In Protective Custody. Beth Cornelison

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.”