Surrogate Escape. Jenna Kernan

in the tall pines to the east. Behind the truck, he found a bloody palm print on his tailgate and pine needles beside the hitch. It looked as if someone had stepped on the bumper and then hoisted up to place the baby in the bed of the truck. She was small, then.

      Had she arranged the red cloth so that he would notice it immediately against the silver of the F-150’s body?

      He could see no blood on the ground and no tracks on the earth on either side of the driveway. He cast his gaze about, looking for a place where she could have watched his arrival and still have been shielded from discovery. Then he walked to the most logical spot. There in the eastern row of piñon pine, at the base of one of the large trunks, was a spot where the needles had been disturbed. He squatted and saw that someone had been here, waiting, evidenced by the sweep of a foot back and forth, creating two little mounds of needles and a swath of clean dark earth in between. He could not stand in the spot without hitting his head on the branches, but if he crouched down, he had a perfect view of the road and his driveway and the back of his pickup.

      So she’d waited here, holding the infant, and then seeing his police cruiser make the turn onto his road... He checked the distance and imagined the timing. She, this brand-new mother, must have hurried out to the drive. He could see it now, the soft indentation of her foot. No boots. A sneaker, maybe. Small with little tread. She would have had to be quick, her hands likely still covered with the blood of the birth. Who had helped her bring the baby? He could find no evidence of a second person.

      Did the father know she had left his child? The ache in his heart hardened in his belly.

      He walked the perimeter of his property. Farther back, between his home and the pasture beyond, was something purple and bloody. He slowed his steps, approaching carefully. It was a placenta; he knew that from calving. The flies had found it already. He lifted his radio and called it in.

      Carol Dorset, their dispatcher, was in the office now and picked up on the first ring. Carol had been on dispatch back before Jake could even remember and had been the one to answer the phone the night Jake had to call 911 on his daddy.

      “Chief’s not here yet.”

      He glanced at his watch and noted it was 9:05 a.m. The shifts started at 7:00 a.m. and were staggered throughout the day. Since the explosion, they rotated covering nights. They were expecting two new hires, one patrol and one detective, but they had not started yet.

      “Should I call the chief at home?” asked Jake. Since he hadn’t been on the job very long, he wasn’t sure what to do.

      “I wouldn’t,” said Carol.

      “What about Detective Bear Den?” he asked.

      “He just left about thirty minutes ago. You can call him. I won’t.”

      Tribal Police Detective Jack Bear Den had been out with him last night on the fatality involving a car and a tree. An outsider leaving their casino too late and too drunk. Jake had been first on scene and then Bear Den. Arizona Highway Patrol was next, and then the meat wagon.

      He signed off the radio and replaced it to his side, then he retrieved his phone and hesitated, debating whether to call. If he waited, Bear Den might be asleep. He might even be already.

      The dam breach and the aftermath was more than they could handle, which was why Bear Den had asked Jake to interview the family of the latest runaway, Maggie Kesselman. She’d be gone a week tomorrow. Girls had been disappearing since last November. There were always runaways among their tribe, but Bear Den had a hunch these girls had not taken off for Phoenix or Vegas. He said that there was something different happening, and he’d had Jake do some initial legwork when he’d been tied up with the dam breech.

      Jake considered calling Ty. His older brother had a very good tracking dog who could find this new mother. He stared down at his phone.

      He had not spoken to Ty in a long time. Too long. But since Jake had become a tribal police officer seven months ago, Ty was even more distant. Jake wondered what Ty would think if he asked him to chase down a criminal. He’d laugh, if he decided to pick up his phone.

      Ty had gotten the worst of it from their dad, no doubt. He just couldn’t shut his mouth or back down. Jake admired that, even though it brought Ty trouble more often than not.

      Jake now felt a cold that had nothing to do with the wind. The blood trail from the placenta vanished in the tall grass. It occurred to him that if he’d walked to his back window with the baby, he might have seen the infant’s mother escaping through the pasture behind his place. But he hadn’t.

      Had she paused here? Had she crept up to his window to peer inside?

      Jake lifted his cell phone and called Detective Bear Den. This was a crime scene and he didn’t want to screw things up.

      Bear Den picked up on the second ring, his voice gravelly. Jake’s stomach dropped because he was certain Bear Den had just gotten to sleep. Jake explained the situation. Bear Den gave him instructions and told him he’d be there soon. The line went dead. Jake returned his phone to his pocket and finished circling the property, finding no further evidence.

      The wind pushed at him, and he turned back to the house and the infant—and Lori. She seemed mad at him. But she had no reason to be. He’d asked her to marry him, hadn’t he? He’d been willing to go through with it, too.

      Ironic, he thought. An unexpected pregnancy had torn them apart and now, it seemed, had brought her back to him again. Well, he wasn’t sixteen this time. Back then, he’d actually thought he loved Lori. But then they lost the baby and she acted as if he’d done something wrong, instead of everything right. He didn’t understand her. It was as if she’d gone crazy. Even as he saw his dreams collapsing. Even knowing that he’d never become a police officer. He’d been willing to drop out of high school, give up college and marry her. He would have done it, against his mother’s wishes, against his brother Ty’s advice, he would have given his baby his name. And after they told him she had lost the baby, he hadn’t left her. He’d gone to see her, to comfort her, and when they finally let him in to see Lori, she’d yelled at him. He remembered exactly what she had said. The only mistake I made was saying yes.

      Then she’d sent him off. Him!

      Ty had called from boot camp just before Lori delivered and told him that Lori’s older sisters Amelia and Jocelyn had each tried the same thing on Kee the minute he’d been accepted to college. Jocelyn had been only thirteen at the time. Amelia had moved on to Kurt Bear Den but ended up snagging Kent Haskie. Kent had married Amelia senior year and then gone to trade school to learn to fix air and cooling systems. They were still married and had four kids. Jocelyn had married Doug Hoke after their child was born in Jocelyn’s junior year. Ty had told him Doug didn’t know if he was the father, said it was hard to tell without a test and Jocelyn had been a popular girl. Kee had said Lori had targeted the best, just like a hunter assessing a herd of elk. That comment still chafed.

      He didn’t like being used, and he was not going to let that happen ever again. Still, he had never blamed Lori. He knew he’d made a mistake and had accepted responsibility. What more did she want?

      Everyone thought he’d broken it off. Oh, no. She had. Firmly and irrevocably. He didn’t understand it or her. And he didn’t trust her. His confusion had kept him at a distance.

      He didn’t date women he didn’t trust, and he did not trust Lori.

      So why had he almost kissed her?

       Chapter Three

      “Any idea who left the baby?” asked Detective Bear Den.

      The questions came more quickly when his boss, Wallace Tinnin, had arrived in a walking cast and come to a halt in Jake’s driveway, wincing. The chief of tribal police had broken his ankle in the dam explosion and flat-out refused to use crutches. Judging from his sour expression and the circles under his eyes, he needed them—along with about ten hours of sleep.