by Rita Herron
The little girl closed her fingers around Sam’s, and her heart twisted. “I don’t know. I’ll keep her tonight, and then decide. Maybe we’ll find her mother and I won’t have to place her in the system. At least, not yet.”
He averted his gaze as if he didn’t think she should count on that.
But Sam had to remain optimistic. This precious baby’s mother had not abandoned her, at least not willingly. And she didn’t want Emmie to end up without a mother as she had.
Or in the system where Sam knew firsthand that anything could happen to her….
THE NEXT TWO HOURS dragged by while forensics finished processing the scene.
“We’ll take the blood and prints to the lab,” John said. “Maybe they’ll help us ID the woman.” He glanced at Turner. “Let’s take a DNA sample from the baby, too. We might need it to identify the child.”
Turner nodded. “I’ll take palm and foot prints, too. That might help with identification.”
“Good idea.” John gestured toward Sam, who was still holding the baby, guarding her like a mother lion would her cub.
Sam’s look turned wary. “When you find the mother, she can identify the baby.”
“Sam, we don’t know for certain that this woman was the baby’s mother,” John said firmly. “And you know as well as I do that it may take days or even weeks to find this woman. Besides,” he continued, “if the mother is dead, we’ll need to look for other family members who can take in the child.”
A pained look crossed Sam’s face, but she complied. The baby fussed as Turner took a DNA swab from the inside of her mouth and took her palm and foot prints.
“Come on, sweetie,” Sam said, standing. “We’ll go wash off that nasty ink.”
She hurried up the steps, then returned a few minutes later with the baby wrapped snugly in the blanket. She’d also tucked one of those silly Butterbean dolls beside her.
“I didn’t figure you for a doll kind of girl,” John said with a grimace.
Anger glittered in her eyes as if he’d insulted her. “I’m not, but Bitsy doll is special.”
God, she’d even named the damn thing. “Bitsy?”
She jutted her chin up defiantly. “Honey gave me her doll the first night I went to live with Miss Mazie, but Miss Mazie stayed up half the night making me one of my own. This is her, Bitsy.”
His gut pinched at the slight warble to her voice. Of course, Miss Mazie had given her the doll; it was her trademark. The older woman had started making the handmade cloth dolls—with their faces in the shape of a butterbean—to give to her foster kids. He’d heard the story. The kids were scared, lonely, some traumatized, and she wanted them to have something special to comfort them at night. She’d fabricated a story about how the babies came from butterbeans that she picked especially off the vines, just the way she picked them to come and live with her and be her children.
Sam had only been seven years old when her parents were murdered. Just a child.
A disturbing image of a tiny, vulnerable Sam flashed in his head. Had Sam been afraid that night? Had she suffered nightmares of her parents’ murder?
Outside the wind shook a tree limb against the windowpane, and he saw the beam from a flashlight weaving back toward the house. His men were returning.
Sam noticed them at the same time, and fear clouded her eyes. They stepped out onto the back and met the two officers who’d been combing the woods, the bloodhounds leading the way into the backyard.
“Did you find anything?” John asked.
Officer Wilkins shook his head. “The trail went cold at the creek. The perp probably waded through the water to the road on the east side by River Ridge where he had a car waiting.”
Their boots were wet, so they’d obviously followed the trail until it ended. “You saw tire tracks on the road?”
“There were marks on the shoulder in the dirt,” Fritz said. “Course they could have been from someone else. You know that’s a popular make-out spot for the teens.”
John nodded. Still, he’d have the CSI take tire tracks just to be sure they covered all their bases. “You didn’t find anything in the woods? A purse or wallet maybe?”
“Not a thing, Chief,” Wilkins said, sounding frustrated. “But it’s dark as hell out there.”
“I know.” John gestured toward the panting dogs. “Come back in the morning when it’s light and look again. Maybe we’ll find something then.”
They agreed and went to their patrol car. Larry, the owner of the local tow truck service, arrived and hooked up the car to haul to the impound lot. The CSI team packed up to leave.
He walked Sam back inside, but the stark sight of the blood made him pause. There was nothing else he could do tonight, not until he heard from forensics.
“Put the baby to bed and I’ll clean up here,” he said.
“I can clean up,” Sam said, that hard look back in her eyes.
“Don’t argue,” he snapped, irritated that she was so stubborn. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m not sure I’ll sleep tonight,” she admitted.
He wanted to tell her he’d stay and protect her. But getting involved with Samantha Corley was the last thing he needed to do. Just the way she held that baby made him see her in a different light. Sam wanted a family, that was obvious. That was the reason she took care of everyone else.
And he had his own agenda—a career he wanted to build. A family wouldn’t be part of it. At least not with a woman whose father was rumored to be a dirty cop. That wouldn’t look good for him.
Still, she looked exhausted and had been through hell. “I can stay,” he said matter-of-factly.
Her gaze met his, something intense and hot passing between them. Anger?
Attraction?
“Thanks, John,” she said, “but I’ll be fine. As you pointed out, I’m not exactly delicate. I can take care of myself.”
