he jammed it in the map pocket of the driver’s door. Out of her reach.

Her stomach sank to her toes. So much for secretly dialing 911. Swallowing her disappointment and fear, she searched for another option.

She glanced down at the infant, the helpless little baby who still screeched for all he was worth. His tiny fingers had clamped around one of her long blond curls, so she gently worked to free her hair from the baby’s fist. When she cuddled him closer to her breast, an eerie prickle crept up her spine.

“This baby’s not really sick. Is he?” Her voice trembled, as did her hands, her stomach.

He met her gaze, and the hard determination setting his jaw softened. His coffee brown eyes held a measure of guilt and remorse, but he turned back to watch the road without answering.

Her thudding heartbeat counted the tense seconds. While the baby’s cries filled the dearth of conversation, she studied the man’s profile. Warring emotions played across his rugged features. A muscle jumped under his square, stubble-covered jaw. His narrow nose looked as though it had been broken once, leaving a slight bump near the bridge. Sweat trickled from a high forehead, dampening wisps of his thick black hair and leaving wet stains at the armpits of the blue golf shirt he wore with his jeans.

He caught her gaze again, and the intensity of his dark eyes unnerved her, accelerated her already rapid breathing.

“No. He’s not sick.” His tone was flat, grave.

His admission caught her off guard. She blinked her surprise, uncertain how to respond.

Turning away again, he squeezed the steering wheel.

While his confession spun her thoughts in a hundred directions, a maternal instinct surged inside her.

Protect the baby.

She drew the infant even closer to her body and eyed her kidnapper warily.

He gave her another quick look and muttered a curse. “Don’t look at me like that. I won’t hurt you.”

Laura raised one eyebrow skeptically to let him know what she thought of his promise. “Why should I believe you?”

He had the audacity to look offended.

“I wouldn’t—” He snapped his mouth shut without finishing.

“Did you kidnap this baby?”

He shot her an exasperated look. “No! Of course not!”

His defensiveness intrigued her. What was he hiding?

She studied the baby’s features, looking for similarities. Same dark hair, same narrow nose. But with newborns it was hard to tell.

The infant’s screams had tapered to mewling whines. She stroked his small pink face, and her heart melted like ice cream in the sun. She’d trained herself not to grow emotionally attached to the children at the day care, a self-defense mechanism she’d mastered growing up, shuffled from one foster family to another. Yet somehow this tiny life chipped at the walls she kept around her heart.

On the job, she could indulge her love for children without forming deep bonds. Emotional bonds served only to wound her when they were inevitably broken. She’d already suffered a lifetime of shattered relationships, broken promises, lost loved ones. Her aching soul could take no more. Yet that same painful childhood fueled a fierce protectiveness in her, a desire to see no other child suffer the same fear and isolation.

“Look, he belongs with me.” The man’s statement called her attention back to the problem at hand. His tone said he knew she needed convincing.

“Where’s your wife?”

The muscle in his cheek jumped again. “The baby’s mother is still in the hospital. She…she’s not doing well and—” His voice grew quiet, and his dark expression reflected too much emotion to be faked.

His obvious grief grabbed her and rattled the cage where she’d locked her own grim memories of loss. “I’m sorry.”

He acknowledged her sympathy with another lingering gaze and quick nod before turning his attention back to the road.

Laura swallowed hard, shoving down the painful specter of grief that had shadowed her throughout her childhood, followed her from one foster home to the next.

The car bounced over a large pothole, and she turned her gaze to the scenery out her window. She didn’t recognize anything about the cypress-dotted flatlands and the isolated road they traveled.

Apprehension prickled her neck again. “Where are we?”

“Near my house.”

“Could you be more specific?”

He started to answer but then seemed to reconsider. “Once you drop me off, you’ll just get back on this road and follow it out the way we came, until you reach the highway into town. It’s simple.”

Laura gaped at him. “You mean you’re letting me go?”

“Of course I am.” He scowled at her. “I hadn’t wanted to involve you at all, hadn’t wanted to come back to my house. But with my Jeep trapped at the accident, I didn’t have a choice.” He exhaled sharply. “I have an old truck at home I can use. Once you drop me off, you’ll be free to go. With my gratitude.”

