by Joanne Rock
“Hello!” Lorelei Hasting appeared in the doorway, her patchwork boho-style bag in one hand and car keys in the other. Her long, dark curls were scraped back into a ponytail that trailed over one shoulder. “So glad you’re here. I’m running late for my appointment with Dawson and the guidance counselor over at the school. I let the boys go to a friend’s house for a few hours, so you’ll be on your own with the baby until I get back.” Lorelei brushed past her, her heavy leather shoes slapping the flagstones as she hurried by. “I told Officer Stallworth to keep an extrasharp eye on you.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Her conversation with Megan would be all the easier without anyone around to overhear. “But where’s Megan? She’s not here yet?”
“You didn’t hear?” Lorelei turned, her patchwork bag swinging out as she moved. “Her father took her up to Franklin to stay with his sister. He’s going to homeschool her until the trial’s done to keep her away from that boy who assaulted her.”
That was what Megan had wanted to talk to her about on the phone, but Bailey hadn’t called her back. Had she even checked her messages? So much had happened since her mom and J.D. had gotten out of jail. Bailey felt her whole world tip sideways even more. Megan was her only friend. And while she’d been okay without her in school, she’d assumed she’d at least be able to see her at work or on the weekends. Now?
She’d have to keep her silence about J.D. a little longer. And somehow, she’d have to get through the days without her bestie. Hard to imagine when she’d been hanging on by her fingernails as it was. Someone had threatened her life this week, for crying out loud.
“I’m surprised she didn’t text me.” She went to check her phone before remembering that was rude to do in the middle of a conversation. She let the phone fall back in her leather purse. “She must have been busy packing.”
“I think it was very spur-of-the-moment.” Dawson’s foster mom continued toward her car with a wave. “The baby monitor is on the kitchen table, but I doubt Aiden will sleep much longer.”
Pulling herself together, Bailey returned the wave and rushed inside, locking the front door behind her. She couldn’t believe Megan would be out of town for weeks. And who knew how long the trial could stretch on?
Chewing her bottom lip, she slid her backpack to the floor and grabbed the nursery monitor off the kitchen table, wondering if it would be totally tacky to sneak a peek at Dawson’s room.
Yes. Absolutely.
Her feet wandered that way anyhow, curiosity getting the better of her since she’d been thinking about him a lot. They’d texted a few times after his visit to her house, but she hadn’t seen him in person.
And he liked her.
A really genuine, good guy liked her. Amazing how, in spite of her mom moving out, her father ranting about her constantly, her best friend abandoning her and her own life being threatened, the thought of Dawson still made her feel like twirling in circles and singing.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she peeked into Aiden’s nursery. He was still sleeping under a mobile of brightly colored circus animals, so she continued past the room the younger boys shared toward Dawson’s door at the end of the hall.
Bang.
A sound like the screen door slamming made her pause.
Had Lorelei forgotten something? Bailey stepped into a small bathroom on the front side of the house to peer out the window overlooking the driveway. There were no cars out front except for her own and the police cruiser. She could see Officer Stallworth’s head drooped forward like he was sleeping.
Which, while not impossible, seemed unlikely.
A chill skittered up the back of her neck.
What if whoever had threatened Aiden—and her—was ready to carry out the job? She remained very still in the bathroom, listening for any sounds downstairs. She debated calling out to ask if anyone was there.
She hoped it was one of the boys. Except kids made noise. Lots of it. And it seemed frighteningly quiet in the house after the screen door had slammed.
Another soft creak sounded from downstairs, as if someone was trying hard to be quiet.
Fear clutched her belly in a tight fist. She knew how fast life could smack her on her ass.
What if it was J.D., looking for her?
Her mind running at warp speed, Bailey stepped silently back into the hallway and tiptoed down to Aiden’s room. She was getting out of here.
And she was taking Aiden with her.
* * *
SAM WASN’T HAVING any luck finding the women he wanted to see.
Rapping his knuckles on the door of apartment B in a duplex building just off the interstate, he waited for some sign of life inside the residence of the Wilkerson sisters. Faith hadn’t shown up the day before to give her promised testimony. Patience hadn’t been at home yesterday when he’d stopped by after questioning Tiffany McCord. Then Amy—the woman he wanted to see more than anyone else—had been avoiding him.
And she hadn’t even been subtle about it, surrounding herself with her family at the hunting cabin and working on renovations late into the night. Scott and Erin, the two Finleys with the most hands-on construction experience, had been there when he’d dropped in last night. And he’d heard the table saw working well past midnight, a sound that had carried on the still autumn breeze.
Reminding him that, with each new improvement at the cabin, his time with her dwindled.
She had to stay through the trial at least. She might not be offering any testimony herself, but she’d come back to town to support her sister Heather as she faced Jeremy Covington in court.
He was about to abandon apartment B when he heard someone unbolt the thin, red-painted door.
“Patience Wilkerson?” he asked, voice raised.
