Читать книгу Peek-a-boo Protector - Rita Herron - Страница 8

Sam bolted the doors, rocking Emmie back and forth in her arms as John’s car disappeared down the driveway. Darkness bathed the exterior of the house and property, the events of the night leaving her shaken and exhausted.

She’d never imagined how violated having an intruder in her home would make her feel, or how instantly she could grow attached to a little baby. But the child snuggled up to her, and her heart melted and warmth spread through her.

“Let’s put you to bed,” she whispered. “And tomorrow, we’ll go into town and buy you a portable crib and more diapers and…”

What was she thinking? She had to file a report, find a temporary foster home for the little girl.

Emmie snuggled deeper against her chest though, and her heart fluttered. Then again, maybe she could just keep the baby until they found her parents or another family member.

She carried Emmie to the guest room across from hers and settled her on the bed, then placed pillows around the edge for safety. Emmie wasn’t old enough to crawl, but sometimes babies scooted in their sleep. Then she covered her with the blanket, leaned over and pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead.

“Sleep tight, princess. I’ll be right across the hall from you.” Emmie twisted slightly, her fingers closing around the blanket edge, then slid her thumb in her mouth and began to gently suck it.

Sam smiled, then undressed and pulled on a nightshirt. But the haunting reminder of the violence downstairs sent her to get her shotgun.

She brought it upstairs, then paused to look at the baby from the doorway. The sight of the little girl stirred a longing for a family. For a man to love her and a child to call her own.

A dream she might never have.

She groaned, went to her room, put the gun beside the bed and crawled beneath the covers. But John’s offer to stay echoed in her head.

He’d only been doing his job.

John Wise certainly didn’t see her as a love interest. The man was a cop through and through. Besides, she’d heard talk that he might leave town to pursue loftier goals.

And Butterville was her home, the only place she’d ever felt safe.

The wind whipped the tree branches against the windowpane, and she tensed.

Except tonight, she didn’t feel safe at all.

JOHN ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS to relieve the tension knotting his neck as he drove down the mountain and pulled into Leonard Cultrain’s drive. The man had moved back in with his mother in a weathered, clapboard house that had been built at least fifty years ago. The white paint was chipped, the porch sagging, the screens torn.

Brittle fall leaves crunched beneath his feet as he climbed out, walked up to the front door and knocked. He glanced at the window while he waited, saw a light flicker on in the back room, then heard shuffling. A moment later, Leonard’s mother shouted, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Chief Wise, Miss Cultrain, please open up.”

He heard her unlocking the door, then it screeched open and she peered outside through the crack. Her gray bun was falling out of the hairpins, and she clutched an old chenille robe to her neck. “What you want?”

“I need to speak to your son Leonard.”

She glared at him, clacking her teeth as her mouth worked side to side. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, ma’am,” John said. “But it’s important. Is he here?”

She jerked her head sideways. “He’s in bed where I was before you pounded on the door.”

“Please go get him,” John said, struggling for patience, “or I’ll come in and do it myself.”

She muttered a curse, then slammed the door in his face, and he heard her shuffling to the back calling Leonard’s name. “That danged chief of police is here to harass you, Lennie. You tell him we’ll sue his ass if he bothers us again.”

“Son of a bitch,” Leonard snarled so loudly that John braced himself for a confrontation. The burly, tattooed man swung the door open wearing jeans and no shirt, his belly hanging over the waistband of his pants. “I just got home, Chief,” he barked. “You the welcome wagon?”

“Where were you tonight?” John asked without preamble.

Leonard’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Here having dinner with my mama.” He rubbed his belly. “She cooked me fried chicken and biscuits and gravy.” He threw a look over his shoulder to where his mother stood like a hawk. “Ain’t that right?”

“Sure is. Then we watched the game shows all night.”

“Why you asking?” Leonard said.

“Because there was an incident at Samantha Corley’s house tonight. I thought you might have been involved.”

A leer slid onto Leonard’s face. “You did, did you? What kind of incident? Someone hurt the bitch?”

John gritted his teeth. “Actually I believe another woman was attacked in Samantha’s house. Heard you had issues with her today.”

Anger flashed in Leonard’s eyes. “Damn right. That nosy busybody’s trying to keep me from my kid, and that ain’t right.”

As if a murderer deserved to be with his son. “So you went to her house to teach her a lesson?”

A dark laugh boomed from Leonard’s chest. “If I had, she’d know it. I wouldn’t have settled for someone else.”

“He answered your questions,” Miss Lou Lou snapped. “Now get out. I need my beauty sleep.”

John caught the door before Leonard could slam it in his face. “Stay away from her, Cultrain, or you’ll be sorry.”

A nasty chuckle rumbled from the bastard. “You tried locking me up and that didn’t work.”

John shot him an equally evil grin. “Who said anything about jail?”

SAM SPENT THE NEXT MORNING clearing her calendar and arranging for someone to take over her caseload for a few days. She filed a report with social services regarding Emmie, but every time she considered placing the baby in a foster home, memories of her own traumatic experiences flooded her.

She couldn’t leave the little girl.

She fed Emmie, bathed her and changed her into the extra sleeper, then made a list of items she needed to pick up in town. But first, she’d stop by and see John.

Chief Wise, not John. Remember, he’s a cop.

She settled the baby into the infant carrier, and fit it into the car seat base, smiling as the little girl clutched the Butterbean doll in her hand. “I know Bitsy is soft. She’s your new best friend, isn’t she, sweetie?”

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?