The news should have elated her. Instead, she puzzled over his strange behavior. If the baby wasn’t really sick, then why the hurry? “You know that leaving the scene of an accident is against the law, don’t you?”

He winced. “Yeah, I know. But I couldn’t hang out until—” Again he snapped his mouth closed and frowned.

“Until?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ve already admitted the baby’s not sick. So what had you spooked? You said, ‘He’s here.’ Who is he?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I think considering that you dragged me into—”

“Hey! Do you hear that?”

Laura paused and listened. For what, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. He quit crying.” The man craned his neck to see the baby better.

Glancing down, she found the infant in her arms sleeping with his thumb in his mouth. Her heart squeezed then expanded. Tears puddled in her eyes. Maternal yearnings clambered over dark memories and defensive walls.

“He’s so sweet,” she whispered. Her fierce protective instinct reared its head again with a vengeance, plucking at her conscience and warming her soul. The little babe in her arms couldn’t do a thing for himself, couldn’t be more precious if he were her own child. Painful longing twisted inside her.

Drawing a deep breath, she shook off the bout of sentimentalism. Don’t get attached. In a minute, you’ll hand him to his father and be on your way. No looking back. As always.

“Thank you.” The deep male voice roused her from her tangential thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“For your help with the baby. For lending me your car—”

“Lending my car? Is that what I did? Seems to me you gave me no choice.”

A sheepish grin tugged the corner of his mouth as he slowed to turn in at a gravel driveway. “Sorry if I bullied you. I really do appreciate your help.”

Laura took in the ranch-style house nestled in a copse of cypress trees. The red brick and white siding structure had a hominess about it that appealed to her.

He pulled to the back of the house next to a battered pickup truck loaded with split firewood. Though neatly kept, the lawn lacked much landscaping other than live oak and cypress trees which littered the ground with needles. Rusted wrought-iron lawn chairs sat on his back porch next to a well-used grill.

Certainly the home didn’t have the appearance of a criminal hideaway. Was that what she’d been expecting?

“Well, this is home. Thanks again for your help.” He gave her another grin, this one more rakish, and her pulse stumbled.

While he climbed out and circled the car to the passenger door, she gazed down at the baby. What would happen to him?

The boy’s father opened the door beside her, and she dropped a soft kiss on the baby’s head. His sweet baby scent, talcum powder and milk, filled her nose and tangled around her heart. The man reached for the child, and a knot of doubt lodged in her chest.

The day care center where she worked maintained a rigid screening process, assuring a child was never released into the care of the wrong person. But she had no assurance this man had any real claim to the baby.

Panic streaked through her. Her thoughts tumbled over each other. She needed some confirmation the man was who he said he was, that she wasn’t negligently turning this poor baby over to a kidnapper, before she could drive away in good conscience.

Asking him for that assurance wouldn’t help. His word alone wouldn’t convince her he had a right to the child. Perhaps something inside his house? Another person to verify his story, an arrangement of blue flowers congratulating him on his son’s birth, a wedding picture of him with the mother?

Something. Anything.

She had a responsibility as a childcare worker to protect this baby’s interests. But her own history, her experience as the child needing protection, needing someone to care, made her professional responsibility a personal mandate.

Protect the baby.

“Ma’am, I’m really in a hurry. Can I have the baby now?”

He motioned toward the infant impatiently.

“I, uh—”

Without waiting for her to finish, he scooped the boy out of her arms and stepped back. Laura scrambled for a plan. She had to get inside his house, just for a minute, just to reassure herself the baby would be all right. As the man moved quickly toward his carport door, she climbed from her car and called to him. “Hey, may I…use your bathroom before I go?”

He hesitated as if looking for an excuse to tell her no. “Well, okay…but make it quick. I gotta get going.”

Get going? He’d just gotten home. Her anxiety cranked another notch. She followed him into the carport where a firefighter’s sooty turnout gear hung on a peg by the back door with black boots sitting below. He fished in his jeans pocket for his keys, unlocked the door, then stood back to let her enter first. “Around the corner. First door on the right.”

