Peek-A-Boo Protector. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ blood trail led out the back door. It looked as if the intruder might have gone into the woods. God, he might have Sam with him.

      Then a sound disturbed the quiet. He hesitated, tensed, listening.

      A crying baby? He hadn’t seen Sam around much; surely she hadn’t had a baby without his knowing.

      He pivoted to search for the child and realized the cry had come from upstairs. He slowly moved toward the staircase, but glanced in the dining room first just to make sure it was empty. Satisfied the downstairs was clear, he tiptoed up the steps, pausing to listen. If the intruder had Sam up there, he wanted to catch him off guard.

      But just as he turned the corner of the staircase, a shadow moved in front of him. He reacted instantly and raised the gun. “Police, freeze.”

      A strangled yelp made him pause, then an object swung down. He jumped back to dodge the blow, and the object connected with the floor.

      What the hell?

      He flipped on the light aiming his gun at the source, then Sam screamed.

      His heart hammered. “Sam! For God’s sake, I could have shot you.”

      She pulled back, her eyes huge in her pale face. “John?”

      He heaved a breath, trying to control his raging temper. She could have killed him with that damn bat.

      “Did you see anyone?” she whispered shakily.

      Feeling like a heel for yelling at her, he reached out and stroked her arms. Her dark curly hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed, and fear glimmered in her vibrant brown eyes. “No. It looks like the intruder went out the back door.”

      “There was blood,” she whispered. “Someone’s blood…”

      He pulled her up against him, surprised at how soft she felt when she was such an athlete, was so well-toned. “I know, but it’s all right,” he murmured. “I’m here now.”

      She allowed him to soothe her for a brief second, then Sam suddenly pulled away as if she realized she’d let down her guard and shown a weakness by letting him touch her.

      He stiffened. What was wrong with him? He had a job to do, and this was Samantha Corley, Miss Cool and Independent.

      Although he had to admit that he’d liked the way she felt up against him.

      “I’M SORRY, I WAS JUST SHAKEN for a moment.” Sam blushed and squared her shoulders, chastising herself for acting so wimpy. But the thought that the little baby might have been in danger frightened her.

      “Don’t sweat it,” he said. “Let’s go sit down and you can tell me what happened.”

      She nodded, but the little girl whimpered from the bedroom again, and she whirled around. “Let me get the baby.”

      “Baby?” his gruff voice echoed behind her as he followed her into her bedroom.

      He paused at the doorway as if uncomfortable entering her private room, then cleared his throat and walked on in, following her to the closet.

      She opened the door, then knelt and scooped up the whimpering child in her arms. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”

      “Good grief, Sam, what’s going on? You have a baby in the closet?”

      She wrapped the blanket snugly around the child and patted her back as she turned to him. “Whoever was here, the mother maybe, left her in my room.”

      Shock strained his features for a brief second, then she saw the wheels turning in his mind. “I see.”

      She swallowed, cradling the infant to her chest, then gestured toward the diaper bag as the little girl began to fuss. “Can you grab that and bring it downstairs? She might be hungry. I’ll give her a bottle.”

      He gave a clipped nod, then yanked the frilly pink bag up with one hand as if it were a snake, and she almost laughed.

      She started toward the stairs, but John reached out a hand to stop her. “Let me go first just in case the intruder decided to return.”

      Her chest tightened, but she nodded. He braced his gun again as they descended the steps, his gaze scanning the foyer and rooms, but the house appeared to be empty.

      She headed to the kitchen, but again he stopped her. “That room is a crime scene now, Sam. You can’t go inside.”

      She bit her lip and jiggled the baby up and down. “But the baby needs to be fed.”

      He shifted, looking uncomfortable, then glanced into the kitchen, which adjoined the den. “All right. Sit down in the den and tell me what to do. We can’t touch the blood or door. I want a crime unit to process the kitchen for forensics.”

      She nodded, took two steps and settled in the rocking chair, cradling the baby to her and rocking her.

      “Let me call for backup first.” He phoned the station. “I need a crime scene unit out at Samantha Corley’s house along with officers to search the woods.” He hesitated and glanced at Sam. “And bring the bloodhounds. We might be looking for a body.”

      A shudder coursed through her as he disconnected the call. Then he turned to her with a helpless expression as he searched the diaper bag and pulled out a plastic bottle. “No ID or wallet inside. What do I do with the bottle?”

      She bit back a laugh. “See if there’s formula in the bag.”

      He dug inside the bag and removed a can, then frowned.

      “It’s simple, John,” Sam said. “Just open the can, fill the bottle, then heat a pan of water and sit the bottle in it to warm.”

      John frowned. “Why don’t you just use the microwave?”

      She looked at him as if he was an idiot. “Because it might get too hot and the formula would burn the baby’s throat.”

      “Oh.”

      How would he know? With a grim expression, he reached inside the cabinet, removed a saucepan, filled it and turned on the burner. “How long does it heat?”

      “A minute or two. You can test it on your arm.”

      Again, he frowned, then filled the bottle and set it inside the pan. While it heated, he went to his squad car and returned a moment later with a camera and crime kit.

      The water had started to boil, so he removed the bottle and brought it over to her. “You check it. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like.”

      She smiled, took the bottle, then shook out a drop of milk on her arm. “Perfect.”

      The baby began to fuss and latched on to the bottle, and she watched as John photographed the kitchen, the overturned chair, the broken glass on the floor, the blood.

      Odd that he seemed far more comfortable working a crime scene than he did with a baby.

      He СКАЧАТЬ