Peek-a-boo Protector. Rita Herron

      Peek-a-Boo Protector

      Rita Herron

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Copyright

      Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former nursery teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for romance and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write to her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website at www.ritaherron.com.

      To Allison & Denise – two great editors who sparked this idea!

Prologue

      Leaving her baby was the hardest thing Honey Dawson had ever done.

      But someone was trying to kill her, and she had to run. Had to in order to keep her babies safe.

      She swiped at the tears trickling down her face and gulped back a sob. Beside her, her baby girl cooed up at her so innocently that her heart wrenched.

      “I’m not a deserter, Emmie,” she said earnestly as her baby boy’s face taunted her. “I’ll go back and get your brother and we’ll all be together again one day.”

      She wouldn’t be like her own mother who’d left her on the doorstep of the local orphanage with nothing but a diaper and an empty locket. She hadn’t even put a picture inside. Hadn’t even given her a name.

      The caretakers had called her Honey because of her golden hair, and Dawson for the county she was left in. It was downright pitiful.

      The reason she’d taken such good care to choose special names for her twins. “When I get us out of this mess, we’ll be a family, I promise.” Another sob escaped her. “I may have messed up but I swear on my mama’s necklace—” she stroked the pendant she always wore, one that now held her twins’ pictures “—I swear that I’ll be a good mama.”

      Butterville, the small town where she’d grown up, loomed ahead with its welcoming arms, and she crossed the county line and veered the car toward Samantha Corley’s house. Sam was the only real friend Honey had ever known.

      Men adored Honey, but girls didn’t take much to her.

      Of course, lately she’d pissed off both sexes. Now one of them wanted her dead.

      Trouble was, she wasn’t even sure who…

      No, she wasn’t going to die. She had babies to live for now, and Honey would not let anyone stop her from raising them. Sam would help. Sam always knew what to do.

      Her foster sister lived on the side of the mountain in a little cabin that had been there for decades. So like Sam to still be here. She probably hadn’t changed a stick of furniture or her hairstyle, for that matter.

      Honey hadn’t been able to get away fast enough. She’d wanted to follow her dreams. Now the town felt like she was coming home, and her only dream was to take care of the twins.

      Honey checked over her shoulder for the umpteenth time, but she didn’t spot anyone following her. Thank God. She’d finally lost the son of a bitch who’d followed her across the country.

      She slowed the vehicle, her heart fluttering as the car lights flickered off the porch swing where she and Sam had shared lazy afternoons drinking sweet tea, dreaming about their futures and trading secrets.

      But Sam’s house looked dark as Hades, and she didn’t see a car anywhere nearby, so she parked and cut the lights. Emmie had fallen asleep, so she left her in the car long enough to check the front door. It was locked. She searched the flowerpot where Sam usually kept a key. Darn it, it was gone.

      Not to worry though. A locked door never kept Honey Dawson out.

      She removed a hairpin and jimmied the door open in five seconds flat. The night shadows seemed ominous, the whistle of the wind as eerie as the mountain lion’s howl. She scanned the trees surrounding the house and shivered. Someone could be hiding in those woods, ready to pounce.

      No, she was safe. Finally. Sam would take care of her. Help her figure out what to do. Then they’d get her little boy back.

      She rushed back to the car, grabbed the diaper bag and then the infant carrier and car seat base. “I love you, kitten,” she purred. Smiling at her daughter,