“Thanks.” She scanned the interior with curious scrutiny as she made her way to the bathroom. The decor could be summed up with one word. Masculine.

Dark colors, wood paneling, hunting trophies. Not a ruffle or frill to be seen. Likewise, she saw no evidence in the bathroom that a woman shared his home. No hairspray or makeup or stockings drying over the shower curtain rod. Laura recalled the way he’d answered her query about his wife.

The baby’s mother is still in the hospital.

The baby’s mother, not my wife.

Did that mean he didn’t live with his son’s mother, that they weren’t married? She knew his private life was not her business, but the oddity of his earlier behavior still bothered her. Something didn’t add up.

That something didn’t register until she found her way back to the living room. Not only did the house lack any signs of a woman’s touch, she saw nothing, not the first rattle or diaper, indicating he’d expected to care for a baby tonight.

She watched him bounce the infant, awake now and crying again, while he yanked clothes from the drier and jammed them into a grocery sack. More evidence he planned to leave again as soon as she did.

He spared her a brief glance. “Listen, the baby’s seat is still in the back of your car. Could you leave it on the driveway for me when you go?”

On the kitchen counter, his answering machine played his messages. “Jordie won’t make Friday’s game. He has a dentist appointment. Thanks, coach!”

A beep signaled the end of the current message.

“Are you divorced?” She blurted into the silence before the next message began.

His head came up with a jerk. His expression clearly said her bluntness stunned him. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“It’s obvious no woman lives here.”

He gave her a slow nod then went back to grabbing clothes to stuff in the paper sack. “You’re sharp.”

“You also don’t have anything here for a baby.”

His chin lifted a notch, his expression guarded. “No.”

“Max, it’s Cheryl,” a woman on the answering machine said. “Where you been hiding, handsome? Call me.”

Laura spread her hands. “How are you going to feed him or change his diaper with no supplies?”

Before he could answer, the next message began playing.

“Caldwell, we know you have the baby!” The voice on the machine spat venom. Icy shivers snaked up her spine.

“He belongs with us, and nothing you can do will stop—”

The man crossed the floor in two steps and slapped the stop button on the answering machine.

Laura gaped at him, speechless. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Acid churned in her stomach.

He turned a hard glare at her, his face drawn and grim. “I’m really in a hurry. I need you to go now.”

Chapter 3

Accusation burned in the blond woman’s eyes. Deep inside, Max squirmed uncomfortably. Her unspoken disapproval and doubts chafed a raw wound inside him. Jennifer had given him that same look too many times, whether he deserved it or not. And, as with his ex-wife, this woman’s glare caused a flicker of guilt, of responsibility, of disappointment.

Max knew he could explain the situation to her, try to make her understand, but that would take valuable time he didn’t have. He had to get back on the road. Quickly.

Besides, as she’d put it, why should she believe him? He’d already lied to her—lies that nettled his conscience but which he’d deemed necessary to get results. He glanced down at his charge. Emily’s son.

Yes, results were what mattered.

However, if he didn’t say something to answer the suspicion blazing from her turquoise eyes, she’d be on her cell phone to the cops the minute she left his driveway.

Max released a breath that hissed through his teeth. “It’s…not what you think.”

“Oh? And what am I thinking?” She crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow.

The pose emphasized the swell of her breasts, and Max’s libido kicked hard. He’d been trying not to let her beautiful figure distract him. But like any red-blooded male, he’d noticed and appreciated her lush curves anyway. If his current circumstances were different…

The baby whimpered louder, and he cringed. The woman had nailed it when she suggested he wasn’t prepared to care for a baby. She didn’t know how right she was.

He took the woman by the arm and tugged her toward the door. “I really don’t have time now to explain, but I’m perfectly within my rights to have this child. His mother knows he’s with me. That’s how she wants it. Now, if you’d just go—”

She shrugged out of his grip. “And the baby’s father? What does he want?” Her incisive gaze dared him to contradict his previous assertion that he was the infant’s father.

He thought of the baby’s real father, Joe. A man involved with drugs—smuggling, most likely, since his father owned a shipping company. A man who’d put Max’s sister in harm’s way, whose enemy had murdered him and shot Emily, whose family now tried to usurp custody of Emily’s son. What a scum. Anger for what Joe had cost Emily heated Max’s blood. The baby was better off without Joe’s negative influence.