Regret hit him. Had he hurt her by those words? He hadn’t meant them as an insult.
“But I will take you up on the offer to clean up the blood,” she said. “While you do that, I’ll put Emmie down. Then I’ll make sure my shotgun is loaded and by my bed.”
Leaving off on that note, she turned and strode up the steps, jiggling the baby in her arms. He stood for a second watching her, admiring her. Wishing he didn’t find her mixture of tenderness with the baby and her tomboy toughness and tenacity so damn sexy. Wishing he didn’t find the sway of those hips so seductive.
He’d clean up the blood and get on his way.
He had a case to solve. And the first stop he was going to make when he left was Leonard Cultrain’s house. He’d find out if the bastard had been here tonight.
And if he had, the man would be sorry he’d ever set foot on Sam’s land.
Chapter Three
Sam bolted the doors, rocking Emmie back and forth in her arms as John’s car disappeared down the driveway. Darkness bathed the exterior of the house and property, the events of the night leaving her shaken and exhausted.
She’d never imagined how violated having an intruder in her home would make her feel, or how instantly she could grow attached to a little baby. But the child snuggled up to her, and her heart melted and warmth spread through her.
“Let’s put you to bed,” she whispered. “And tomorrow, we’ll go into town and buy you a portable crib and more diapers and…”
What was she thinking? She had to file a report, find a temporary foster home for the little girl.
Emmie snuggled deeper against her chest though, and her heart fluttered. Then again, maybe she could just keep the baby until they found her parents or another family member.
She carried Emmie to the guest room across from hers and settled her on the bed, then placed pillows around the edge for safety. Emmie wasn’t old enough to crawl, but sometimes babies scooted in their sleep. Then she covered her with the blanket, leaned over and pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead.
“Sleep tight, princess.
I’ll be right across the hall from you.” Emmie twisted slightly, her fingers closing around the blanket edge, then slid her thumb in her mouth and began to gently suck it.
Sam smiled, then undressed and pulled on a nightshirt. But the haunting reminder of the violence downstairs sent her to get her shotgun.
She brought it upstairs, then paused to look at the baby from the doorway. The sight of the little girl stirred a longing for a family. For a man to love her and a child to call her own.
A dream she might never have.
She groaned, went to her room, put the gun beside the bed and crawled beneath the covers. But John’s offer to stay echoed in her head.
He’d only been doing his job.
John Wise certainly didn’t see her as a love interest. The man was a cop through and through. Besides, she’d heard talk that he might leave town to pursue loftier goals.
And Butterville was her home, the only place she’d ever felt safe.
The wind whipped the tree branches against the windowpane, and she tensed.
Except tonight, she didn’t feel safe at all.
JOHN ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS to relieve the tension knotting his neck as he drove down the mountain and pulled into Leonard Cultrain’s drive. The man had moved back in with his mother in a weathered, clapboard house that had been built at least fifty years ago. The white paint was chipped, the porch sagging, the screens torn.
Brittle fall leaves crunched beneath his feet as he climbed out, walked up to the front door and knocked. He glanced at the window while he waited, saw a light flicker on in the back room, then heard shuffling. A moment later, Leonard’s mother shouted, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Chief Wise, Miss Cultrain, please open up.”
He heard her unlocking the door, then it screeched open and she peered outside through the crack. Her gray bun was falling out of the hairpins, and she clutched an old chenille robe to her neck. “What you want?”
“I need to speak to your son Leonard.”
She glared at him, clacking her teeth as her mouth worked side to side. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, ma’am,” John said. “But it’s important. Is he here?”
She jerked her head sideways. “He’s in bed where I was before you pounded on the door.”
“Please go get him,” John said, struggling for patience, “or I’ll come in and do it myself.”
She muttered a curse, then slammed the door in his face, and he heard her shuffling to the back calling Leonard’s name. “That danged chief of police is here to harass you, Lennie. You tell him we’ll sue his ass if he bothers us again.”
“Son of a bitch,” Leonard snarled so loudly that John braced himself for a confrontation. The burly, tattooed man swung the door open wearing jeans and no shirt, his belly hanging over the waistband of his pants. “I just got home, Chief,” he barked. “You the welcome wagon?”
“Where were you tonight?” John asked without preamble.
Leonard’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Here having dinner with my mama.” He rubbed his belly. “She cooked me fried chicken and biscuits and gravy.” He threw a look over his shoulder to where his mother stood like a hawk. “Ain’t that right?”
“Sure is. Then we watched the game shows all night.”
“Why you asking?” Leonard said.
“Because there was an incident at Samantha Corley’s house tonight. I thought you might have been involved.”
A leer slid onto Leonard’s face. “You did, did you? What kind of incident? Someone hurt the bitch?”
John gritted his teeth. “Actually I believe another woman was attacked in Samantha’s house. Heard you had issues with her today.”
Anger flashed in Leonard’s eyes. “Damn right. That nosy busybody’s trying to keep me from my kid, and that ain’t right.”
As if a murderer deserved to be with his son. “So you went to her house to teach her a lesson?”
