Читать книгу: «The Cradle Mission»

“You’re going home with me tonight.”

“No—”

“Don’t argue with me. You damn near got yourself killed. No telling what could have happened to Simon.” He reached out and laid a palm against Simon’s cheek. “The baby needs a safe place for a while. And I want some answers.”

“Thanks for rescuing us, Cain, but I can’t stay with you.” Alanna gathered all her strength to remain still when he tried to urge her forward. “Please, just let me go.”

“I’m not letting you drive off tonight with Simon. And if you don’t level with me about my brother, I’ll haul you in for withholding information in a murder investigation.”

“Please, Cain, no.”

His steely gaze didn’t waver. “If you don’t want me to call the police in, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

Alanna reached for the car door handle. Cain grabbed it first, wrapping one arm around her. “Don’t get any ideas about running. I’m going to be right behind you.”

The Cradle Mission
Rita Herron

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Alanna Hayes—A pediatric nurse who will do anything to protect baby Simon—even kidnap him and go into hiding.

Cain Caldwell—A cop who believes Alanna is responsible for his brother’s death; will he turn her over to the authorities or become her personal protector?

Eric Caldwell—Cain’s brother and a vigilante who put his reputation and life on the line to help abused women. Did he die for his cause?

Simon—An innocent baby who becomes a pawn in a ruthless scientific experiment called Project Simon.

Paul Polenta—A geneticist who helped Alanna escape with Simon; is he Simon’s father?

Randall Ames and Stanley Peterson—Fertility specialists who created Project Simon; how far will they go to protect their secrets?

William Elk—The OB-GYN who delivered Simon. He knows the names of Simon’s parents, but will he die before he reveals them?

Arnold Hughes—The former CEO of the Coastal Island Research Park. Has he resurfaced from the dead? And if so, what is his relationship to Simon?

Phyllis French—This reporter believes Simon is her baby and will do anything to get him back, even commit murder.

To Jenni and Jennifer

for not laughing when I go out on a limb

(or at least for laughing in private!).

Thanks a million.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter One

Catcall Island

“Kill her,” the man ordered in a gruff voice. “Then take the baby.”

Alanna Hayes’s heart constricted. She had to save herself, so she could save baby Simon.

Frantic, she tried to free the bindings encasing her wrists, scanning the dark interior of the lab storage room for an escape. Shadows claimed the corners, dark clouds casting bleakness through the small window, the sound of rain slashing against the metal roof ominous. Another man’s husky voice filtered through the darkened doorway.

She should have known better than to snoop into unauthorized areas, but she hadn’t expected the security guard to take her hostage at gunpoint. And now they’d kept her in this cold, cramped space for hours, making her wonder—

The voice broke the silence again, a harsh mumble. She didn’t recognize the men’s voices. Did they belong to the doctors at the research center where she worked? The security guards?

Were they really going to kill her? And what would happen to innocent little Simon? He was only four months old, he needed her….

“I don’t like the idea of murder,” a deep voice said.

“We have no choice,” the man said matter-of-factly. “But make it look like an accident.”

“What are you going to do with the baby?”

A chill rippled up Alanna’s spine. The thickly accented voice belonged to her boss, Paul Polenta, one of the leading researchers in gene therapy in the country.

God, no. He couldn’t be a part of this…this lab project. She’d liked him, had thought he was a brilliant, caring doctor. Just as she’d believed everyone at the Coastal Island Research Park intended to help people.

She’d been wrong.

The man’s gruff voice cut through her fear like a razor blade scraping raw skin. “We’re taking him to the lab as planned.”

“Won’t it draw suspicion if one of our nurses turns up dead?” Polenta’s voice quivered. “After all, what does she really know?”

“Too much. I found her snooping in my files.” The other man cleared his throat, the sound echoing beneath the eerie drone of the rain. “And I’ve worked too damn long on Project Simon to let some nurse destroy it. I chose her because she has no family. No one will come looking for her.”

