Enchanting Baby. Darlene Graham

your back.”

      “What?” Greg couldn’t believe this.

      But the cop had already reached behind his belt and flipped out a pair of handcuffs. His other hand was poised near his holster.

      “Okay!” Greg threw up his palms like a criminal in a TV drama. What choice did he have? He wouldn’t be much good to his baby if he got himself shot.

      Before he could so much as blink, Eiden twisted Greg’s arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. With one hand on the cuffs and one hand on Greg’s shoulder, the cop pushed him outside.

      Stunned, Greg tried to turn his face toward the man. “Officer, are you arresting me?”

      The cop gave the cuffs an instructive jerk. “I could. For interference with official process. But I’ll settle for taking you down to headquarters for investigative detention.”

      “What is this all about? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

      The cop didn’t answer. He quickly patted Greg down, making Greg grateful he’d left his firearm in the lockbox inside his Navigator.

      When the cop was satisfied that Greg was clean, he said, “Please get in the vehicle, sir.” He opened the back door of the squad car.

      “What about my vehicle?” Greg jerked his head toward the Navigator.

      “I’ll lock it. If necessary, I can impound it later. Otherwise, I’ll bring you back here to get it.”

      Again, Greg had no choice but to climb into the musty, plastic-lined back seat. He’d only ridden in the front of a squad car, never in the back. He’d never been on the bad end of an arrest, either. He felt awkward, like an animal in a cage, forced to sit sideways in the cramped space because of the cuffs. As he stared at the Plexiglas barrier to the front seat he thought, Great. This Ashleigh Logan woman is complicating my life more by the minute. He’d been in this backwater town less than an hour and already he was being hauled down to the local pokey.

      CHAPTER TWO

      AS SOON AS THE DOOR CLOSED behind the men, Lydia Kane and her staff rushed into the waiting room where the two mothers were clutching their toddlers to their pregnant bellies.

      “Everything’s all right.” Lydia stretched her arms forth. “He’s gone now. Is everyone okay?”

      “We’re fine,” both of the patients answered at once, but their expressions remained wide-eyed and fearful.

      “Was that guy dangerous?” one of them asked.

      “I hope not,” Lydia soothed. “But we couldn’t take any chances. We have a patient here who has a restraining order against a stalker back in Denver, so we can’t be too cautious.” She turned to her staff. “Lenora, why don’t you go ahead and move these clients back to exam rooms where they can be more comfortable?”

      As soon as the patients were gone, the receptionist, Trish, covered her mouth in shame. “I shouldn’t have put her real last name on the board.”

      Lydia patted her shoulder. “It’s been a hectic day and you were just following the routine.”

      “Don’t worry, Trish,” Katherine said, adding her reassurances. “While Lydia was calling the cops, I called Ashleigh and warned her. Another officer went out to the Coleman cabin while Miguel was on his way here.”

      “Still, that awful man saw her name. Now he knows she’s in Enchantment!” Trish wasn’t going to forgive herself so easily.

      “You had no idea he’d look back there,” Katherine reassured her further.

      “I’m so glad you were alert!” Trish’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

      “Yes. Good job, Katherine.” Now Lydia patted the midwife’s shoulder.

      “And you did the right thing, Lydia.” Katherine smiled at her boss. “If that is the stalker, thank God Miguel has hauled him off.”

      “Yes.” Lydia looked out the window as the cruiser pulled away. “Miguel Eiden isn’t about to let that guy hurt anybody.”

      THE POLICE STATION WAS BACK on the main drag, Paseo de Sierra. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains so that Greg couldn’t see much through the grimy rear windows as they pulled into the gravel parking lot. But it looked like the police department was connected by a short breezeway to the civic complex that housed the library and the chamber of commerce. The building was a timber-and-adobe structure that looked as if it had been restored and added onto a couple of times.

      The cop took him inside and led him down a narrow hallway to a tiny office, brightly lit and sparsely furnished. He unlocked the cuffs and said, “Take out your driver’s license and have a seat.”

      Greg pulled his license out of his billfold, then sat down in a folding chair at a bare utilitarian table. A yellow legal pad and pen were already in place there.

      The cop removed his cowboy hat and pitched it onto the table. Before he sat down he snatched up a beige wall phone.

      “Ernesto? Miguel here. I’ve got the guy in the interrogation room. Go ahead and start the tape.”

      “Tape?” Greg said, “You’re taping me? Isn’t that illegal?”

      The cop pulled a wry smile. “Get real.” He checked Greg’s driver’s license, then sat in the chair facing him.

      “This is unbelievable.” Greg leaned forward in his chair while the cop scribbled some notes. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

      A pretty young woman stuck her head in the door. “Officer Eiden—” her voice was saccharine sweet “—you want this?” She waved a sheaf of papers at Miguel. Without looking up from what he was writing, the cop held out a hand and she took her time sauntering the few steps across the room to deliver the papers.

      “Thanks, Crystal.” Giving his full attention to the papers, the cop dismissed her.

      But she lingered at Miguel’s shoulder, giving Greg an avid once-over. “You think this is the guy?”

      The cop cut her a sharp glance. “Crystal. You can go now.”

      She swished out, and the cop perused the pages, occasionally stopping to copy something he’d read onto the legal pad. He looked like he was about Greg’s age—early thirties, maybe. In this part of the country there were a lot of people of Navajo descent, and this man’s bronze skin and straight dark hair hinted at this heritage. When he finished reading he made a two-fingered signal at a picture-window-size mirror set into one wall, then he favored Greg with a cool, assessing squint. “I suppose you think just because this is a small town, we don’t tape perps?”

      “So I’m a perp?”

      “You tell me.” The cop looked at his watch and jotted something else on the yellow pad.

      “What is it that you want me to tell you?”

      Still writing, Miguel said, “Just answer a few simple questions…and don’t forget to smile for our camera.”

      Greg refrained from waggling a sarcastic wave at “Ernesto,” who was evidently already videotaping from beyond the dark glass.

      “What’s your full name?”

      Through the Plexiglas in the cruiser Greg had seen Officer Eiden writing down the tag number on his Navigator, and he assumed what the cop had in his hands was an NCIC report—and maybe some additional information from the Denver police. But Greg knew this tactic. The cop would make notes of Greg’s answers to see if they jibed with the official report. “Gregory McCrae Glazier.”

      “Age.”

      “Thirty-four.”

      “Occupation.”

      “Land developer.”