There was no answer, but her sister Faith’s face appeared in the narrow crack as the door opened. Short brown hair curled around the older sister’s face, and a yellow cap with the name of a fast-food joint sat on her head. A television blared in the background.
“She’s not here, Sheriff.” Faith’s voice was low and hoarse, like she’d been yelling. Or crying.
Sam stepped closer, peering at a dark shadow along the top of the young woman’s cheek.
“Is that a bruise?” He moved to tilt her chin up for a better view, but she jerked away, retreating deeper behind the red door.
“Please. My sister is not here. It’s just me and I’m really tired—”
“Faith. Let me see your face,” he demanded, tired of women in his life keeping secrets.
He’d kept Gabriella Chance’s secrets from the rest of the world for years, costing him time with Amy, someone he’d really cared about even as a teen. Then Cynthia hid the news of his child from him. And now Amy refused to reveal her encounter with a predator. He’d had enough.
Slowly, the door opened. He didn’t step inside, instead waiting for her to come closer. When she moved into the light so he could see her more clearly, the outline of a bruise around her eye became visible, darker near the temple.
“Who did this to you?” His cop instincts twitched with new urgency. After long, slow days of getting nowhere on this case, he was making progress, and he couldn’t follow up on the leads fast enough.
She debated lying. He could read it in her eyes.
“My sister.” She whispered the words, almost as if that might lessen the impact.
“Patience.” The woman rocketed from person of interest to danger to society. “Jeremy Covington’s new girlfriend.” He made the connection to test Faith’s reaction to it.
“I guess I’m the last to know.” Shaking her head, she ran an impatient swipe through her hair while the television played in the background—an ad ran for his foster parents’ pizza shop. “The guy who I believe assaulted me is behind bars and also happens to be ne
arly twenty years older than her. I don’t get it.”
Sam did, though. He was beginning to expand his understanding of Covington. The guy wasn’t the first sexual predator with a keen understanding of how to lure his victims. He’d pretended to be someone else—a local teen she knew—when he’d convinced Gabriella to meet him in the woods ten years ago. Now the guy had upped his game. He could woo a young woman into doing his bidding while he was behind bars.
Including intimidating a witness. Had he also told Patience to send threats to Sam and Tiffany McCord?
“Was your sister upset you were going to offer testimony against Jeremy? Is that why she hit you?”
“Yes. But she’s just confused. She ran out of here after we argued, and I didn’t have a chance to talk to her. But I’m sure once I sat her down and told her—”
“Where do you think she might go if she needed to hide?” Sam asked impatiently, concerned that Patience Wilkerson might be running scared and feeling desperate. What if that desperation drove her to even more witness intimidation? Or to carry out the threats she’d made against Aiden or Bailey?
Not on his watch.
He needed to check on his son and Bailey McCord. And he should alert Zach and Clayton to keep a close eye on Heather Finley, too.
And Amy. Damn, but he had to keep Amy safe. What if Covington was worried about some of his old victims coming forward? She could be at risk, too. More so than the others since she wasn’t under police protection.
“I have no idea where she would go.” Faith held her arms wide, gesturing to the cramped apartment full of furniture and disarray. “Our mom took off a long time ago. I’ve been taking care of Patience since she was in high school.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “She has no money. Neither of us do.”
Which made her even more desperate. Sam wondered if Jeremy had any way to float funds to her.
Certainly not through his wife. If Tiffany’s read of the situation was correct, Kate Covington would be livid to learn her husband’s new mistress wasn’t much older than his son.
With Kate out of the question as a resource for Patience, that left J.D., who’d helped his father before. Unless Patience was operating alone.
“There are family services that can help you,” he told Faith gently, fishing in his jacket pocket for a business card to hand her. As much as he hated to leave when Faith Wilkerson seemed to be near her personal breaking point, what choice did he have? “I want you to call them. But right now, I’m worried that your sister is in trouble, and I need to locate her as soon as possible.” He passed her a second card. “Call me if you hear from her or think of anything that might help.”
The young woman stood taller, her eyes full of concern as she tucked the cards in her pocket.
“Please find her before she does anything stupid.” She gripped his arm with both hands. “Now that I know what she’s been doing, I can help her see this scumbag for what he really is. She’s not a bad person, Sheriff. Just misguided.”
If she’d threatened an infant and a young girl, she was more than misguided. But this wasn’t the time or place to mention that distinction. So Sam placed his hat on his head and took his leave, returning to his truck to find Patience Wilkerson.
Where would a young woman go who was desperate, alone and at odds with her family? A woman with no money to her name?
His jaw clenched tight as he withdrew his phone and dialed a number. He knew someone who would have some ideas. Another woman who’d been in that same position once.
Amy.
Then again, maybe he just needed to hear her voice and know she was safe. He had a cop watching over his son and Bailey McCord. But Amy was working at her house on top of that remote hill, probably all by herself.
“Hello?” Her voice soothed some of the agitation inside him.
She was safe. In the background of the call, he could hear a loud mechanical whine suddenly quieting—a power tool being shut off.