“She has a grandmother—”

“Who barely knows her name, much less if her granddaughter visits.”

Alanna’s chest constricted. Her grandmother had Alzheimer’s. The center’s research on the disease had been one thing that had led Alanna to take a job at CIRP. Even if her grandmother didn’t always recognize her, Gran counted on her visits. She had no one else. What would she think when Alanna didn’t show up for her weekly visit?

“But murder?” Polenta asked, sounding shaken. “We’re doctors, for Christ’s sake.”

“Hell, man, think of your reputation. You wouldn’t be able to work anywhere in the country if word leaked about this project. The Holy Rollers would picket. The press, the cops, the feds, they’d be all over us.” His voice escalated several decibels. “And the government would shut us down. Then there’s the damn Russians…”

Polenta grunted. “Can’t we use one of those experimental drugs to alter her memory?”

“Not after the mess with that cop, Clayton Fox, and the scientist Wells and his wife. I want all loose ends tied up,” the first man ordered. “Now let’s get out of here. We need to be long gone when the building blows.”

Outside, the rain intensified, pounding the roof with brutal force. Fear paralyzed Alanna as the voices faded into the howling wind. They were going to leave her to die. Then she’d never be able to save Simon. To hold the precious infant in her arms again. To see him gurgle and smile. To watch him grow. To know he would have a normal life.

The outside door slammed shut. Silence followed, earth-shattering in its intensity. The low hum of a car engine sprang to life in the chilling aftermath. Thunder rumbled. Car doors closed. Gravel crunched, then tires screeched as the car peeled away.

Tears trickled down her cheeks, soaking the rag in her mouth. How long did she have before the building blew? Minutes? Seconds?

Time enough to escape? And if she did, could she find Simon and save him?

Fighting panic, she forced herself to breathe through her nose, and shuddered at the strange odor. Gas? Or was it another lethal chemical? Her heart pounding, she twisted in the chair, searching the darkness, hunting for something to help free her. Dust motes floated through the haze. Spiderwebs clung to the corners. Her eyes slowly adjusted. Lightning flashed, momentarily illuminating the sooty darkness. She searched the metal shelves and cement floor. Assorted flasks, test tubes, lab supplies.

A broken petri dish in the far corner.

She struggled to slide sideways, then slowly pushed herself up from the chair. Dizzy from the gas fumes, her legs buckled and her knees hit the concrete with a painful thud. The chair legs splintered. She winced, pitching forward, but managed to right herself, then crawled awkwardly toward the supplies.

Several long minutes later, she grasped in the dark for the broken glass and maneuvered it behind her. Thunder rent the air outside as she sawed through the thick ropes. Sweat streamed down her neck. The jagged glass jabbed her palm. Somewhere in the distance, the incessant ticking of a clock chimed. Or was it a bomb?

Her heart racing, she ignored the cramping in her muscles, the pounding in her head. Finally the rope frayed. She tugged until the ends came apart, freeing her hands.

Jerking the gag from her mouth, she heaved for air and quickly cut through the ropes around her ankles. Dizzy, she staggered to the door. Damn! It was locked. The ticking sound escalated in her head, reminding her to hurry. Then the door swung open.

A scream died in her throat.

Polenta’s hulking frame stood in the shadowed awning.

“Alanna.” His expression looked pained.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please…don’t do this, Paul. Let me take Simon and leave.” She grabbed his arms, shaking him. She was crying openly now. “I love that baby, I’m the only person he knows. You can’t let him be treated like a science experiment.”

His jaw tightened, but he dragged her outside. Gravel crunched beneath her feet. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, illuminating his angry face. His fingers dug into her arms. Where was he taking her? Was he going to kill her himself?

She fought against him, shoving and kicking, but he slapped one hand over her mouth. “Be quiet.”

