Cowboy Behind the Badge. Delores Fossen

said they had a warrant for her arrest.”

      Oh, mercy. It was a lie, of course. There was no warrant out on her, but this had to be the two men who’d killed the woman.

      “Are they still there?” Laine blurted out. “If so, arrest them.”

      “Laine?” Colt mumbled. He said her name like profanity. “Tucker, what the hell’s she doing at your place?”

      “I’m trying to figure that out now. Why’d the men want to arrest her?”

      “Aiding and abetting an escaped felon.” Colt paused. “Did she?”

      “No!” Laine insisted.

      At the same moment, Tucker said, “I’m trying to figure that out, too. Was there anything suspicious about these men?”

      “Nothing that I noticed. Why?”

      “Just check and make sure they’re really cops. I have an old friend in SAPD, Lieutenant Nate Ryland. Call him and make sure these two guys are from his department. Another thing I need you to do is get someone out to Laine’s office ASAP and check the back parking lot for any signs of an attack.”

      “An attack? What the devil’s going on?” Colt pressed.

      “Just send someone over there and let me know if there’s anything to find.”

      “And don’t use your police radio,” Laine insisted. “The men are probably monitoring the airwaves, and they might try to go back and clean up before you can investigate the scene.”

      Colt, no doubt, wanted to ask plenty more questions, but Tucker cut him off. “I’ll be in touch after I’ve made some more calls.” With that, Tucker hung up and headed out of the room and into the hall.

      “What calls?” Laine asked, following him. She couldn’t go far in case the babies started to cry, but thankfully the hall wasn’t that long.

      Tucker ducked into a room—his bedroom, she soon realized. He grabbed a black T-shirt that’d been draped over a chair. He slipped it on.

      No more bare chest.

      And she hated that she’d even noticed something like that at a time like this. Of course, it was hard not to notice a man who looked like Tucker McKinnon. That rumpled sandy-brown hair. Those eyes.

      That amazing body.

      Laine was counting heavily on him using that lawman’s body if it came down to protecting the babies.

      He looked up at her as he tugged on his boots, and his left eyebrow slid up. Only then did Laine realize that she was gawking at him.

      “What calls?” she repeated. Obviously, the murder she’d witnessed had caused her brain to turn cloudy.

      “Social services, for one. We have to turn these babies over to the proper authorities.”

      “What if these killers have connections there, too?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s too risky to call anyone now. We need to find someone we can trust before we let anyone know we have the babies.”

      Tucker gave her a flat look, as if she’d lost her mind. Heck, maybe she had.

      “Look, you’ve been through a bad experience,” he said, his tone not exactly placating, but close enough. “And because someone else broke the law, that doesn’t mean we have the right to do the same. The babies need to be turned over to social services so they can find out who they are. It’s possible the woman who was hiding behind the car isn’t even their mother.”

      That hit her like an avalanche. Because it might be true. God, why hadn’t she thought of that? Except she remembered the look of desperation on the woman’s face. Her plea for help.

      Hide them. Protect them.

      And Laine had to shake her head. “She sacrificed her life for them. Only their mother would have done that. A kidnapper would have just handed them over to the killers to save herself.”

      Tucker stared at her. And stared. Before he mumbled some profanity and snatched up his phone from the nightstand. “A friend of a friend is married to a social worker. I’ll arrange a meeting with her.”

      A meeting like that still wasn’t without risks, but it was better than involving the cops. Of course, if Colt found blood or something else in the parking lot, Laine seriously doubted that he would keep the information to himself.

      At some point, all of this had to become official.

      Laine heard a soft, kittenlike sound and hurried back to the pantry. One of the babies was stirring. The other was still sound asleep. Laine went closer, knelt beside them and tried to gently rock the baby with her hand.

      “My friend didn’t answer,” Tucker said, coming back into the kitchen. “So I left a message.” He tipped his head to the babies. “Are they boys or girls?”

      “I don’t know.” She’d been so focused on getting them to safety that she hadn’t considered anything else. But Laine considered it now.

      Both babies wore full-length body gowns with drawstrings at the bottoms. She loosened the one on the squirming baby and peeked inside the diaper.

      “This one’s a boy,” she relayed to Tucker. She had a look at the other one. “And this one’s a girl.”

      The different sexes could mean they weren’t twins after all, though they looked alike and appeared to be the same age. But what if the dead woman had rescued her own child and then someone else’s? It could mean there was another woman being held captive.

      Or another woman who was already dead.

      That sickened Laine even more.

      “If my friend doesn’t call back in the next few minutes, we’ll need to get someone else out here to take them,” Tucker explained. “I mean, we don’t even have any way to feed them. My nephew’s two, and he doesn’t drink from a bottle. I doubt we’d even have anything like that around the ranch.”

      Laine couldn’t dispute what he was saying. Nor could she push aside the feeling that these babies felt like her responsibility now.

      Tucker mumbled something she didn’t catch and went to the kitchen window to look out again. When the baby kept squirming and started to fuss, Laine eased him into her arms.

      She had little experience holding a baby, and even though she’d run through the pasture with them, the babies had been wrapped in that bulky blanket. With nothing but the gown and his diaper between them, the baby felt as fragile as paper-thin crystal.

      Tucker glanced at her and frowned. “You know what you’re doing?”

      “No.” But the baby did seem to settle down when she rocked him, so Laine kept doing it. “I’m sorry for bringing them to your doorstep, but I drove out of town as fast as I could and didn’t know where else to go.”

      She glanced around the kitchen. “We used to play here when we were kids.”

      “Yeah. It was my grandfather’s house.”

      The explanation was clipped, as if it were the last thing he wanted to discuss with her. Maybe because they’d done more than just play in this house. They’d shared a childhood kiss there. She had been ten. Tucker, eleven. Twenty-three years ago.

      Just days before her father’s murder.

      After that, there’d been no kissing.

      No more playing together. No more friendship.

      Even though she’d just been a kid, it hadn’t taken long before Laine had realized what gossip everyone was spreading—that Tucker’s mother, Jewell, and her father, Whitt, had done something bad. Later, she would come to understand that something bad meant they’d been lovers. And that Jewell had murdered her father when he’d tried to break things off and work on saving his marriage.