For all intents and purposes, Max was his nephew’s father for the time being.

But Max also knew the Rialtos would show up at his door any minute, and he didn’t have time to explain the nuances of the situation, hoping to convince her of the truth. Anthony Rialto’s message made it clear his energy was better used getting the baby out of town. Hidden. This unplanned return to his house, thanks to his car being trapped at the accident, was costing him valuable time.

Max decided changing his story concerning the baby’s paternity now would be counterproductive. And the woman’s suspicions already ran high.

“I’m his father. I don’t need anyone’s permission to have my son with me, and I don’t owe you any explanations beyond that.” With a hand at the small of her back, he tried again to hustle the woman toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get moving. I promise to make a trip to the grocery for diapers and baby food, okay?”

He fished in his pocket for her car keys and extended them to her.

She stepped forward and snatched the keys, her gaze darting briefly to his sobbing nephew. “Formula.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

She flipped her mane of golden waves over her shoulder with an impatient huff. She turned her attention to the baby, shifting her weight uneasily, clearly chomping at the bit to try her hand again at quieting the squalling baby. “A newborn doesn’t eat baby food,” she said loud enough to be heard over his nephew’s screams. “They drink mother’s milk or formula. Do you know what brand to buy? Did his doctor say anything about soy?”

Soy? Formula? Damn. She could speak a foreign language, and he’d have a better chance of making sense of it. Frustration and impatience roiled inside him. He didn’t have time for this!

“Formula, milk, whatever! I’ll figure it out. Lady, I’m in a hurry here—”

“So you’ve said. Why the hurry? What’s going on here?”

The resounding wails of his nephew, letting them know in no uncertain terms what he thought of his uncle’s ability to care for him, fed his agitation. A pang of sympathy for the baby, stuck with his inept uncle, jabbed his gut. Bouncing the baby on his arm, Max fell back on what he did best when under stress. Pace.

He needed a plan.

In this case, his goal was simply to get rid of this woman and get out of town before the Rialtos came knocking.

“Don’t do that!” The blonde scowled and reached for the baby.

“Don’t do what?” Feelings of futility sharpened his tone. He hated the sense of helplessness and ignorance that had swamped him the minute he stepped out of the hospital.

“Ever heard of shaken baby syndrome?” She plucked his nephew from his hands and cuddled the infant to her chest. “You can’t bounce him around like that. He’s too little and that much shaking can damage his brain.”

Hell! Brain damage?

He noted with satisfaction that his nephew didn’t calm down for her, either. With a flash of envy, he watched the baby nuzzle his face into her breast. Lucky kid.

She shot him an accusing look. “Didn’t they tell you at the hospital not to jostle or shake him?”

Obviously, he was way out of his element, and if someone didn’t help him, he feared he’d hurt Emily’s son due to plain ignorance regarding babies.

He ran a hand down his face, sighing his fatigue. “No, they didn’t tell me anything about brain damage or soy or where to send him to college. Yeah, I’m new at this. No, I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m trying to get it right, so would you cut me some slack?”

Her expression softened, but her eyes still blazed with conviction. “If we were discussing your new iPod, that would wash. But this is a baby. A helpless, dependent little human being.”

“I’m well aware of that!” He raised his voice to be heard over the volume of his nephew’s cries. “For God’s sake, can you please quiet him down!”

The pressure that had been building inside him since he received the call about Emily’s injuries reached a boiling point. He felt ready to explode. Taking a step back from the woman, he raked both hands through his hair and bit out an expletive that would singe dirt. “Damn it, I don’t have time to debate with you! They could be here any minute!”

“Would you stop yelling?” she fussed. “You’re not helping matters….”

A movement on his driveway distracted him from the rest of her tirade. Through his front window, he watched two large sedans pull up to his house. Alarm streaked through him, tensing every muscle. He was too late.

A tall, linebacker-sized man climbed from the driver’s side of the first car. Reaching under his windbreaker, the linebacker pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and checked the chamber.

