In Protective Custody. Beth Cornelison

      “That’s it? You’re dismissing me?” Laura asked.

      Her comment earned a confused scowl from Max. “You want to go home, right?”

      The promise of home and freedom made her spirits jump for joy. But soon after, her sense of responsibility to the infant reared its head. Her stomach clenched.

      Protect the baby.

      A niggling sensation in her gut wouldn’t be quieted. She had to look out for the innocent baby she’d cradled in her arms. No one had given her the job. Only her conscience, her love for children. Along with the certainty that things with Max Caldwell weren’t what they seemed.

      Protect the baby.

      She’d worry about getting away from Max and sorting through the facts later. Right now, baby Elmer needed her. Spurred by her determination to assure the baby’s safety, she made her decision and wouldn’t look back.

      “I’m not going home. I’m staying with you,” she said.

      Dear Reader,

      In Protective Custody is near and dear to my heart. Not only did it win the RWA Golden Heart Award for Romantic Suspense, but the story also features characters and settings that are special to me.

      While Max and Laura quickly came alive for me, it was baby Elmer who stole my heart. Writing Elmer, I was transported back to the days when my own precious son was a newborn, including my frustration when he continually lost his pacifier. Thank goodness my son eventually learned his thumb worked just as well.

      Max and Laura’s story begins in New Orleans, the crown jewel for the state I call home and the city where I was awarded my coveted Golden Heart. Later, Max and Laura take refuge in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, where my grandmother lived until I was out of college. After I married, I vacationed with my in-laws near Boone on several occasions. I modeled Parsons after a real family-owned general store I frequented on these trips.

      In In Protectie Custody, two lost souls learn that home is more than a place and family is more about love than blood. Enjoy!

      Best wishes,

      Beth Cornelison

      In Protective Custody

      Beth Cornelison

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      BETH CORNELISON

      started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelor’s degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.

      Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including the coveted Golden Heart Award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanuts’ s Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.

      She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 52505, Shreveport, LA 71135-2505 or visit her Web site at www.bethcornelison.com.

      Dedication

      To my parents, who gave me roots and wings.

      Acknowledgments

      Thank you to Jill Floyd and Linda Rooks, my critique partners on this book. Special thanks to my editor, Allison Lyons, for her continued faith and hard work. And all my love to Paul and Jeffery.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      “Mr. Caldwell, your sister has been shot.”

      Max Caldwell wiped sooty sweat from his face with the back of his hand and strained to hear the voice on the phone over the ruckus of the fire station. “Can you repeat that? What did Emily do?”

      “She’s in critical condition from a gunshot wound to the chest.”

      Max’s stomach pitched, and he slumped against the painted concrete wall. A gunshot wound?

      “Dr. Hoffman needs your permission to perform an emergency C-section and deliver her baby right away.” The woman rattled off the name of the New Orleans hospital where Emily had been admitted.

      Max plugged one ear with his finger to mute the shouts and laughter of the other firemen. Just back from saving an antebellum home from an electrical fire, his fellow firefighters were pumped with adrenaline. Their boisterous celebrating made it hard to hear, much less grasp the enormity of what the woman said.

      “What about her husband, Joe Rialto? Shouldn’t he make that decision?”

      “I’m afraid Mr. Rialto was pronounced dead on arrival.”

      “Joe is…dead?” Max plowed his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and swore under his breath. The sour taste of dread climbed his throat, and his limbs shook. “O-okay, do whatever you have to but…save my sister.”

      A disturbing silence followed. His chest tightened.

      “Hello? Did you hear me?”

      “Yes, sir. I… We will naturally do everything we can for her, but…the odds are not in favor of your sister surviving, Mr. Caldwell. It’s the baby we’re trying to save now.”

      “Damn it!” Max yelled into the phone, an uncharacteristic wave of panic raising his voice. “She’s all I have! Don’t let her die!”

      The fire station fell silent, and he glanced up to find all eyes staring at him. He turned his back to the other men and gripped the phone like a lifeline to his sister. The lingering scent of smoke and the stink of sweat and Ben-Gay suffocated him. He needed air. Couldn’t breathe.

      “We’ll do our best, of course.”

      His fire station was at least twenty minutes from the hospital, and he’d have to fight the New Orleans rush-hour traffic. Max squeezed his eyes closed and silently begged God not to take his sister. Then drawing a deep breath, he murmured, “Save the baby. I’m on my way.”

      “Joe?” Emily gazed at Max with unfocused eyes. Her voice sounded thready and hoarse.

      Max’s heart thundered like a rookie’s on his first four-alarm call as he leaned forward and gently squeezed her hand. She’d been unresponsive for two days, so even weak, her voice was music to his ears. The doctors had warned him Emily might never regain