Rita Herron - Peek-a-boo Protector

Emmie cooed and batted her little fist at Sam, and Sam’s heart melted again.

Ten minutes later, she parked at the police station, took Emmie from the car and wrapped the blanket around her to ward off the fall chill as she hurried inside. One of the deputies, Deputy Floyd, a blond guy in his early twenties, smiled at her from his desk. She’d met him before on another case.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hi, Phil. Is John…I mean Chief Wise here?”

He nodded. “In his office. You can go on back.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, I heard about the trouble last night. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks.” She cradled the baby to her and went to John’s office, pausing to drink in his features through the glass partition separating the space. He was at least six foot three, his body muscular, his shoulders broad, his hands big. His hair was dark and thick, his eyes an amber-brown like scotch.

But his expression was somber as he talked into the phone.

He glanced up and spotted her, his eyes narrowing slightly, then he waved her in.

“Thanks. Let me know if you find anything in those woods.” He hung up, then scrubbed a hand over his chin. “I just sent two officers out to search the forest behind your house again.”

“Any news on the missing woman?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I just talked to the lab, and they’re supposed to fax over anything they find. I asked them to run the prints first. If she’s in the system, we might get a hit.”

“I hope so.” Sam glanced down at Emmie, praying the woman was alive.

John clenched his jaw, tension rippling between them. “I went by Leonard Cultrain’s house last night.”

Sam’s breath caught. “What did he say?”

“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?

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.