The Cradle Mission. Rita Herron

shrugged. What could he say? Hell no, I watched my brother get blown up, and couldn’t do anything to stop it. Cain was the oldest; he should have protected him…

      “You need some time off, Caldwell. Take it.”

      Cain shot him a dark look. He didn’t want time off. He wanted to be on the case and Flack damn well knew it.

      The scrape of dirt being hoisted into shovels and thrown onto his brother’s casket jerked his attention back to the grave. His co-workers shuffled by, one by one, heads bowed, voices low as they offered their condolences. Cain nodded and grunted, knowing the men didn’t expect any more. Not that the officers didn’t face their own mortality every day; probably why it made them all so damn uncomfortable to attend a funeral.

      “We’ll get the person who did this,” Wade said as he moved past.

      “Hang in there, man,” Pirkle added.

      Cain’s throat closed as the mound of dirt grew higher. From his pocket he pulled the gold cross that had belonged to Eric, and ran his thumb over the worn, cool gold, remembering the day his mother had given it to his brother. Eric’s thirteenth birthday.

      Eric had already started to develop an attitude. He’d gotten into several scrapes and brawls at school, had beaten up some bully who’d been picking on a younger girl. They’d come home from school that day and found their mother bruised and battered again, lying on the sofa with an ice pack on her face. Their father had left, Eric’s birthday not even a speck of dust in his memory.

      Furious over his mother’s black eye, Eric had wanted to tear out of the low-rent flat where they’d been living and charge after his dad, but his mother had told him he couldn’t leave, not on his birthday. Then she’d shown him the homemade cake she’d baked and given him the cross. Cain could still see the tears in her eyes as she’d hung the cross around his neck.

      “This is to remind you of the good in the world, so you don’t grow up to be like your father,” she said.

      And Eric hadn’t. He might not have followed the letter of the law, but he hadn’t deserved to die the way he had.

      Someone had to pay for his death. And if Cain found whoever had killed him, he would take care of them himself. To hell with his badge. He wanted justice. No—he wanted more than that.

      He wanted revenge.

      SIMON’S SMALL SOUNDS of hunger grew more incessant over the miles.

      “I’ll feed you when we reach the monastery,” Alanna promised. “We’ll be there soon, honey.” Alanna struggled to remain calm as she veered from the winding road onto the highway that led to Buford.

      Simon continued to fret over the next few miles, the countryside changing to suburbia. She glanced at her rearview mirror, trying to decide if the dark car was following her or if she’d finally succumbed to paranoia.

      When she’d left Cain Caldwell, she’d debated whether to return to the lake cabin, but she was afraid he’d show up, probing for more information on Simon. This morning she’d remembered Paul telling her that Eric Caldwell had helped women go underground through a local monastery in Buford, and she’d searched the phone book for a number. Thankfully, there was only one listed in the small town, although there were several others in and around the city of Atlanta.

      Headlights flashed ahead, nearly blinding her, but she managed to stay on the road, Simon’s cries escalating. “Hang on, sweetie, we’re almost there.” She checked the directions, then the numbers along the street, grateful to see the side road that led to the monastery. She turned down the road, then steered the car into the long driveway, her stomach knotting as Simon’s wails increased. A huge stone structure surrounded by black iron gates sat back from the road, woods surrounding it. Although the building seemed imposing, she had no choice. She needed help and she had nowhere else to turn.

      Simon was screaming now, thrashing his fists and hands wildly. She stopped in front of the building, but darkness shrouded the stone structure, and the mixture of overgrown weeds and dead leaves and broken rock near the awning was not a good sign. Neither was the broken glass in the window to the side or the spiderwebs climbing like vines up the walls of the building.

      The building had obviously been abandoned.

      She was just about to drop her head and give in to tears when a dark sedan crept up the driveway toward her. Dear God. The car had been following her.

      Adrenaline and self-preservation kicked in. She shoved the car into Drive, hit the gas and took off, passing the car and flying toward the highway. She tightened her hands around the steering wheel as the screeching tires roared behind her. Swerving onto the main road, she drove like a demon.

      But a few minutes later, she bumped across the railroad tracks just before the railroad crossing warning dinged. Then the crossing rails lowered and trapped the sedan, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

      The shrill sound of her cell phone cut into her reprieve. Alanna’s heart raced as she glanced at it. Was Paul calling her?

      Hands shaking, she answered it. “Hello?”

      “Ms. Hayes, this is a friend of Eric Caldwell’s.”

      Her breath hitched. “You worked with Eric?”

      “Yes. He told me about your call. I know he was supposed to meet you the day he died.”

      Relief spilled through her. “You work for the same organization as Eric?”

      “Yes. He gave me your cell number in case he couldn’t reach you.”

      “I went to the monastery but it was closed.”

      “I know. Meet me at the cemetery where Eric is buried.” He recited short directions in a clipped voice. “And make sure you’re not followed.”

      “I will. Thank you.” She checked her rearview mirror and drove toward the graveyard. Thank heavens Eric had told someone else about her. Maybe they could help her and Simon escape.

      CAIN HAD TRIED TO LEAVE the cemetery several times, but each time his legs had refused to work. Now he sat on the ground beside the fresh mound of dirt with his head down, so swamped with childhood memories of Eric that he could barely breathe.

      He caught the flicker of a gray parka in his peripheral vision and glanced sideways.

      Jane Carter, the woman with the baby, had come to Eric’s grave. Her frail figure stood like a ghost in the shadows of the trees only a few feet away. The baby lay bundled in her arms, her shivering form a staunch reminder of the terror he’d seen in her eyes that morning and the day before.

      He had to know why she’d come.

      And why she’d been drawn to his brother’s grave when she’d been in such a hurry to escape from him this morning.

      ALANNA ROCKED the baby in her arms, shielding him from the howling wind with her coat as she searched the graveyard for the man who’d phoned her.

      She spied a man sitting hunched over on the ground beside Eric’s grave. Was it Cain or the man who had called to help her?

      Gravel crunched behind her, the footfalls of someone approaching sending a chill up her spine. She turned around, half expecting the men in the black car to have dogged her, but the shadow of a woman deep in the heart of the knotty pines flickered. Alanna couldn’t distinguish the woman’s face or anything else about her, except that she wore black. Maybe she worked for the organization, too. Or was she just a mourner?

      Then the man turned and looked straight at her and she realized it was Cain. The anguish in his eyes nearly made her legs buckle.

      She couldn’t let him see her. Alanna pivoted and started back to her car, but before she reached it, Cain caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

      “I thought you were headed out of town.” Cain Caldwell’s hulking body towered over her, and Polenta’s warning rang in