Читать книгу The Cradle Mission - Rita Herron - Страница 11

“Hush, Simon, honey, everything’s going to be all right. We’re going to meet someone today who’ll help us.” Alanna rubbed her temple where a headache pulsed, fighting panic.

She didn’t understand why Eric Caldwell hadn’t met them at the Three Dollar Café for lunch as he’d promised. When she’d spoken to him last night from the hotel, he’d seemed eager to help her.

He’d advised her to disguise herself, so she’d bought a dye kit, whacked off her honey-colored hair and colored her hair black.

But she and Simon had waited for two hours at the café and he hadn’t shown. She fastened Simon into the car seat, and drove away.

Staying in one place might give the men following her time to catch up. And although she had no idea who they were, she was certain they were after her. Twice, she’d spotted the same dark car behind her. But she’d managed to lose them in the rain and traffic. Was Arnold Hughes head of this secret project the scientist had been working on?

Simon twisted his tiny hands into fists, flailing them around, his face red with fury. “It’s okay, honey, we’ll stop in a bit and I’ll see if you need changing.”

She reached behind her and tried to slip a pacifier into his mouth, but he spit it out, his legs and arms circling as his sobs escalated. So did the rain.

It was coming in thick sheets now, just as it had yesterday when she’d left Savannah. Tears pressed against Alanna’s eyelids, but she blinked furiously to control them and darted around a Ford pickup. More than anything she wanted Simon to have a normal life.

She’d felt an immediate bond with the four-pound infant the minute she’d seen him in the neonatal nursery, and it had grown stronger every day. Finally she’d understood how much her own mother had loved her before she died. In spite of the fact that she was a single mother, she’d tried to give Alanna everything she’d wanted. Alanna wanted to do the same for Simon. She wanted him to go to school. Have friends. Play sports.

But strange circumstances surrounded Simon’s birth, which Paul wouldn’t divulge. The less she knew the better, he’d said. It was safer. But why…?

How could they ever have a normal life on the run?

A knot of worry took hold in Alanna’s stomach as she recalled Paul’s last words, “Simon is different.” How different, she wondered? What if he got sick? She’d had a fever for the past twenty-four hours, plus flulike symptoms. What if Simon grew ill? What if he had special needs that they hadn’t told her about? What if he needed a doctor?

She spotted the exit sign for Lake Lanier, the area north of Atlanta where Eric lived, and drove toward the lake, squinting at the signs to make sure she didn’t miss the turn. Several ski boats and houseboats came into view, and she breathed a sigh of relief, then turned onto the dirt road that supposedly led to Eric’s cabin, the car bouncing over the gravel.

Five minutes later, she parked in front of the rustic-looking cabin. She had no idea why Eric Caldwell had stood them up, but she was desperate. She would beg him to help her if she had to.

THE FAINT KNOCK at the front door barely registered in Cain’s mind. The rain must have stopped. Only it was still thundering in his head.

Had his partner, Neil, returned for something?

He ignored the knock, too grief stricken to move. He didn’t want company now, not even his partner. The whispered condolences and sympathetic looks were more than he could bear.

Had the CSU unit forgotten to check something? Frustration clawed at him. He’d wanted to help, but the captain ordered him to stay out of the investigation, so he’d simply stared at the sooty ashes and burning embers while they’d recovered his brother’s burned body.

The knock sounded again, louder this time, and he cursed. Dammit, if it was those rookies, Wade and Pirkle, telling him he had to leave his brother’s cabin, he’d give them a piece of his mind.

Riddled with grief and fury, he opened the door. Instead of the rookies, a small dark-haired woman with big doe eyes stood on the steps staring up at him. An infant swathed in a blue bunny blanket squirmed in her arms.

“Mr…Caldwell?”

Her soft, feminine voice broke through his blurred haze, cutting into the pain with images of another life that might have been if he hadn’t chosen police work, of sultry hot looks and sinful nights with a woman in his arms. Of a family of his own.

But Eric had been his family. And now he was gone.

“Does Eric Caldwell live here?”

He couldn’t be thinking lustful thoughts, not with his brother dead. Besides, this woman looked like a drowned rat. “Yeah. I mean no.” The hazy orange of dusk almost completely shadowed her face, but he catalogued her features, his detective training kicking in. Short jet-black hair plastered to her head, dark blue-green eyes, slender, attractive, almost angelic.

Scared.

She was trembling beneath that baggy, wrinkled sweater and skirt, her fine-boned hand shaking as she patted the baby’s back. The bruises caught his eye. Purple and yellow ones marring her delicate wrists. Perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip, too.

Oh, yeah, she was in trouble.

His gaze flew to her face, searching for answers. Thick black lashes curled downward over cheeks that were so pale they looked like milk. Her black hair looked unnatural, as if she’d dyed it, and the ends were tangled as if it had been aeons since she’d seen a brush. Judging from the dark circles beneath her eyes, she hadn’t slept in a day or two.

She cleared her throat and he realized he hadn’t answered her. “Are you Eric Caldwell?”

He stepped backward, a sudden jolt to his system he hadn’t been prepared for. His throat closed momentarily, but fear radiated from her eyes and he figured she smelled the beer on his breath. She was afraid of him, he realized, a sick feeling splintering through him at the thought.

“Eric’s not here.” For some reason, he could not make himself say the words aloud, that Eric was dead. “I’m his brother, Cain.”

“Oh.” She took a wobbly step backward, the one word filled with so much disappointment that he narrowed his eyes. The baby whimpered and she crooned, murmuring nonsensical assurances in that throaty voice that tore at his gut.

