Peek-A-Boo Protector. Rita Herron

John’s offer to stay echoed in her head.

      He’d only been doing his job.

      John Wise certainly didn’t see her as a love interest. The man was a cop through and through. Besides, she’d heard talk that he might leave town to pursue loftier goals.

      And Butterville was her home, the only place she’d ever felt safe.

      The wind whipped the tree branches against the windowpane, and she tensed.

      Except tonight, she didn’t feel safe at all.

      JOHN ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS to relieve the tension knotting his neck as he drove down the mountain and pulled into Leonard Cultrain’s drive. The man had moved back in with his mother in a weathered, clapboard house that had been built at least fifty years ago. The white paint was chipped, the porch sagging, the screens torn.

      Brittle fall leaves crunched beneath his feet as he climbed out, walked up to the front door and knocked. He glanced at the window while he waited, saw a light flicker on in the back room, then heard shuffling. A moment later, Leonard’s mother shouted, “Who’s there?”

      “It’s Chief Wise, Miss Cultrain, please open up.”

      He heard her unlocking the door, then it screeched open and she peered outside through the crack. Her gray bun was falling out of the hairpins, and she clutched an old chenille robe to her neck. “What you want?”

      “I need to speak to your son Leonard.”

      She glared at him, clacking her teeth as her mouth worked side to side. “Do you know what time it is?”

      “Yes, ma’am,” John said. “But it’s important. Is he here?”

      She jerked her head sideways. “He’s in bed where I was before you pounded on the door.”

      “Please go get him,” John said, struggling for patience, “or I’ll come in and do it myself.”

      She muttered a curse, then slammed the door in his face, and he heard her shuffling to the back calling Leonard’s name. “That danged chief of police is here to harass you, Lennie. You tell him we’ll sue his ass if he bothers us again.”

      “Son of a bitch,” Leonard snarled so loudly that John braced himself for a confrontation. The burly, tattooed man swung the door open wearing jeans and no shirt, his belly hanging over the waistband of his pants. “I just got home, Chief,” he barked. “You the welcome wagon?”

      “Where were you tonight?” John asked without preamble.

      Leonard’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Here having dinner with my mama.” He rubbed his belly. “She cooked me fried chicken and biscuits and gravy.” He threw a look over his shoulder to where his mother stood like a hawk. “Ain’t that right?”

      “Sure is. Then we watched the game shows all night.”

      “Why you asking?” Leonard said.

      “Because there was an incident at Samantha Corley’s house tonight. I thought you might have been involved.”

      A leer slid onto Leonard’s face. “You did, did you? What kind of incident? Someone hurt the bitch?”

      John gritted his teeth. “Actually I believe another woman was attacked in Samantha’s house. Heard you had issues with her today.”

      Anger flashed in Leonard’s eyes. “Damn right. That nosy busybody’s trying to keep me from my kid, and that ain’t right.”

      As if a murderer deserved to be with his son. “So you went to her house to teach her a lesson?”

      A dark laugh boomed from Leonard’s chest. “If I had, she’d know it. I wouldn’t have settled for someone else.”

      “He answered your questions,” Miss Lou Lou snapped. “Now get out. I need my beauty sleep.”

      John caught the door before Leonard could slam it in his face. “Stay away from her, Cultrain, or you’ll be sorry.”

      A nasty chuckle rumbled from the bastard. “You tried locking me up and that didn’t work.”

      John shot him an equally evil grin. “Who said anything about jail?”

      SAM SPENT THE NEXT MORNING clearing her calendar and arranging for someone to take over her caseload for a few days. She filed a report with social services regarding Emmie, but every time she considered placing the baby in a foster home, memories of her own traumatic experiences flooded her.

      She couldn’t leave the little girl.

      She fed Emmie, bathed her and changed her into the extra sleeper, then made a list of items she needed to pick up in town. But first, she’d stop by and see John.

       Chief Wise, not John. Remember, he’s a cop.

      She settled the baby into the infant carrier, and fit it into the car seat base, smiling as the little girl clutched the Butterbean doll in her hand. “I know Bitsy is soft. She’s your new best friend, isn’t she, sweetie?”

      Emmie cooed and batted her little fist at Sam, and Sam’s heart melted again.

      Ten minutes later, she parked at the police station, took Emmie from the car and wrapped the blanket around her to ward off the fall chill as she hurried inside. One of the deputies, Deputy Floyd, a blond guy in his early twenties, smiled at her from his desk. She’d met him before on another case.

      “Hello, Sam.”

      “Hi, Phil. Is John…I mean Chief Wise here?”

      He nodded. “In his office. You can go on back.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Hey, I heard about the trouble last night. Are you all right?”

      “Yes, thanks.” She cradled the baby to her and went to John’s office, pausing to drink in his features through the glass partition separating the space. He was at least six foot three, his body muscular, his shoulders broad, his hands big. His hair was dark and thick, his eyes an amber-brown like scotch.

      But his expression was somber as he talked into the phone.

      He glanced up and spotted her, his eyes narrowing slightly, then he waved her in.

      “Thanks. Let me know if you find anything in those woods.” He hung up, then scrubbed a hand over his chin. “I just sent two officers out to search the forest behind your house again.”

      “Any news on the missing woman?”

      He shook his head. “Not yet. I just talked to the lab, and they’re supposed to fax over anything they find. I asked them to run the prints first. If she’s in the system, we might get a hit.”

      “I hope so.” Sam glanced down at Emmie, praying the woman was alive.

      John clenched his jaw, tension rippling between them. “I went by Leonard Cultrain’s house last night.”

      Sam’s breath caught. “What did he say?”

      “He obviously has a grudge against you,” he said in a gruff tone. “But, his damn mother gave him an alibi.”

      “That figures. She’s pretty bitter.”

      He gave a clipped nod. “I don’t care. If we find his prints at your house, or if those boot prints are his size, I’ll bring him in.” He closed the distance between them. “I warned him to stay away from you, so if he gives you any trouble, call me.”

      “I will.” Emmie began to fuss, and Sam jiggled her up and down, soothing her with soft whispers.

      John’s gaze darkened. “What did you decide to do about the baby?”

      “I rearranged my calendar so I can take off a few days. That way, I can take care of her myself.”

      John frowned. “Are