Peek-a-boo Protector. Rita Herron

want to hurt this baby?

      Sam’s hands shook as she moved the curtain aside and glanced out the window. She needed to call 9-1-1, but there wasn’t time. The dark sedan was parked off the drive by a thick pocket of trees, and the silhouette of a man slithered through the shadows, creeping toward the side window.

      “I’ll be right back, sweetie,” she said softly. She slowly opened the door, then inched outside onto the porch and around toward the side. The man was crouching low in the bushes, weaving toward the window. The sound of glass shattering sounded over the wind. Panic hit her again.

      He was trying to break in.

      Her insides knotted. She had to protect the baby. “You’re not going to get to Emmie,” she muttered as she raised the gun, braced it against her hip and aimed. The bushes rustled, wind whipping through the trees, but she fired at the bushes, gritting her teeth at the kick.

      A curse rent the air, the bushes rustled again and she fired a second shot. Another curse echoed through the wind, then the man jumped up and ran toward the woods and his car. She fired again, determined he know she meant business. The shell pinged off the gravel near his feet. He jumped into the car, started the engine, swung the car around and tore down the drive, slinging gravel in his wake.

      She was trembling, but waited until he disappeared then ran inside and locked the door. Emmie was crying harder, her cheeks red, her sniffles twisting Sam’s heart.

      She scooped the precious baby into her arms and began to soothe her. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s all right. The bad man is gone now.”

      But she had a sinking feeling he would be back.

      She stroked Emmie’s back, swaying her gently in her arms and pacing frantically in front of the window to make sure the man didn’t return as she dialed 9-1-1 again.

      

      AT JOHN’S REQUEST, the lab confirmed that the blood on the floor of Sam’s house was Honey’s. They still had to compare the baby’s blood and DNA with Honey’s. Meanwhile, John had to tell Samantha Corley what he’d learned, that it was Honey’s blood on her floor.

      His phone buzzed on his way to her house, and he snapped it open. “Chief Wise.”

      “Chief, a 9-1-1 call just came in from Samantha Corley’s house.”

      Again? Dammit.

      He scrubbed his hand over his face. “What now?”

      “She said someone tried to run her off the road and followed her to her house.”

      He adjusted his holster and weapon, grabbed his jacket and rushed to the door. “I’m on my way.”

      John flipped on the siren and raced toward Sam’s. The wind beat at his car as he swerved around slower traffic, beeped at a truck to move over and let him by, then swung onto the mountain road leading to her place.

      Five minutes later, he veered onto her driveway, scanning the woods as he flew up her drive and scanned the perimeter of her property. Dark clouds hung heavy in the night, the threat of bad weather ominous.

      He screeched to a stop behind her car, wielded his gun in case the perp was lurking around, then walked toward the porch, his senses alert. Trees rustled, an animal howled and the ping of falling rocks echoed from the neighboring woods.

      He climbed the steps, then knocked. “Samantha, it’s John.”

      His pulse raced as he waited, but finally he heard the lock shifting and the door opened with a screech.

      The sight of Sam terrified and holding a baby in her arms made his chest clench and pulled at heartstrings he didn’t know he had.

      Heartstrings he’d only felt one other time—years ago when he thought his high school girlfriend was carrying his baby. He’d been willing to sacrifice his career and dreams to do right by the child, but his father had called him a fool. His father was right. Later he’d learned that the girl had lied to him, that the baby wasn’t his.

      Since then his trust in women was shot.

      He’d vowed to focus on his goals, never to let a woman sidetrack him again.

      But Sam, who fought so hard to protect others, especially children, was shaking and terrified. Not for herself, either. That was obvious.

      She was frightened for the innocent little girl in her arms.

      He couldn’t help himself. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him then pulled her up against him. “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly.

      She leaned against him, a testament to her emotional state, and sighed against his chest. “Some man tried to run me off the road,” she whispered hoarsely. “He followed me home, then tried to break in the window.”

      Anger surged through him, and he tightened his grip on her, the baby calming as the two of them held her between them.

      “It’s all right now,” he said. “I’ll catch this SOB.”

      She pulled away slightly, composing herself, her eyes tormented. “John, I think he wants the baby.”

      John’s jaw tightened. “What makes you think that? It could have been someone else, some man disgruntled from one of your cases. Don’t forget that Leonard Cultrain is out of jail and has a grudge against you.”

      She frowned. “It wasn’t Leonard. Think about it, John. Last night a woman was hurt here in my house. But I didn’t see the man and can’t identify him, so why come after me?” She turned a panicked look up at him. “He wanted Emmie, John, and he came back to get her. I think he might hurt her, too, just like he did the mother. That’s the reason the woman hid the baby in my closet.”

      His blood ran cold. If this maniac hurt the baby, it would be over John’s dead body.

      She paced away, rocking the little girl in her arms with such love that again John’s chest clenched.

      Sam would make a wonderful mother.

      He had to tell her the truth about Honey.

      But hearing that her best friend might have stolen this child, or if the baby was hers, that they were in danger, wouldn’t be easy.

      And the worst-case scenario—Honey might be dead.

      

      SAM TOOK A CALMING BREATH, grateful for John’s presence. Slowly her adrenaline was waning, and Emmie was starting to whimper again and needed to be fed.

      “Let me get her a bottle,” she said.

      “We need to talk, but go ahead and take care of the baby first,” John said. “I’ll check the window for prints and forensics, then board it up for the night.”

      She nodded. “There’s some extra plywood and a hammer in the garage.”

      He nodded, and she hurried into the kitchen with the baby while he went outside. She felt his absence in the room the moment he stepped away from her. When he’d pulled her up against him and cradled her and Emmie, she’d felt protected.

      Maybe for the first time in her life.

      Which was a fantasy. She couldn’t rely on anyone else—she had to stand on her own.

      She always had.

      Except for Honey—when the doe-like girl had befriended her years ago, Sam had clung to her sweetness. The two of them had bonded over lost families, a lack of love and the toughness they’d been forced to adopt to survive.

      Memories of high school flooded her as she heated the bottle, hugged the baby to her and watched her eat, her tiny hand gripping Sam’s as if she was afraid she would lose her, too.

      “I don’t know where your mama is, precious, but I’ll take care of you until she comes back.”

      A pain seized her chest. What if Emmie’s mother didn’t return? What if she was lost,