Panic once again surged through her, but he pushed her down the narrow alley, then slammed her up against a black sedan. A cat screeched in the background. A low streetlight glittered off the deep puddles of water. She struggled again, but he jerked her head back so far she thought her neck would pop. Rain poured off his face, hitting her, and running off the car. Fog coated the tinted windows.

Then she saw him.

Simon was in a car seat, sleeping peacefully, his thumb tucked in his mouth. Her heart lurched. She wanted to reach out and grab the child so badly she almost doubled over.

Why was Paul doing this? Was he trying to torture her?

Suddenly he released his grip, spun her around and shoved an envelope toward her. The dark stubble on his face looked almost as abrasive as his piercing gray eyes. “There’s some money and a cell phone in here in case you need to contact me. Take the baby, go to Atlanta, to Lake Lanier, and find Eric Caldwell. He’ll help you.”

Alanna’s pulse hammered against her ribs. “You’re…you’re letting me take Simon?”

“I…yes.” He ran a hand through sweat and rain-soaked black hair, his expression clouded with remorse. “The baby deserves a real life, not the kind they want him to have. And if Arnold Hughes resurfaces, there’s no telling what he’d do.”

“Oh, God, Paul, thank—”

“Don’t thank me, Alanna.” His bleak tone sent a shudder of terror through her. “You don’t know what you’re up against. When they discover you’re alive, they’ll hunt you down like an animal. They’ll kill you just to keep you quiet.” He gestured toward the dash. “My pistol’s in there if you need it.”

Alanna trembled at the thought. She couldn’t shoot anyone. “I can go to the police, to the papers.”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t you understand? Simon is different. We don’t have time to get into the details now.” The sound of a car backfiring in the distance jarred them both, and he opened the door. The baby stirred inside the black interior. Paul gave him a sad look, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “If you go public, Simon won’t have a chance. Every researcher across the world is going to want their hands on him for testing. And think of the press, labeling him, dogging him his whole life.”

He was right. “Then I have to run.”

Polenta nodded, then took one long look at her, regret, confusion, resignation in his eyes. The envelope crinkled in her hands as he released it. “You can trust Eric Caldwell, he’s an old friend of mine. He works with a monastery that helps abused women obtain new identities. They can make you invisible.” He scrubbed his hand over his neck. “But watch out for his brother. He’s a local cop, ex-military, with some kind of medical background. He might be trouble.”

She nodded, got in the car and started the engine. “What about you, Paul?”

He placed a shaky hand on her bruised cheek. “Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Simon.” He murmured some phrase in Spanish she didn’t understand, kissed his fingers, then touched them to her hand. “God be with you.”

Alanna gave him a last, soulful look, then put the car into gear and sped off.

Just as she exited the alley, the building exploded behind her.

Lake Lanier, Georgia

The next morning

CAIN CALDWELL PROPPED a booted foot against the doorjamb in his brother’s small cabin, well aware Eric seemed to be in a hurry. Early morning sunlight settled over the dark room, highlighting his brother’s gray expression. Eric was throwing together a suitcase, the bare essentials strewn across his oak bed, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Dammit, Eric, just tell me if you know anything about Charlene Banks.”

“I told you I didn’t,” Eric said irritably. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. You’d probably hunt her down and arrest her instead of that sorry-ass old man of hers who beats her every other day.”

Cain gritted his teeth. Damn his little brother’s vigilante ways. Eric had a good heart, but his methods weren’t always on the up-and-up. The very reason Cain had had to stop by. Official police business.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, forcing himself to study Eric’s reaction as he made the announcement. “Her sorry-ass husband is dead.”

Eric hesitated, but only for a split second, before he threw his head back and laughed. “Nice present for her. I hope he suffered like hell.”

Cain silently agreed. But he was a cop, and he lived his life by the law. He had to think in terms of black-and-white, not shades of gray, as his brother did. “Look, my captain suspects you’re running some covert operations here. I can’t keep covering for you.”

“Covering for me?” Eric stabbed his cigarette into an empty cola can, stuffed his laptop into a black leather case, then slung the strap over his shoulder. “Is that what you call hauling my butt in for questioning three times this year?”

