The Cradle Mission. Rita Herron

pinched as if Simon’s cries disturbed him almost as much as they did her.

      Thankfully he did lower his voice. “You can start by telling me your name.”

      She glanced around, spotted a newspaper lying on the hall table, and saw a headline about a Jane Doe. “Jane…Jane Carter.”

      A thick, black eyebrow rose in question. “How well did you know Eric, Jane?”

      He murmured the name as if he suspected it was fake, and she shifted Simon on her shoulder, rubbing circles around his back. “Well enough,” she hedged.

      His other eyebrow rose. “You were involved personally?” He nodded at Simon. “And the little boy?”

      Alanna opened her mouth to tell him no, then clamped down on her tongue, reminding herself not to offer too much information. If this man thought the baby was his brother’s or that they’d been friends, maybe he’d help her. At least maybe he’d tell her where she could find Eric.

      “I really need to talk to Eric,” she said instead of answering him. “Can you just tell me where he is? Please?”

      Once again that deep pain flashed into his eyes. “What’s left of him is lying in a brown casket at the Bay Street Funeral Home.”

      Shock rippled through every nerve in Alanna’s body. She shook her head, refusing to believe what he’d implied with his blunt statement.

      If Eric was dead, she and Simon were all alone. They had no one to help them.

      His patience snapped, and he suddenly grabbed her arms. “Yes, Ms. Carter,” he said in a harsh voice. “My brother was murdered a few hours ago. His car exploded right down there, near the woods behind his house. The day he was supposed to meet you. If you know something about his murder, you’d better tell me, now.”

      She glanced out the screen door and saw the marks, the charred black lines on the gravel, the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. Cain Caldwell’s accusations sank in, fear spiraling through her.

      Had Eric Caldwell died because he’d agreed to help her?

      THE WOMAN’S FRAIL BODY shuddered within Cain’s hands, and shame washed over him. The image of his brother’s burned body being pulled from the wreckage of his Jeep haunted him, yet he had no right to take his grief out on this vulnerable, needy woman.

      That was something his father would have done.

      He had sworn he’d be a better man than his father.

      He exhaled a shaky breath and released her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his throat thick. “It’s been a hell of a day.” Of course, judging from her battered body, she’d had better days, too. Perspiration dotted her forehead, yet her hands had felt clammy. She had a fever, he realized, and wondered how long she’d been sick.

      “I’m sorry about your brother.” Panic gave the woman’s voice an edge. She clutched the baby tighter and backed away. “I…I didn’t mean to bother you.”

      “Wait a minute—”

      “No, I have to go.” She turned and ran, the baby’s cries escalating over the howling wind as she shielded it from the rain.

      “Wait, come back here!” He ran down the porch steps, but she slammed the car door, started the engine and tore down the driveway.

      Cain’s heart pounded. If she was in trouble and had come to Eric for help, he owed it to his brother to help her. And if she knew something, anything, that might tell him who had killed Eric, he had to get her to talk. Swiping a hand across his face, he grabbed his leather bomber jacket off the coatrack, yanked his keys from his pocket and ran out the back door to his car. He would follow her and see where she was headed.

      Maybe she’d lead him to his brother’s murderer.

      Chapter Three

      Someone was following her.

      Like a ghost breathing down her neck, Alanna sensed them on her tail. Hovering in the distance. Watching her. Ready to pounce on her. Was it Cain Caldwell?

      Or someone who wanted Simon?

      Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her heart pounding.

      Rain attacked the car, the blinding whirl of water so heavy she could barely see the winding road two feet in front of her. She needed a place to stay for the night, a place to feed Simon. She had to catch her breath and think of a new plan.

      Simon squirmed, his pudgy fists waging a war with the blanket she’d draped over him. The radio announcer broke into the music again with another update on the storm.

      “The heavy rains are coming in off the coast of Florida, folks, a remnant of Hurricane Haley. A travel advisory is in effect for all of northern and middle Georgia.”

      Great. It wouldn’t let up tonight, and she couldn’t cover any kind of distance in this weather. Simon cried and she tried to soothe him with her voice. She dared not drag her eyes from the road. A slow line of cars swerved and crawled in front of her, a thin thread of light from the cars behind her filtering through the fog. Thinking Simon might be cold, she turned up the heat, ignoring the fact that she was sweating. She couldn’t shake this fever.

      The announcer continued, “If you do not have to go out, folks, we suggest you stay inside. Power shortages have been reported in the eastern parts of the state, I-75 has been closed, and we already have several fatalities reported due to the wet conditions.”

      The car suddenly skidded. Alanna steered into the skid, her heart racing as she grappled for control. Simon’s cries grew louder. Ahead, blue lights flashed and an ambulance wailed. An SUV spun a circle, slammed into the side of the guard rail and bounced off, sparks flying. A Suburban flew into him, the cars behind the Suburban piling up like dominoes. Metal crunched in front of her as the cars crashed into one another. Alanna slowed and swerved, barely escaping the collision.

      Thank God.

      But she and Simon might be here for hours.

      The police would come. They might find out about him.

      She had to get away.

      A faded wooden post swayed amidst the blur of rain, the sign pointing to a side road that led to an old fishing lodge. It was probably empty. She could take refuge for the night, feed Simon and get on the road in the morning when the roads cleared.

      Pain stabbed at her head, splintering through her body, but she ignored it. A few minutes later, she’d maneuvered the car down the dirt road to the end of a hollow and found a group of dilapidated wooden cabins interspersed amongst the newer lake property. Bundling Simon inside the blanket, she struggled up the rocky path, hunching her shoulders in the wind, trying to protect Simon from the rain. A single light burned from the rusted front of the main building. An elderly man huddled in a ratty fleece jacket greeted her at the door.

      “My baby and I are stranded,” Alanna yelled over the whistle of the wind. “Could we have one of your cabins for the night?”

      The old man narrowed bushy gray eyebrows at her and nodded. “I’ll get you a key. I’ve been expecting a few people tonight.”

      Alanna paid him in cash, accepted the key and hurried to the nearest cabin with Simon huddled in her arms. Headlights broke the foggy landscape, at least two other cars having followed her. Ducking her head so they couldn’t see her, she pushed open the door to the cabin and hurried inside. Simon clutched a strand of her hair with his fist, his cries quieting slightly. The room was dark, cold and smelled of dust, but was better than sleeping in the car. Or being discovered.

      She quickly locked the thin wooden door, slid the curtain aside, and looked outside at the cars beating a path up to the cabins. Simon cried again and she removed a bottle from his bag and offered it to him, grateful when he latched on and ate greedily.

      “It’s okay, sweetie,”