Max’s mouth went dry. Keeping a close watch out the window, he grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Hey! Wh—”

“Do exactly what I say. No questions. Got it?” The gravity of his tone obviously told her something was wrong.

“Who’s out there?”

“Remember the nice guy making threats on the answering machine?”

“What!” He heard the concern in her voice. His own disconcertion echoed hers with the thundering of his pulse. Fortunately, he did his best work under pressure. The guys at the station called him the Ice Man for his ability to keep his cool amid the smoke, flames and chaos of a fire call.

The station alarm was sounding. Time to get to work.

“Give me back your keys.” He thrust his hand at her.

“Why?”

“I said no questions. You’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” she shrieked.

A loud pounding on the front door blew the whistle on their huddle. Time for action.

Max crouched low behind the kitchen counter, yanking her down with him.

“Quiet!” he whispered harshly. “Go out the back. Take the baby, and get in your car. Don’t close your car door until I get there. I don’t want the noise to alert them.”

“Like this screaming baby won’t?”

Max gritted his teeth. She was right. They’d certainly hear the baby.

“Are they cops?” she whispered, the hope in her voice unmistakable.

“Afraid not, sweetheart. These men are dangerous, and they mean business.”

Her eyes opened wide with trepidation. “But the baby—”

“Stop talking and go!”

He saw the shudder that shook her, and guilt for placing her in danger wrenched inside him.

She scurried for the back door, clasping the baby close to her chest.

“Stay low!” he called.

Without waiting to make sure she’d followed his orders, Max hustled, crouched low, toward his gun cabinet. Like most native Louisiana men, he’d been raised on hunting. He’d learned to fire a gun before he had his driver’s license. Now he was the hunted, and he needed his rifles for self-defense.

The men on his porch must have seen him through the tall, narrow window by the door. He heard a shout from one of the goons informing the others of his position.

“Caldwell, open up! That baby belongs to us!”

Anthony Rialto. So, the patriarch of the drug clan had made a personal appearance.

Max searched the top drawer of the gun cabinet for the key to unlock the display case. Moving with deft, sure speed, he grabbed out his best hunting rifle. Next he removed the 9mm Glock he kept for home protection and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans.

His front door rattled and shook as Rialto’s men tried to break it down. Gambling precious time, Max crawled across his living room floor to the front window and raised the rifle. With one swift motion, he broke a hole in the glass and aimed at the tires of the lead car.

His fire drew an answering assault from Rialto’s men. The rest of the front window shattered under the barrage of bullets. Glass littered the carpet around him. The jagged shards bit his hands as he scrambled away from the window, leaving a trail of blood. He’d reached his kitchen when the front door burst open.

Bullets whizzed over his head and peppered his cabinets. Over the cracking gunfire, he heard the woman scream. His heart leaped to his throat.

Damning the consequences, he rose to his full height to beat a quicker retreat. A sharp sting pinched his shoulder, telling him he’d been hit.

Spinning, as he taught the kids on his Pee Wee team to dodge a tackle, he ran for the backyard. When he plowed through the back door, he found Anthony Rialto stalking the blond woman. Rialto backed her away from her car with a gun aimed at her head. She held the baby clutched to her chest in a protective grasp that won Max’s admiration. She could easily have handed the baby over to Rialto to save her own skin. The woman had guts.

In three long strides, Max covered the distance between him and Emily’s father-in-law. He tackled the man from behind, knocking him to the ground. Rialto fired, sending the bullet into an oak tree at the line of the woods.

“Get in the car!” Max yelled.

The blonde jumped to follow his order.

The gunshot and shouts brought reinforcements around the side of the house. Max landed a hard blow to Anthony’s temple with his elbow. The abrupt movement caused pain to streak like lightning through his shoulder and arm.

He left the older man clutching his head and staggering.

Shifting his focus to the men at the side of his house, Max held the thugs at bay with a couple of blasts from his rifle. As soon as the woman reached her car, Max made a dash for the driver’s door. His feet slipped as he scrambled through the cypress needles littering his yard.

Bullets pocked the side of the Accord. As he climbed in the Honda, he heard Rialto shouting.