“They were all legitimate cases. What choice did I have?” Cain’s patience snapped. “I know you’re helping abused women find cover, which is not a bad thing, but what about that drug dealer who disappeared?”

“I don’t know anything about him,” Eric argued. “Don’t you have something better to do than harass me, like look for some real crooks?”

Cain clenched his jaw. “Where’s the witness in the Bronsky case, Eric?”

“What?” Sarcasm laced Eric’s voice. “Did the police lose another witness?”

“We do the best we can. Do you know where he is?”

“Can’t help you, bro.”

“You can’t go around undermining the cops and the FBI, Eric, or killing every criminal who escapes the system.”

His brother glared at him, blue eyes blazing. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

Cain swallowed. Why did he even try? They would never see eye to eye. Yet he loved him all the same.

“I just don’t want to see you get in trouble. It’s like you’re on a death mission, taking everything into your own hands. One day you’re going to cross the wrong people.”

“Like you don’t cross the wrong kind of people all the time.” Eric grabbed his keys off the battered dresser and strode toward the door.

“It’s not the same thing. I’ve got people covering me. You’re on your own.”

Eric hesitated momentarily, his shoulders squared. “You could quit the force and help me. Make it your New Year’s resolution.”

“New Year’s has come and gone.” Their gazes locked briefly and Cain’s stomach clenched. Eric was serious.

But Cain could not straddle the line. He had sworn to uphold the law and do it honestly and he’d die trying to do just that. “You could join the force, make enforcing the law your focus.”

“I guess we’ve hit that impasse again,” Eric said quietly.

Cain clamped down on his jaw and shook his head, frustrated and worried. “Watch your back. If you get in trouble—”

“Then you’ll be there to help me.” A cocky grin slid on his brother’s face. “Now, I’d love to stay and argue politics, but I gotta go.”

Cain caught him by the arm before he could fly past. “Where are you going?”

Eric stared him down hard, the dark emotions in his eyes a reminder of the bond they’d shared growing up. The painful memories—the awful fights in his house, the night their mother had given up and committed suicide.

Eric had only been ten. The police had let them down then, the very reason he justified using his own methods. The reason he refused to work with the police.

But Cain had done the opposite—he’d made enforcing the law his life.

“I have business to take care of,” Eric said in a quiet voice. “Legitimate business with the ranch.”

Cain studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded, although he didn’t believe him for a second. He released him anyway, then stood in the doorway and watched while Eric threw his bag over his shoulder, stalked down the long driveway behind his cabin to the lean-to he’d built as a carport for his Jeep. Eric had built the cover near the woods so the sun wouldn’t blister his new paint job. Ironic, since the Jeep would take a mud bath going through the north Georgia mountains to get to his ranch. If that was where Eric was really going.

Dark clouds rolled in, obliterating the fledgling rays of sun. The wind howled off the lake, like it had the day his mother had taken her own life.

Her screams haunted him.

He shook away the 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.

“Eric’s not here.” For some reason, he could not make himself say the words aloud, that Eric was dead. “I’m his brother, Cain.”

“Oh.” She took a wobbly step backward, the one word filled with so much disappointment that he narrowed his eyes. The baby whimpered and she crooned, murmuring nonsensical assurances in that throaty voice that tore at his gut.

“What did you want with Eric?”

Her gaze raked over him, wary and uncertain. “I…we had an appointment. He didn’t make it.”

The jolt slammed into him again, both sensual awareness and something else—suspicion? Eric was supposed to meet this woman today? The day he had died? Was that where he had been rushing to in such a hurry?

One look at the baby and another thought crossed his mind. Eric had so many secrets.

Or was she another one of his charity cases, running to Eric for help?

His jaw tightened with dread.

Could she possibly have something to do with his brother’s murder?

