The Cradle Mission. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ thought and focused on the present. The smell of parched earth, dead leaves and something even more threatening filtered through the air. Cain’s instincts screamed that something was wrong. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. Like the winter storm gathering on the horizon, he had a feeling the wheels had already been set in motion.

      And he had no idea how to stop them.

      Cain turned to face the opposite direction, wishing one more time he could get through to his brother. Behind him, a cricket chirped, then Eric’s car roared to life. Cain gripped the doorknob to shut the front door when an explosion rent the air. The wooden boards beneath Cain’s feet shook with the impact.

      It wasn’t thunder.

      Cain spun around. Horror immobilized him as Eric’s car erupted into flames. He tamped down his emotions and catapulted into motion.

      By the time he made it down the driveway, another explosion rocked the ground. The gas tank exploded, and fire shot into the air. Cain yelled his brother’s name as he ran for the door. But heat scalded his face, the force of it knocking him backward. It was too late.

      Eric was gone forever.

      Chapter Two

      “Hush, Simon, honey, everything’s going to be all right. We’re going to meet someone today who’ll help us.” Alanna rubbed her temple where a headache pulsed, fighting panic.

      She didn’t understand why Eric Caldwell hadn’t met them at the Three Dollar Café for lunch as he’d promised. When she’d spoken to him last night from the hotel, he’d seemed eager to help her.

      He’d advised her to disguise herself, so she’d bought a dye kit, whacked off her honey-colored hair and colored her hair black.

      But she and Simon had waited for two hours at the café and he hadn’t shown. She fastened Simon into the car seat, and drove away.

      Staying in one place might give the men following her time to catch up. And although she had no idea who they were, she was certain they were after her. Twice, she’d spotted the same dark car behind her. But she’d managed to lose them in the rain and traffic. Was Arnold Hughes head of this secret project the scientist had been working on?

      Simon twisted his tiny hands into fists, flailing them around, his face red with fury. “It’s okay, honey, we’ll stop in a bit and I’ll see if you need changing.”

      She reached behind her and tried to slip a pacifier into his mouth, but he spit it out, his legs and arms circling as his sobs escalated. So did the rain.

      It was coming in thick sheets now, just as it had yesterday when she’d left Savannah. Tears pressed against Alanna’s eyelids, but she blinked furiously to control them and darted around a Ford pickup. More than anything she wanted Simon to have a normal life.

      She’d felt an immediate bond with the four-pound infant the minute she’d seen him in the neonatal nursery, and it had grown stronger every day. Finally she’d understood how much her own mother had loved her before she died. In spite of the fact that she was a single mother, she’d tried to give Alanna everything she’d wanted. Alanna wanted to do the same for Simon. She wanted him to go to school. Have friends. Play sports.

      But strange circumstances surrounded Simon’s birth, which Paul wouldn’t divulge. The less she knew the better, he’d said. It was safer. But why…?

      How could they ever have a normal life on the run?

      A knot of worry took hold in Alanna’s stomach as she recalled Paul’s last words, “Simon is different.” How different, she wondered? What if he got sick? She’d had a fever for the past twenty-four hours, plus flulike symptoms. What if Simon grew ill? What if he had special needs that they hadn’t told her about? What if he needed a doctor?

      She spotted the exit sign for Lake Lanier, the area north of Atlanta where Eric lived, and drove toward the lake, squinting at the signs to make sure she didn’t miss the turn. Several ski boats and houseboats came into view, and she breathed a sigh of relief, then turned onto the dirt road that supposedly led to Eric’s cabin, the car bouncing over the gravel.

      Five minutes later, she parked in front of the rustic-looking cabin. She had no idea why Eric Caldwell had stood them up, but she was desperate. She would beg him to help her if she had to.

      THE FAINT KNOCK at the front door barely registered in Cain’s mind. The rain must have stopped. Only it was still thundering in his head.

      Had his partner, Neil, returned for something?

      He ignored the knock, too grief stricken to move. He didn’t want company now, not even his partner. The whispered condolences and sympathetic looks were more than he could bear.

      Had the CSU unit forgotten to check something? Frustration clawed at him. He’d wanted to help, but the captain ordered him to stay out of the investigation, so he’d simply stared at the sooty ashes and burning embers while they’d recovered his brother’s burned body.

      The knock sounded again, louder this time, and he cursed. Dammit, if it was those rookies, Wade and Pirkle, telling him he had to leave his brother’s cabin, he’d give them a piece of his mind.

      Riddled with grief and fury, he opened the door. Instead of the rookies, a small dark-haired woman with big doe eyes stood on the steps staring up at him. An infant swathed in a blue bunny blanket squirmed in her arms.

      “Mr…Caldwell?”

      Her soft, feminine voice broke through his blurred haze, cutting into the pain with images of another life that might have been if he hadn’t chosen police work, of sultry hot looks and sinful nights with a woman in his arms. Of a family of his own.

      But Eric had been his family. And now he was gone.

      “Does Eric Caldwell live here?”

      He couldn’t be thinking lustful thoughts, not with his brother dead. Besides, this woman looked like a drowned rat. “Yeah. I mean no.” The hazy orange of dusk almost completely shadowed her face, but he catalogued her features, his detective training kicking in. Short jet-black hair plastered to her head, dark blue-green eyes, slender, attractive, almost angelic.

      Scared.

      She was trembling beneath that baggy, wrinkled sweater and skirt, her fine-boned hand shaking as she patted the baby’s back. The bruises caught his eye. Purple and yellow ones marring her delicate wrists. Perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip, too.

      Oh, yeah, she was in trouble.

      His gaze flew to her face, searching for answers. Thick black lashes curled downward over cheeks that were so pale they looked like milk. Her black hair looked unnatural, as if she’d dyed it, and the ends were tangled as if it had been aeons since she’d seen a brush. Judging from the dark circles beneath her eyes, she hadn’t slept in a day or two.

      She cleared her throat and he realized he hadn’t answered her. “Are you Eric Caldwell?”

      He stepped backward, a sudden jolt to his system he hadn’t been prepared for. His throat closed momentarily, but fear radiated from her eyes and he figured she smelled the beer on his breath. She was afraid of him, he realized, a sick feeling splintering through him at the thought.

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