Peek-A-Boo Protector. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ saw the moon-shaped silver earring, and emotions welled in her throat. “Yes, it does. She must have lost it in the struggle.”

      The baby curled her fingers on the edge of the bottle and Sam stroked her soft, fine blond hair. “The mother must have come to me with the baby because she needed help.”

      “And whoever was after her followed her,” he said in a gruff tone.

      Sam glanced at the stream of dark red blood, her insides churning. Had the intruder killed the little girl’s mother? Or could she still be alive?

Chapter Two

      A half hour later, sirens screeched up the mountainside, vehicles careening to a stop outside Sam’s house. John met them, then gestured to the patrol officers, Wilkins and Fritz, who climbed out with the bloodhounds.

      “There’s evidence of a struggle in the kitchen. Blood,” he said specifically. “It appears that the intruder dragged a woman’s body into the woods.” He paused. “Be careful. This guy might be armed.”

      Both men nodded, then headed around back and set off into the dense, dark woods with flashlights, the bloodhounds immediately picking up the scent.

      “CSI Turner and Akers,” a heavyset young guy said, flashing his ID. “Where do you want us?”

      “The front door was jimmied, so check for prints there. The kitchen appears to be the main crime scene so process it thoroughly.” He flicked a thumb toward Akers. “Follow me around back.” Turner began with the front door, while Akers walked behind him. They studied the back porch, then the grass beneath the steps.

      John knelt down, brushing dry crushed leaves aside. “Look, there are boot prints. They’re big, most likely a male’s, and might belong to our perp.”

      “I’ll do a plaster cast of a print,” Akers said. “And search for forensics out here.”

      “Thanks. I’ll check the car and run the plates, then it needs to be processed, as well.” John glanced at the woods one more time, hoping his guys found something. Preferably the woman alive.

      The perp couldn’t have gotten too far, not on foot. Unless he had a car hidden down the road. Of course, once he reached the creek, they might lose his trail.

      John strode back to the driveway, then called in the license. Five minutes later, he learned the car was registered to a man named Harry Finch from Atlanta.

      Hmm, then who was the woman driving the car? His wife?

      He pulled on gloves and shined his flashlight inside the sedan. A fast-food wrapper lay on the floor, a soda can in the cup holder, chewing gum wrappers in the ashtray. He snapped a photo of them, then opened the car door and examined the seats and floor. Pollen dotted the windshield, a long blond stray hair was on the dash, a fiber of some kind had caught in the console, and a baby sock the little girl must have kicked off lay on the seat.

      He searched the interior but didn’t find a purse or wallet. Slipping around to the passenger side, he opened the glove compartment and searched the contents. No wallet or ID, but he found the registration, verifying the car belonged to Finch.

      At least that was something to go on.

      He bagged the soda can and wrapper, used tweezers to pick up the hair and fiber and bagged them as well as the infant’s sock.

      Surely the woman had a suitcase of some kind. He popped the trunk and found a small overnight bag stowed inside, so he pulled it out and rummaged through it. A pair of jeans, a lime-green T-shirt, underwear—very frilly underwear—a pair of lime-green flip-flops, toiletries, a pair of boxers and tank shirt for sleeping with the words Hot Stuff on the seat of the boxers.

      Not much in the way of clothes—maybe she hadn’t planned on staying long.

      Or she’d left wherever she was so quickly that she hadn’t had time to pack. In fact, the pj’s, T-shirt, jeans all looked new and cheap as if she’d just picked them up at a discount store.

      Still, he found no ID inside. What in the hell had she done with it?

      Ditched it so she couldn’t be traced?

      Of course. She knew someone was after her, so she’d gotten rid of her ID, used cash. And run here to Sam.

      He cursed, his throat working to swallow. And now that the damn perp knew where Sam was, she might be in danger, as well.

      He carried the evidence he’d collected to Turner, who was finishing up with the front door. “Take this and process it, and one of you go over the car once you finish with the kitchen. I want the car impounded, as well.”

      Turner nodded. “I was heading inside now.”

      “Follow me.” John led the way, and Turner went into the kitchen to process it. Sam was still sitting in the rocking chair. The sight of her cuddling the child, looking so protective and loving and—feminine—stirred something deep inside him, and reminded him of a time when he’d thought his girlfriend was pregnant. When he’d been foolish enough to think a woman mattered more than his career.

      Never again.

      “Shh, sweetie,” Sam whispered. “I know you want your mama, but it’s going to be all right.”

      John’s chest tightened. He hoped to hell she was right.

      But judging from the sight of all that blood, the baby’s mother might not be coming back at all.

      SAM GLANCED AT JOHN, and her shoulders bunched with nerves. He looked grim and angry, more brooding than she’d ever seen. “Did you find anything?”

      John shrugged. “CSI is looking. But there was no ID or purse in the car.”

      She frowned, but then smiled down at the baby as she sucked greedily on the bottle. “Her name is Emmie,” she said softly.

      “How do you know?” John asked.

      She folded the edge of the pink blanket back, and he read the embroidered lettering. Peek-a-boo, Emmie.

      At least we know her first name,” he said. “Maybe I missed something in the diaper bag.”

      Emmie drained the bottle, and Sam lifted her to her shoulder, then patted her back. John retrieved the diaper bag, and she watched as he unloaded the contents—diapers, two fuzzy pink sleepers, a plastic duck, rattle, set of plastic keys, three cans of formula, baby wipes, shampoo, lotion and baby socks.

      Just enough things to last a night or two, until Sam could get to the store.

      “No, nothing,” he said. “Not even a credit card or checkbook.” With his gloved hand, he removed a small wad of cash that was tucked inside the diaper bag lining.

      “She was on the run,” Sam said quietly, her heart aching for the baby girl. “Probably from the baby’s father or an abusive man.”

      John frowned. “We don’t know that yet. Hell, she might have kidnapped the СКАЧАТЬ