Peek-A-Boo Protector. Rita Herron

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, she juggled the carrier and bag up the steps, shut the door and went straight to the kitchen to heat a bottle. The sweet scent of chocolate-chip cookies warmed the air and memories suffused her.

      But a noise startled her. The wind? Leaves crunching? A stray dog scrounging in the garbage for food?

      Boards creaked as if someone was climbing the back steps.

      Trembling, she grabbed the baby and diaper bag and rushed up the staircase to Sam’s room. Determined to protect Emmie, she opened the closet door, set the baby and bag inside then pulled the door closed.

      Fisting her hands by her side to defend herself, she tiptoed down the stairs, then heard a noise in the kitchen and ran to the back door to make sure it was locked. But it stood open, a gust of cold fall air swirling through the room blowing dry leaves into the entryway.

      Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a knife to her throat. She kicked and screamed, clawing for something to use as a weapon. She grabbed a glass from the counter, but he knocked it from her hand, and it fell onto the floor and shattered. Shouting an obscenity, he tightened his grip and dragged her toward the door. They knocked a chair over as they struggled, then the blade pierced her skin, and warm blood oozed down her neck.

      “Where’s the snotty brat?” he growled.

      “Somewhere far from here,” she cried, “someplace safe.”

      He jabbed the knife deeper, piercing her shoulder blade. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”

      Honey had to get him out of the house. “Just don’t hurt me. I’ll take you to her.”

      A car engine rumbled in the graveled drive. Her attacker cursed and dragged her out the back door. She bit and kicked at him, aiming her foot toward his groin, but he slapped her so hard her ears rang and the world swirled blindly.

      Still she tried to scream, but the sound died as he dragged her into the woods to kill her.

Chapter One

      “You’ll be sorry you messed with me.”

      Leonard Cultrain’s angry words echoed through Samantha Corley’s head as she drove up the winding graveled drive to her cabin. His mother, Lou Lou, one of the most bitter, crotchety old ladies she’d ever known, had insisted that her son was innocent of murdering his wife, that he never should have been arrested in the first place.

      But everyone in town knew Leonard was out of jail on a technicality, and the residents were on edge.

      Gravel spewed behind her as she pressed the accelerator and screeched up her driveway. Normally she wasn’t skittish, and could hold her own, but she’d feel a hell of a lot better once she was inside her house with her shotgun by her side.

      Usually Sam liked living out here alone in the wilderness, but today the isolation felt eerie.

      The thick dense trees rocked with the wind, the branches dipping like big hands trying to reach her, hands like Leonard’s.

      Hands that could choke her just like he’d choked his wife.

       Stop it; you’re just being paranoid. You’re home now.

      But her headlights flickered across the lawn as she braked, and she spotted a strange car parked in front of her house.

      An uneasy feeling rippled up her spine. Had Leonard come to make good on his threat?

      No, this wasn’t Leonard’s old car.

      The license plate was from Fulton County, the Atlanta area. She didn’t know anyone from Atlanta.

      Maybe she should call the local police. Chief John Wise’s strong masculine face flashed in her mind, and for a brief moment, she wished that he was here. That he’d take charge and make sure she was safe.

      But she couldn’t depend on a man. She’d learned that a long damn time ago. Besides, John would only fuss at her for going out to Leonard’s. He thought she was foolish to go up against bullies like him.

      The infuriating man was like most others she knew. They wanted a dainty little female, one they could protect—and control.

      Sam was none of those things. In foster care, she’d learned to do the protecting and to stand up for herself.

      Besides, tangling with the tall, dark brooding cop rattled her every time—and made her want things she couldn’t have. Like a man in her life…

      No, she’d check this out for herself. Maybe she simply had a visitor.

      Yeah, right. Sam didn’t have a lot of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but no one she shared her secrets with. No one to sleep over.

      Not since Honey had left.

      Clenching her cell phone in one hand, she grabbed the baseball bat she kept with her from the backseat floorboard and climbed out.

      Slowly she moved up the porch steps, glancing at the windows and searching for movement inside the house, listening for sounds of an intruder. If a car was here, someone had to be around. But where?

      Her senses sprang to alert at the top of the steps. The front door had been jimmied. She held her breath and inched forward, then touched the doorknob. It felt icy against her finger, then the door swung open with a screech.

      She exhaled shakily. Inside, the house was dark, the smell of fear palpable. But another scent drifted to her. A man’s cologne. Heavy. Cheap. Too strong.

      She hesitated and moved behind the door. She’d be a fool to go inside. She had to call for help.

      But a baby’s cry pierced the air. A baby? God, what if the child was hurt? If the parent was here for her help?

      It was a small town. Everyone knew what she did for a living, that she was a children’s advocate, a guardian ad litem, and sometimes they needed her help.

      Her heart stuttered in her chest. If the child was in danger, she couldn’t wait.

      Still she had to be cautious. She inched into the entryway, but froze at the sight of blood in the kitchen.

      Someone was hurt.

      Trembling, she slipped into the corner behind the door and punched 9-1-1, then whispered that she had an intruder.

      “We’ll get someone there ASAP,” the dispatch officer said. “Stay on the line.”

      But the baby wailed again, and she ended the call and slipped up the stairs. Gripping the bat in her hands, she paused to listen, searching for the direction of the noise. It was coming from her room. She scanned the hall, the extra bedroom and bath at the top of the stairs, but they were empty.

      Her eyes had adjusted to the dark now, and she peered into her bedroom. The windows were closed, the