“Damn it, hold your fire! My grandson’s in that car! What if you hit the gas tank?”

Max wasted no time cranking the engine and shifting into Reverse. Rialto’s men tried to stop the escaping car with their bodies, but Max refused to slow down for any reason. The men jumped out of his path at the last second. When the thugs tried shooting at the Honda’s tires, Max swerved left then right, making their target more difficult to hit.

“I said, hold your fire!” Rialto screamed. “Follow them!”

Max peeled across his front yard, around the sedans blocking his driveway. He’d managed to take out the front tire of the lead car, he noticed as they sped past. Good. That meant only one car could pursue them.

He stole a glance at the woman as he wheeled onto the narrow, two-lane road. Tears streaked her pale face, and a mask of sheer terror molded her delicate features.

His gut knotted as he mashed the accelerator and sped away from the nightmare scene. “Did he hurt you?”

She didn’t respond.

“Did he hurt you?” he barked.

She jumped. “No.”

Max nodded. “Hang on. We’re taking the shortcut.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged the baby closer and slumped down in the seat.

Bouncing across the ditch at the side of the road, he headed down a narrow dirt road. “ATV trail. Kids in the area use it to go four-wheeling.”

She didn’t acknowledge his explanation, and he worried about her slipping into shock. “Stay with me, darlin’. The worst is over. We’re gonna be okay now.”

Skeptical turquoise eyes rose to meet his glance. Her look asked, Why should I believe you?

Good question. He’d gotten her involved in this mess, lied to her, nearly gotten her killed. He knew he didn’t deserve her faith. But he also knew he’d move mountains to see that she got out of this disaster safe and sound.

One more person he couldn’t let down.

The stakes in this fiasco kept growing. But he’d never been one to let an obstacle keep him from accomplishing a goal. Results were what mattered. He lived by that mantra as a firefighter and taught it to the kids on his football team. No excuses and no quitters.

Especially since, in this game, they were playing for their lives.

The man’s hands and shoulder were bleeding.

Laura gaped at the crimson stains on the steering wheel and on his shirt and battled down a wave of nausea. Considering the armed men on their tail, they couldn’t afford any delays. That included any stops for her to be sick at the side of the road, so she averted her gaze from the bloodstains.

Mercifully, the baby had finally worn himself out and fallen asleep. Since the baby’s safety was paramount to her, even above her own, Laura unfastened her seat belt and wiggled between the front seats, leaning into the back. As they bumped down the dirt side road, she secured the baby in his car seat then slid back into the front.

When the baby’s father checked his side and rearview mirrors for the umpteenth time, clearly watching for the men who could be following them, a chill scraped down her spine.

Small talk, she decided, might help distract her from her swirling nausea. “So what…what’s the baby’s name?”

“Hmm?” He blinked at her, a confused knit in his brow as if he’d forgotten she was there. As if she’d pulled him from serious deliberations.

She had some major thinking of her own to do. And soon. How did she get herself out of this nightmare? And what kind of mess had she stumbled into?

“Your son. What’s his name?”

“Uh, I…”

The man’s hesitation piqued her suspicion. “You do know your son’s name, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He scoffed and gave her a what-kind-of-idiot-do-you-think-I-am look. But not a name.

“Well?” She lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

“It’s…uh, Elmer.”

Laura blinked. Surely she’d misunderstood him.

“Did you say Elmer? As in Fudd?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Nobody’d name a baby that!”

He scowled at her. “It was my grandfather’s name. What’s wrong with Elmer?”

“Nothing if you don’t mind the poor kid getting picked on his whole life. Please tell me he has a middle name he can use.”

“No…not yet.” The man looked decidedly uncomfortable with the conversation. Her doubts about him stirred to life again.

Careful to keep her gaze on his face, not his bloody shoulder, she gauged his reaction as she fired more questions. “Who are you? Are you in some kind of trouble with the law? And who were those men? Why do they want the baby?”

With his lips pressed in a grim line, he rubbed the back of his neck.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a finger on her arm.

Finally he heaved a deep sigh. “Max Caldwell. I’m a firefighter and volunteer coach for the rec center’s kindergarten Pee Wee football team.”