“What did you want with Eric?”

Her gaze raked over him, wary and uncertain. “I…we had an appointment. He didn’t make it.”

The jolt slammed into him again, both sensual awareness and something else—suspicion? Eric was supposed to meet this woman today? The day he had died? Was that where he had been rushing to in such a hurry?

One look at the baby and another thought crossed his mind. Eric had so many secrets.

Or was she another one of his charity cases, running to Eric for help?

His jaw tightened with dread.

Could she possibly have something to do with his brother’s murder?

ALANNA COULD NOT STOP the trembling inside her, but she made a valiant attempt to mask it in front of this man. The interior of the cabin was dark, a single light from a small lamp looming somewhere in a back room. Something was wrong. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. Despair hung in the room, heavy and intense, a mirror of her own mood.

Paul Polenta’s warnings rang in her head. Watch out for the brother. He’s a cop, ex-military, medical background. He could be trouble.

Emotions seemed to war in his eyes as he glared down at her. His black gaze was so penetrating and soulful she stepped backward, intimidated by the anger simmering beneath the surface. His potent sexuality drummed up every feminine instinct within her. And every protective one as well. She had to guard herself against him.

He was starkly handsome and one of the biggest men she’d ever met, well over six feet, with broad shoulders that pulled against the fabric of his faded black T-shirt, and hands that could probably crush a rock. Black hair framed a chiseled face that was all planes and angles and solid strength, and the thick black stubble of a five-o’clock shadow indicated he hadn’t shaved today. Bronzed skin covered well-defined muscles, the heat radiating from him so powerful her belly clenched.

He’d been drinking. She smelled the beer on his breath and, for a faint moment, wondered if alcohol affected his temperament. It didn’t matter.

He was Eric Caldwell’s brother. Paul had warned her not to trust him.

She should get out of there fast.

But where would she go?

She had to find Eric Caldwell.

“Come in and we’ll talk.” He gestured toward the shadowed foyer.

Alanna hesitated, but she slowly moved inside, hugging Simon to her. “I’d like to wait on your brother if you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s important that I see him. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Pain flashed in his eyes. “He’s not coming back.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering her, his voice hardened, almost defensively. He shut the door and moved in front of it. “Tell me how you know Eric, and why you were meeting him.”

Renewed panic wove its way inside her. “I…I can’t. It’s confidential.”

“You want to know about Eric, you have to talk to me, lady.”

His harsh tone startled Simon. Tension escalated between them as she tried to soothe him. Oddly, Cain Caldwell shifted and jammed his hands in his pockets, his face pinched as if Simon’s cries disturbed him almost as much as they did her.

Thankfully he did lower his voice. “You can start by telling me your name.”

She glanced around, spotted a newspaper lying on the hall table, and saw a headline about a Jane Doe. “Jane…Jane Carter.”

A thick, black eyebrow rose in question. “How well did you know Eric, Jane?”

He murmured the name as if he suspected it was fake, and she shifted Simon on her shoulder, rubbing circles around his back. “Well enough,” she hedged.

His other eyebrow rose. “You were involved personally?” He nodded at Simon. “And the little boy?”

Alanna opened her mouth to tell him no, then clamped down on her tongue, reminding herself not to offer too much information. If this man thought the baby was his brother’s or that they’d been friends, maybe he’d help her. At least maybe he’d tell her where she could find Eric.

“I really need to talk to Eric,” she said instead of answering him. “Can you just tell me where he is? Please?”

Once again that deep pain flashed into his eyes. “What’s left of him is lying in a brown casket at the Bay Street Funeral Home.”

Shock rippled through every nerve in Alanna’s body. She shook her head, refusing to believe what he’d implied with his blunt statement.

If Eric was dead, she and Simon were all alone. They had no one to help them.

His patience snapped, and he suddenly grabbed her arms. “Yes, Ms. Carter,” he said in a harsh voice. “My brother was murdered a few hours ago. His car exploded right down there, near the woods behind his house. The day he was supposed to meet you. If you know something about his murder, you’d better tell me, now.”

She glanced out the screen door and saw the marks, the charred black lines on the gravel, the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. Cain Caldwell’s accusations sank in, fear spiraling through her.

Had Eric Caldwell died because he’d agreed to help her?

THE WOMAN’S FRAIL BODY shuddered within Cain’s hands, and shame washed over him. The image of his brother’s burned body being pulled from the wreckage of his Jeep haunted him, yet he had no right to take his grief out on this vulnerable, needy woman.

That was something his father would have done.

He had sworn he’d be a better man than his father.

He exhaled a shaky breath and released her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his throat thick. “It’s been a hell of a day.” Of course, judging from her battered body, she’d had better days, too. Perspiration dotted her forehead, yet her hands had felt clammy. She had a fever, he realized, and wondered how long she’d been sick.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” Panic gave the woman’s voice an edge. She clutched the baby tighter and backed away. “I…I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Wait a minute—”

“No, I have to go.” She turned and ran, the baby’s cries escalating over the howling wind as she shielded it from the rain.

“Wait, come back here!” He ran down the porch steps, but she slammed the car door, started the engine and tore down the driveway.

Cain’s heart pounded. If she was in trouble and had come to Eric for help, he owed it to his brother to help her. And if she knew something, anything, that might tell him who had killed Eric, he had to get her to talk. Swiping a hand across his face, he grabbed his leather bomber jacket off the coatrack, yanked his keys from his pocket and ran out the back door to his car. He would follow her and see where she was headed.

Maybe she’d lead him to his brother’s murderer.