Peek-a-boo Protector. Rita Herron

me.” John led the way, and Turner went into the kitchen to process it. Sam was still sitting in the rocking chair. The sight of her cuddling the child, looking so protective and loving and—feminine—stirred something deep inside him, and reminded him of a time when he’d thought his girlfriend was pregnant. When he’d been foolish enough to think a woman mattered more than his career.

      Never again.

      “Shh, sweetie,” Sam whispered. “I know you want your mama, but it’s going to be all right.”

      John’s chest tightened. He hoped to hell she was right.

      But judging from the sight of all that blood, the baby’s mother might not be coming back at all.

      

      SAM GLANCED AT JOHN, and her shoulders bunched with nerves. He looked grim and angry, more brooding than she’d ever seen. “Did you find anything?”

      John shrugged. “CSI is looking. But there was no ID or purse in the car.”

      She frowned, but then smiled down at the baby as she sucked greedily on the bottle. “Her name is Emmie,” she said softly.

      “How do you know?” John asked.

      She folded the edge of the pink blanket back, and he read the embroidered lettering. Peek-a-boo, Emmie.

      At least we know her first name,” he said. “Maybe I missed something in the diaper bag.”

      Emmie drained the bottle, and Sam lifted her to her shoulder, then patted her back. John retrieved the diaper bag, and she watched as he unloaded the contents—diapers, two fuzzy pink sleepers, a plastic duck, rattle, set of plastic keys, three cans of formula, baby wipes, shampoo, lotion and baby socks.

      Just enough things to last a night or two, until Sam could get to the store.

      “No, nothing,” he said. “Not even a credit card or checkbook.” With his gloved hand, he removed a small wad of cash that was tucked inside the diaper bag lining.

      “She was on the run,” Sam said quietly, her heart aching for the baby girl. “Probably from the baby’s father or an abusive man.”

      John frowned. “We don’t know that yet. Hell, she might have kidnapped the kid and was running from the law.”

      “I haven’t heard any Amber Alerts recently, have you?” Sam asked.

      “No, but we don’t know how long she’s been traveling. I’ll check the databases and see if a baby girl has been reported missing lately. How old do you think she is?”

      The baby burped, and Sam smiled. “About two or three months. She’s just starting to hold her head up.”

      “I’ll take your word on it,” he said. “I found registration on the car. It belonged to a man named Harry Finch from Atlanta. Do you recognize the name?”

      Sam shook her head. “No.”

      “You want to tell me what happened before I arrived.”

      Her stomach knotted as the past few hours flashed back. Her expression must have revealed her anxiety, because he stepped closer and pressed a hand to her arm. “Sam, are you all right?”

      She exhaled and gathered her courage. “Yes. I was just thinking about earlier. Before I got home…”

      “What happened?”

      “I saw Leonard Cultrain today,” she admitted. “He’s trying to get visitation rights to see his son, and the boy’s grandparents, his wife’s folks, are fighting it.”

      His brown eyes turned darker as he narrowed them. “Let me guess. He threatened you?”

      She shrugged. “He said I’d be sorry I messed with him.”

      “Dammit, Sam, you can’t go antagonizing that man.”

      “I wasn’t,” she said, instantly on edge. “But I have a job to do, and that means protecting his son from him. Little Joey knows Leonard strangled his mother, and is terrified of his father, and so are the grandparents. Joey saw his dad beat his mother more times than I can count.”

      John hissed. “I know. I took the calls myself.” But the patrol officer who’d found Cultrain drunk in his truck the night of the murder had neglected to read the man his rights before arresting him.

      Sam gulped back her fear. “Do you think Leonard came here looking for me? That he might have been hiding out and when this woman came in, he mistook her for me?”

      John studied her for a long moment, his expression guarded. “I don’t know. Judging from the fact that there’s no ID in the car, it’s more likely that the woman was in trouble. But you can damn well count on the fact that I’m going to pay Cultrain a visit.”

      “Shh,” she said. “There are delicate ears around.”

      He arched a brow and leaned over her, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Since when did you develop delicate ears, Sam?”

      She tensed at how close he was. She could see his beard stubble, smell his masculine scent, feel his breath on her cheek. Of course, he wouldn’t think she was delicate.

      Or pretty, either.

      She gestured toward the baby. “I was talking about Emmie.”

      His eyes twinkled, then he pulled back and his frown returned. “Oh.”

      “Thank you, John,” Sam said, banishing any fantasies she might harbor about John Wise, and shifting the baby to look into her big eyes. “I can’t stand to think that this woman might have been hurt because of me.”

      “I’ll get to the bottom of it,” John said. “Meanwhile, what are you going to do with the baby? Put her in foster care?”

      The little girl closed her fingers around Sam’s, and her heart twisted. “I don’t know. I’ll keep her tonight, and then decide. Maybe we’ll find her mother and I won’t have to place her in the system. At least, not yet.”

      He averted his gaze as if he didn’t think she should count on that.

      But Sam had to remain optimistic. This precious baby’s mother had not abandoned her, at least not willingly. And she didn’t want Emmie to end up without a mother as she had.

      Or in the system where Sam knew firsthand that anything could happen to her…

      

      THE NEXT TWO HOURS dragged by while forensics finished processing the scene.

      “We’ll take the blood and prints to the lab,” John said. “Maybe they’ll help us ID the woman.” He glanced at Turner. “Let’s take a DNA sample from the baby, too. We might need it to identify the child.”

      Turner nodded. “I’ll take palm and foot prints, too. That might help with identification.”

      “Good idea.” John gestured toward Sam, who was still holding the baby, guarding her like a mother lion would her cub.

      Sam’s look turned wary. “When you find the mother, she can identify the baby.”

      “Sam, we don’t know for certain that this woman was the baby’s mother,” John said firmly. “And you know as well as I do that it may take days or even weeks to find this woman. Besides,” he continued, “if the mother is dead, we’ll need to look for other family members who can take in the child.”

      A pained look crossed Sam’s face, but she complied. The baby fussed as Turner took a DNA swab from the inside of her mouth and took her palm and foot prints.

      “Come on, sweetie,” Sam said, standing. “We’ll go wash off that nasty ink.”

      She hurried up the steps, then returned a few minutes later with the baby wrapped snugly in the blanket. She’d also tucked one of those silly Butterbean dolls