When he said no more, she scoffed. “Let me guess. You moonlight as a CIA agent, and those men were Russian spies. You’ve hidden the plans for a new bomb that could destroy the world in Elmer’s diaper. Am I close?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, and when he cast a sideways glance at her, a spark of humor lit his dark eyes. “You watch too much television.”

“I don’t watch any television, thank you. It’s all far too unrealistic. In real life, people don’t get kidnapped and chased by bad guys with guns.”

A wry chuckle rumbled from his chest, and a lopsided grin eased the tension in his face. When he smiled, she discovered, Max Caldwell was a devastatingly handsome man. She caught herself staring.

“And you are…?” he prompted.

“The beautiful double agent sent by the enemy to steal the bomb plans, of course.” She cracked a smart-alecky grin.

His gaze grew hot and penetrating. “Well, you got the beautiful part right.”

When he brushed her hair back from her cheek, she gasped, as much from the electric jolt his touch sent through her as from the shock of his intimate gesture. Trembling, she pulled away from his hand.

“Easy, beautiful. I won’t hurt you.” The husky baritone of his voice caused a tingle to skitter over her skin.

She forced a short laugh. “Said the spider to the fly?”

The humor on his face faded. He focused on the road, his expression hard and grim.

A pang of regret for the lost joviality left a pit in her stomach. She twisted in her seat to check on Elmer.

Protect the baby, the voice in her head chanted again.

“Tell me something.” She pinned a hard stare on Max. “If you’re a firefighter as you claim, what’s with all the guns? Last time I checked, a firefighter didn’t need to own a small arsenal or know how to shoot in order to do his job.”

Max lifted a black eyebrow, and his returned glance asked, Are you serious? “How long have you lived in Louisiana?”

“Only a couple of years. Why?”

“Ever heard the state called the Sportsman’s Paradise?”

“Of course.”

He gave a quick nod. “Well, that’s a hunting rifle. My dad taught me to hunt and shoot when I was twelve. Like his dad taught him, and his grandfather taught his dad, et cetera. It’s tradition around here.”

Laura thought of the hunting trophies she’d seen in his living room. Okay, that explained the rifles, but…

“What about that gun?” She nodded toward the weapon resting in his lap. “Surely you don’t take handguns hunting.”

“Home protection. I bought it for my wife, for the nights I was at the fire station and she was home alone.” A flicker of pain crossed his face. “She left it with me when we divorced.”

“Oh.” Laura shifted in her seat. Knowing the whys behind Max’s gun ownership didn’t make her any more comfortable being around the things. Her attention shifted to something else Max had said. She checked the ring finger of his left hand.

Bare.

If he was divorced…

A fresh prickle of doubt and concern tickled her neck, and she sat straighter in the seat. “Was your divorce recent?”

“Hmm? No, it’s been a few years.” He furrowed his expressive black eyebrows again. “Why?”

“I just assumed…because of the baby…”

He grimaced and dragged a hand down his face. “Oh…right. I—”

Max heaved a tired sigh, mumbled something about weaving tangled webs, and stared out the windshield.

The suspicion prickling Laura’s neck bit harder with every minute of his silence. “Max, whose baby is—?”

“He’s my nephew.” The haunted, dark-eyed glance he sent her twisted inside her. “My sister’s in the hospital. She might…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She might die. She asked me to protect her son from the men who just shot at us.”

Laura narrowed her eyes warily. “You lied to me earlier. When you said you’re his father.”

“Well, in a way, I am. A father figure at least. His real dad’s out of the picture, and—”

“Semantics! You still misled me. You let me believe he was yours!”

Returning his attention to the road, he blew out a harsh puff of air. “I saw no reason to explain. As soon as we got to my house, you were supposed to take your car and leave. The end. Goodbye. No sticky explanations.”

“I knew something was fishy.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her mouth. “I’m still not convinced I should trust you.”

His head whipped toward her, and pain riddled his eyes for an instant before he hardened his expression and tensed his jaw. “Elmer is my nephew. And until Emily gets out of the hospital, I’m his guardian. His protector. That’s the plain and simple truth.”

