Peek-a-boo Protector

John flipped on the siren and raced toward Sam’s. The wind beat at his car as he swerved around slower traffic, beeped at a truck to move over and let him by, then swung onto the mountain road leading to her place.

Five minutes later, he veered onto her driveway, scanning the woods as he flew up her drive and scanned the perimeter of her property. Dark clouds hung heavy in the night, the threat of bad weather ominous.

He screeched to a stop behind her car, wielded his gun in case the perp was lurking around, then walked toward the porch, his senses alert. Trees rustled, an animal howled and the ping of falling rocks echoed from the neighboring woods.

He climbed the steps, then knocked. “Samantha, it’s John.”

His pulse raced as he waited, but finally he heard the lock shifting and the door opened with a screech.

The sight of Sam terrified and holding a baby in her arms made his chest clench and pulled at heartstrings he didn’t know he had.

Heartstrings he’d only felt one other time—years ago when he thought his high school girlfriend was carrying his baby. He’d been willing to sacrifice his career and dreams to do right by the child, but his father had called him a fool. His father was right. Later he’d learned that the girl had lied to him, that the baby wasn’t his.

Since then his trust in women was shot.

He’d vowed to focus on his goals, never to let a woman sidetrack him again.

But Sam, who fought so hard to protect others, especially children, was shaking and terrified. Not for herself, either. That was obvious.

She was frightened for the innocent little girl in her arms.

He couldn’t help himself. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him then pulled her up against him. “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly.

She leaned against him, a testament to her emotional state, and sighed against his chest. “Some man tried to run me off the road,” she whispered hoarsely. “He followed me home, then tried to break in the window.”

Anger surged through him, and he tightened his grip on her, the baby calming as the two of them held her between them.

“It’s all right now,” he said. “I’ll catch this SOB.”

She pulled away slightly, composing herself, her eyes tormented. “John, I think he wants the baby.”

John’s jaw tightened. “What makes you think that? It could have been someone else, some man disgruntled from one of your cases. Don’t forget that Leonard Cultrain is out of jail and has a grudge against you.”

She frowned. “It wasn’t Leonard. Think about it, John. Last night a woman was hurt here in my house. But I didn’t see the man and can’t identify him, so why come after me?” She turned a panicked look up at him. “He wanted Emmie, John, and he came back to get her. I think he might hurt her, too, just like he did the mother. That’s the reason the woman hid the baby in my closet.”

His blood ran cold. If this maniac hurt the baby, it would be over John’s dead body.

She paced away, rocking the little girl in her arms with such love that again John’s chest clenched.

Sam would make a wonderful mother.

He had to tell her the truth about Honey.

But hearing that her best friend might have stolen this child, or if the baby was hers, that they were in danger, wouldn’t be easy.

And the worst-case scenario—Honey might be dead.

SAM TOOK A CALMING BREATH, grateful for John’s presence. Slowly her adrenaline was waning, and Emmie was starting to whimper again and needed to be fed.

“Let me get her a bottle,” she said.

“We need to talk, but go ahead and take care of the baby first,” John said. “I’ll check the window for prints and forensics, then board it up for the night.”

She nodded. “There’s some extra plywood and a hammer in the garage.”

He nodded, and she hurried into the kitchen with the baby while he went outside. She felt his absence in the room the moment he stepped away from her. When he’d pulled her up against him and cradled her and Emmie, she’d felt protected.

Maybe for the first time in her life.

Which was a fantasy. She couldn’t rely on anyone else—she had to stand on her own.

She always had.

Except for Honey—when the doe-like girl had befriended her years ago, Sam had clung to her sweetness. The two of them had bonded over lost families, a lack of love and the toughness they’d been forced to adopt to survive.

Memories of high school flooded her as she heated the bottle, hugged the baby to her and watched her eat, her tiny hand gripping Sam’s as if she was afraid she would lose her, too.

“I don’t know where your mama is, precious, but I’ll take care of you until she comes back.”

A pain seized her chest. What if Emmie’s mother didn’t return? What if she was lost, hurt?

Even dead?

No, she couldn’t think like that. The baby’s mother was coming back. John would find her and reunite them.

Her pulse spiked. When had she ever trusted, or had faith in, a man?

But she instinctively knew that John was the real deal. He would do what he said. He’d been a hero in the town when they were young, a football star.

And the boy every girl had wanted.

His father had been a politician and had pushed him hard.

And although she’d never admitted it, she’d secretly harbored a crush on the guy herself.

But boys had paid no attention to her. She was awkward and shy, not like Honey who was vivacious and sweet and feminine. Despite her background, Honey turned all the boys’ heads and had made varsity cheerleader her freshman year.

Odd though that John was one of the few guys in school who’d never hit on Honey.

Of course, he’d never paid attention to her, either. Why should he now?

His family had money and prestige where she was just one of the foster kids everyone pitied. The gossip about her father being a dirty cop, causing his own wife’s death, haunted her, as well.

Honey had been the only one who’d understood…

The door squeaked open and she froze, her nerves on alert, but she breathed out in relief when John poked his head in. “It’s me, Sam.”

She pressed a finger to her lip gesturing for him to be quiet, then eased the baby into her infant seat to sleep. Tonight she’d put together the portable crib so the sweet child would have a bed.