“Amy, it’s Sam.” He wanted to see her. Wanted to speak with her about more than just this damned investigation that had taken over his life. “Are you by yourself right now?”
It took her a moment to answer.
“Yes. Why?” There was a guardedness in her voice. A caution he’d put there, damn it.
Flooring the gas, he shoved the blue police light onto the dashboard for safety’s sake. His gut told him Patience Wilkerson was on the move, and Amy was the most vulnerable of Covington’s potential enemies.
“Covington has a girlfriend intimidating witnesses for him. I don’t want you alone up there.” He exited the highway and wound through Heartache. He avoided Main Street since it was slower than taking the road past the Hastings’ house toward Partridge Hill.
“What girlfriend? You mean Tiffany McCord?” She sounded hoarse, and he found himself wondering if he was the first person she’d spoken to all day.
It occurred to him that as much as he admired her independence, it was also sad that she’d lived for so long away from any help or support. Would she even be willing to let him in her life if he could convince her he cared about more than just her testimony?
“No. Patience Wilkerson. You met her older sister at Erin’s consignment shop.”
“Faith’s sister is Jeremy Covington’s girlfriend?” Her voice grew louder, her surprise evident. “How old is she? Twelve?”
“Twenty.” He took his foot off the gas as he neared the Hasting house, just to take a quick peek in the driveway.
The police cruiser was there, of course, as was Bailey’s vintage Volvo. But where was his foster mother’s vehicle? Slowing down even more, he knew everything was probably fine. Lorelei ran bank errands sometimes in the afternoons or stopped over at the pizza parlor.
But then he noticed Stallworth’s window was rolled down, and the officer’s head was hanging forward at an awkward angle.
What the hell? A low hiss of suspicion—of dread—slid between his clenched teeth.
“Is something the matter?” Amy’s voice was instantly alert.
He must have said something out loud.
“Aiden.” The bottom dropped out of his world. “Something’s wrong at my mother’s place.”
Yanking hard on the steering wheel, he pulled into the driveway fast and flipped on the police camera.
“What can I do?” The steeliness in her voice pierced through the fear for his child.
“Get to one of your brothers’ houses.” Vaulting out of the truck, he still hoped Stallworth had just fallen asleep. But he knew damn well that wasn’t the case. “Be safe.”
Disconnecting the call, he alerted dispatch even as he sprinted across the lawn toward his officer. Stallworth was breathing but unconscious. A minor head wound.
But Sam’s son was inside that house. Unprotected except for a teenage girl who was also a target for Covington.
Drawing his weapon, he charged inside, ignoring police protocol because this was his family. His home. Adrenaline fueled every step as he shouted his way through the eerily silent house.
He’d never been in this place before when it was empty.
Ever. And the quiet had him fearing the worst. It was something of a relief when he found each room vacant. His throat grew tighter, but he forced his hands to stay steady, his training never more important than now.
Still, when he reached the nursery and his son’s crib stood empty, his knees damn near gave out. He had to hold the crib rail for a second to pull it together.
Aiden was gone. And Bailey McCord had disappeared, too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HOLDING AIDEN AS tightly to her as she dared, Bailey sprinted through the woods, channeling her inner huntress. She prayed she made it out of the woods alive so she could tell Megan that one.
She kept picturing one
of the video-game Ts that Megan wore, the one with an iron-on patch of a fleet-footed archer queen in a green felt hat. Had she crossed the line into total hysteria that she wanted to laugh out loud about that as she zipped between trees and avoided patches of crunchy leaves that might give her away?
Definitely. But it was either laugh or vomit from fear.
Peering behind her, she couldn’t see any signs of movement through the trees behind her. If it had been dark, she might be able to hide better. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the person who’d entered the Hasting home, but she was sure it was a woman. Bailey had heard a female voice shrieking at her to “get back here” when she’d first sped into the forest.
After that, she’d thought she’d heard footsteps pounding the ground behind her, but it could have been her own. Her heart had been beating too loud to tell for certain, her blood rushing in her ears. She’d been too afraid to look back until just now.
Seeing a pile of rotting wooden pallets up ahead, Bailey sprinted—fast and quiet—never letting go of Aiden. She’d ducked into a baby sling on the way out the door and placed him inside, but she didn’t trust the cloth to keep him secure as she ran. A baby’s tiny neck was so thin. She used her forearm as reinforcement up his spine, cradling his head in her palm through the sling.
So far, he hadn’t cried. But if he did?
She didn’t have anything else with her. No purse. No cell phone. No pacifier or bottle for Aiden.
She swallowed hard, practically choking from lack of air as she slid behind the pile of pallets.
“Shh. Shh. We’re okay,” she whispered to Aiden, wishing she had the smallest sense of direction to know where to go next.
Dawson had ridden his bicycle through the woods to her house earlier in the week. Maybe if she ran long enough, she’d arrive in her own backyard. She’d let her father take care of the psycho following her.
But she had no idea where she was or in which direction she’d run.
“Gah!” The baby’s sudden noise startled her.