“What about the message on your answering machine? That guy thinks the baby belongs with him.”

“Elmer’s mother wants me to have him. That’s all you need to know.” He held her gaze, his own challenging her to believe him, penetrating to her core and stirring a restlessness in her.

Protect the baby.

She twisted toward the backseat to check on the newborn again. Elmer. How could anyone have named a baby so sweet and innocent something as awkward as Elmer?

Turning back around, she leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. What should she do? Did she dare believe Max? He’d lied to her twice. So how did she trust him now?

Fatigue permeated her to the bone. She longed for the calm and seclusion of her apartment. Even the microwave dinner she’d planned for supper held a certain appeal at this point.

She had decisions to make, but exhaustion numbed her mind too much to think straight.

Her only certainty was she had to do what was best for Elmer. No matter what. Her day care training, her personal experience with foster homes demanded she find out where this baby really belonged, where he would be safe, where he would be loved.

A groan from the driver’s seat called her attention to the ruggedly handsome man behind the wheel. He winced and rolled his injured shoulder.

“You need a doctor.”

“Naw. I’m all right. It’s just stiff.”

“You should go to a hospital and let someone—”

“No! It’s not serious.” He set his jaw in a stubborn glower. “Besides, a doctor would have to report a gunshot wound to the police. I can’t get the police involved.”

Another uneasy prick jabbed her. “Why not? Those men shot at us!”

He hesitated, checked his mirrors again and sighed. “Long story. But…I have to keep the baby with me. The police might take him and—” He sent her a sharp look and shook his head. “Forget it. Just trust me on this, okay?”

She grunted, and he scowled.

“Well, someone needs to clean the wound before it gets infected, and I can’t do it.” She sighed. “Blood makes me sick.”

Taking one hand from the steering wheel, he peeled back his shirt to examine his wound. “It’s really only a scratch. I’ll live.” He paused. “But thanks for your concern.”

The smile he gave her shone from his eyes and warmed his face. His crooked grin removed the hard, worried edge that had darkened his face from the moment she’d met him.

But handsome as he was, his desire to avoid the police, even with the dangerous men after them, baffled her. Bothered her. If Elmer was in some kind of danger, why wouldn’t Max involve the police?

And if the baby was at risk, how could she justify walking away? The baby’s safety was her utmost concern. Max had admitted he wasn’t the baby’s real father, had said Elmer’s real father was “out of the picture”—whatever that meant. The facts of this scenario only seemed to get murkier, more confusing. It seemed the real truth was she was Elmer’s best chance of being returned to the right hands. She needed to take the baby to the police, let the authorities straighten out the question of custody. But how did she get the infant away from Max?

“There’s a little town up ahead.”

She faced Max when he spoke.

“I’m going to stop at a car rental agency there. I need you to go in and rent a car for me. I’ll give you the cash.”

“Me?”

He met her curious look. “I can’t very well go in with a bloody shoulder. I’d raise too much suspicion. Once I have a different car, you’ll be free to go home.”

“That’s it? You’re dismissing me?”

Her comment earned a confused scowl from Max. “You want to go home, right?”

The promise of home and freedom made her spirits jump for joy. But soon after, her sense of responsibility to the infant reared its head. Her stomach clenched.

Protect the baby.

“Well—”

“I’ll pay for repairing your car, if that’s the problem.”

“No, I…”

“What?”

The sinking sun cast deep shadows across his face. The blood on his shirt had dried, leaving a dark vermilion blotch on his blue knit shirt. Max’s handgun lay across his lap, ready for the next brush with death. The man’s appearance screamed danger. Violence. Trouble.

Yet a niggling sensation in her gut wouldn’t be quieted. She had to look out for the innocent baby she’d cradled in her arms. No one had given her the job. Only her conscience, her love for children, her personal experience with being lost in the foster system prodded her to accept the position as the baby’s guardian. Along with her certainty that things with Max Caldwell weren’t what they seemed.

Protect the baby.

She’d worry about getting away from Max and sorting through the facts later. Right now, baby Elmer needed her. Spurred by her determination to assure the baby’s safety, she made her decision and wouldn’t look back.

“I’m not going home. I’m staying with you.”

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