A dark laugh boomed from Leonard’s chest. “If I had, she’d know it. I wouldn’t have settled for someone else.”
“He answered your questions,” Miss Lou Lou snapped. “Now get out. I need my beauty sleep.”
John caught the door before Leonard could slam it in his face. “Stay away from her, Cultrain, or you’ll be sorry.”
A nasty chuckle rumbled from the bastard. “You tried locking me up and that didn’t work.”
John shot him an equally evil grin. “Who said anything about jail?”
SAM SPENT THE NEXT MORNING clearing her calendar and arranging for someone to take over her caseload for a few days. She filed a report with social services regarding Emmie, but every time she considered placing the baby in a foster home, memories of her own traumatic experiences flooded her.
She couldn’t leave the little girl.
She fed Emmie, bathed her and changed her into the extra sleeper, then made a list of items she needed to pick up in town. But first, she’d stop by and see John.
Chief Wise, not John. Remember, he’s a cop.
She settled the baby into the infant carrier, and fit it into the car seat base, smiling as the little girl clutched the Butterbean doll in her hand. “I know Bitsy is soft. She’s your new best friend, isn’t she, sweetie?”
Emmie cooed and batted her little fist at Sam, and Sam’s heart melted again.
Ten minutes later, she parked at the police station, took Emmie from the car and wrapped the blanket around her to ward off the fall chill as she hurried inside. One of the deputies, Deputy Floyd, a blond guy in his early twenties, smiled at her from his desk. She’d met him before on another case.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Hi, Phil. Is John…I mean Chief Wise here?”
He nodded. “In his office. You can go on back.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, I heard about the trouble last night. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thanks.” She cradled the baby to her and went to John’s office, pausing to drink in his features through the glass partition separating the space. He was at least six foot three, his body muscular, his shoulders broad, his hands big. His hair was dark and thick, his eyes an amber-brown like scotch.
But his expression was somber as he talked into the phone.
He glanced up and spotted her, his eyes narrowing slightly, then he waved her in.
“Thanks. Let me know if you find anything in those woods.” He hung up, then scrubbed a hand over his chin. “I just sent two officers out to search the forest behind your house again.”
“Any news on the missing woman?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I just talked to the lab, and they’re supposed to fax over anything they find. I asked them to run the prints first. If she’s in the system, we might get a hit.”
“I hope so.” Sam glanced down at Emmie, praying the woman was alive.
John clenched his jaw, tension rippling between them. “I went by Leonard Cultrain’s house last night.”
Sam’s breath caught. “What did he say?”
“He obviously has a grudge against you,” he said in a gruff tone. “But, his damn mother gave him an alibi.”
“That figures. She’s pretty bitter.”
He gave a clipped nod. “I don’t care. If we find his prints at your house, or if those boot prints are his size, I’ll bring him in.” He closed the distance between them. “I warned him to stay away from you, so if he gives you any trouble, call me.”
“I will.” Emmie began to fuss, and Sam jiggled her up and down, soothing her with soft whispers.
John’s gaze darkened. “What did you decide to do about the baby?”
“I rearranged my calendar so I can take off a few days. That way, I can take care of her myself.”
John frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She stiffened. “You don’t think I can take care of a baby?”
He cursed under his breath. “Dammit, Sam, stop being so defensive. I just thought you’d put her in foster care.�
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Sam bit her lip. If Mazie was still taking in kids, she might. But the other two homes she used were full. And Emmie was so tiny…. “She’s been through enough. Hopefully you’ll find her parents, and it will only be for a few days.”
“I guess you know what you’re doing.” He shifted, then rapped his knuckles on the desk. “I checked the hospitals and morgue but found nothing. Of course, if the woman is dead, the perp could have dumped her body anywhere in the mountains. She might not be found for days.”
A tense silence stretched between them, filled with the things he hadn’t said. That with the isolated areas in the mountains, the body might never be found.
His phone rang, and he reached for it. She started toward the door, but he gestured for her to wait. “Chief Wise. Yeah? What did you find?” He paused and scribbled something down on a notepad. “I see. Thanks.”
“What?” Sam asked as he disconnected the call.
“That was the Atlanta PD. They traced the owner of the car the woman was driving. Harry Finch was out of town, but flew back into Atlanta yesterday and discovered his car had been stolen.”
Sam’s throat thickened as a dozen different scenarios raced through her head. “The poor woman. She must have been desperate.”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Either that or she’s a criminal. Maybe she kidnapped the baby, as well.”
Sam hugged the baby closer to her chest. She didn’t want to think Emmie had been kidnapped, but she had to admit that anything was possible.
She’d protect her until they found out.
AS SOON AS SAM LEFT, John checked national police databases and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, searching photos and names for hours. By late afternoon, his search hadn’t turned up a lead, and he was getting antsy, so he decided to drive to the newly built lab that serviced the North Georgia area and push them to run the forensics tests.
On the drive, he checked with the officers who’d searched the woods again, but their search had yielded nothing new. A half hour later, he entered the concrete building and walked straight to the lab.