Peek-a-boo Protector

“Could be a custody issue.”

John nodded. Domestic issues turned violent all the time. And this one might have led to a murder.

The computer flashed, and Turner clicked a few keys to highlight the information. “We’ve got a match.”

John’s heart hammered in his chest. The print belonged to a woman all right.

A woman he knew.

Honey Dawson.

Holy hell. How was he going to tell Samantha that the missing woman was her best friend?

SAM GATHERED BABY SLEEPERS, outfits, socks, diapers, bottles, formula, wipes, soap and powder, washcloths, a hooded towel and various other items she thought she might need. She also purchased a baby sling and a portable crib, rationalizing that she could always donate it to a charity once she didn’t need it anymore.

Or keep it for herself.

Her lungs tightened as she drew in a breath. Not that she had hope of having a baby anytime soon. That would require a man.

At least for her, it would. Other women chose alternative means, but she was old-fashioned. She wanted the whole nine yards. The man, the romance, the proposal first.

The family that she’d once had and lost.

Of course, getting pregnant also required sex, and she was inexperienced in that area and had no prospects in sight.

Unless she decided to adopt…

What if the little girl’s mother was dead and she had no family who wanted to take her in?

Stop, Sam. You learned long ago not to get too attached.

The baby cooed, and she patted her back, juggled her purse to retrieve her credit card and paid for her purchases, then hurried to the car. Emmie began to fuss, and Sam sang her a lullaby as she fastened her in the car seat, then tipped the young man who was loading the supplies into the trunk of her SUV.

It was growing dark, storm clouds brewing on the horizon. She needed to get home. She didn’t want to be driving with Emmie in the car during one of the notorious thunderstorms famous in the South.

The baby kicked the blanket off her feet, and Sam adjusted it, then climbed in the driver’s seat, started the car and wove from the parking lot through town. Fall leaves fluttered from the trees as the gusty wind picked up, and car lights dotted the small town, the tourists already pouring in for the upcoming fall festival and to see the array of colorful leaves.

As she turned onto the narrow winding road leading toward her cabin, car lights blinded her from behind. She tensed, slowing around the curve, but the car sped up, zooming on her tail.

Then suddenly it slammed into her rear. What was happening? Was the car out of control?

He sped up, tires screeching then rammed into her again. Sam gritted her teeth, grasping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. The crazy fool—he was going to get them all killed.

A chill slithered up her spine at the thought, then the truth hit her. What if the driver was the same person who’d been in her house the night before?

Dear God, he knew where she lived. But why come back for her?

Emmie piped up, and she suddenly realized that he knew she had the baby.

He was after Emmie. And he’d kill her to get the child. Would he kill the baby, too?

Chapter Four (#ulink_83c179ca-dec4-5e76-8d98-4fbdd8d43837)

Sam silently cursed the man trying to run her off the road, jerked the wheel to the right to avoid careening into the embankment then swung the car onto the graveled drive toward her house.

The baby wailed from the backseat as if she sensed the danger, and Sam sped up, glancing over her shoulder at the lights bearing down on her.

“He’s not going to hurt you, little one,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you and find your mama.”

But the man sped up, too, moving closer on her tail.

She hit the accelerator, shooting forward, and he lost control for a moment and skimmed a tree. The skid gave her just enough time to throw the car into park, grab the baby from the backseat and race inside.

She slammed the door, put the baby carrier on the floor then grabbed her shotgun. Outside, the sound of the car roared nearer, gears and tires grinding, then the engine died and a door slammed.

Emmie wailed louder, kicking her feet and waving her fist, and Sam’s temper rose. Why would someone want to hurt this baby?

Sam’s hands shook as she moved the curtain aside and glanced out the window. She needed to call 9-1-1, but there wasn’t time. The dark sedan was parked off the drive by a thick pocket of trees, and the silhouette of a man slithered through the shadows, creeping toward the side window.

“I’ll be right back, sweetie,” she said softly. She slowly opened the door, then inched outside onto the porch and around toward the side. The man was crouching low in the bushes, weaving toward the window. The sound of glass shattering sounded over the wind. Panic hit her again.

He was trying to break in.

Her insides knotted. She had to protect the baby. “You’re not going to get to Emmie,” she muttered as she raised the gun, braced it against her hip and aimed. The bushes rustled, wind whipping through the trees, but she fired at the bushes, gritting her teeth at the kick.

A curse rent the air, the bushes rustled again and she fired a second shot. Another curse echoed through the wind, then the man jumped up and ran toward the woods and his car. She fired again, determined he know she meant business. The shell pinged off the gravel near his feet. He jumped into the car, started the engine, swung the car around and tore down the drive, slinging gravel in his wake.

She was trembling, but waited until he disappeared then ran inside and locked the door. Emmie was crying harder, her cheeks red, her sniffles twisting Sam’s heart.

She scooped the precious baby into her arms and began to soothe her. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s all right. The bad man is gone now.”

But she had a sinking feeling he would be back.

She stroked Emmie’s back, swaying her gently in her arms and pacing frantically in front of the window to make sure the man didn’t return as she dialed 9-1-1 again.

AT JOHN’S REQUEST, the lab confirmed that the blood on the floor of Sam’s house was Honey’s. They still had to compare the baby’s blood and DNA with Honey’s. Meanwhile, John had to tell Samantha Corley what he’d learned, that it was Honey’s blood on her floor.

His phone buzzed on his way to her house, and he snapped it open. “Chief Wise.”

“Chief, a 9-1-1 call just came in from Samantha Corley’s house.”

Again? Dammit.

He scrubbed his hand over his face. “What now?”

“She said someone tried to run her off the road and followed her to her house.”

He adjusted his holster and weapon, grabbed his jacket and rushed to the door. “I’m on my way.”