ALANNA COULD NOT STOP the trembling inside her, but she made a valiant attempt to mask it in front of this man. The interior of the cabin was dark, a single light from a small lamp looming somewhere in a back room. Something was wrong. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. Despair hung in the room, heavy and intense, a mirror of her own mood.

Paul Polenta’s warnings rang in her head. Watch out for the brother. He’s a cop, ex-military, medical background. He could be trouble.

Emotions seemed to war in his eyes as he glared down at her. His black gaze was so penetrating and soulful she stepped backward, intimidated by the anger simmering beneath the surface. His potent sexuality drummed up every feminine instinct within her. And every protective one as well. She had to guard herself against him.

He was starkly handsome and one of the biggest men she’d ever met, well over six feet, with broad shoulders that pulled against the fabric of his faded black T-shirt, and hands that could probably crush a rock. Black hair framed a chiseled face that was all planes and angles and solid strength, and the thick black stubble of a five-o’clock shadow indicated he hadn’t shaved today. Bronzed skin covered well-defined muscles, the heat radiating from him so powerful her belly clenched.

He’d been drinking. She smelled the beer on his breath and, for a faint moment, wondered if alcohol affected his temperament. It didn’t matter.

He was Eric Caldwell’s brother. Paul had warned her not to trust him.

She should get out of there fast.

But where would she go?

She had to find Eric Caldwell.

“Come in and we’ll talk.” He gestured toward the shadowed foyer.

Alanna hesitated, but she slowly moved inside, hugging Simon to her. “I’d like to wait on your brother if you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s important that I see him. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Pain flashed in his eyes. “He’s not coming back.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering her, his voice hardened, almost defensively. He shut the door and moved in front of it. “Tell me how you know Eric, and why you were meeting him.”

Renewed panic wove its way inside her. “I…I can’t. It’s confidential.”

“You want to know about Eric, you have to talk to me, lady.”

His harsh tone startled Simon. Tension escalated between them as she tried to soothe him. Oddly, Cain Caldwell shifted and jammed his hands in his pockets, his face pinched as if Simon’s cries disturbed him almost as much as they did her.

Thankfully he did lower his voice. “You can start by telling me your name.”

She glanced around, spotted a newspaper lying on the hall table, and saw a headline about a Jane Doe. “Jane…Jane Carter.”

A thick, black eyebrow rose in question. “How well did you know Eric, Jane?”

He murmured the name as if he suspected it was fake, and she shifted Simon on her shoulder, rubbing circles around his back. “Well enough,” she hedged.

His other eyebrow rose. “You were involved personally?” He nodded at Simon. “And the little boy?”

Alanna opened her mouth to tell him no, then clamped down on her tongue, reminding herself not to offer too much information. If this man thought the baby was his brother’s or that they’d been friends, maybe he’d help her. At least maybe he’d tell her where she could find Eric.

“I really need to talk to Eric,” she said instead of answering him. “Can you just tell me where he is? Please?”

Once again that deep pain flashed into his eyes. “What’s left of him is lying in a brown casket at the Bay Street Funeral Home.”

Shock rippled through every nerve in Alanna’s body. She shook her head, refusing to believe what he’d implied with his blunt statement.

If Eric was dead, she and Simon were all alone. They had no one to help them.

His patience snapped, and he suddenly grabbed her arms. “Yes, Ms. Carter,” he said in a harsh voice. “My brother was murdered a few hours ago. His car exploded right down there, near the woods behind his house. The day he was supposed to meet you. If you know something about his murder, you’d better tell me, now.”

She glanced out the screen door and saw the marks, the charred black lines on the gravel, the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. Cain Caldwell’s accusations sank in, fear spiraling through her.

Had Eric Caldwell died because he’d agreed to help her?

THE WOMAN’S FRAIL BODY shuddered within Cain’s hands, and shame washed over him. The image of his brother’s burned body being pulled from the wreckage of his Jeep haunted him, yet he had no right to take his grief out on this vulnerable, needy woman.

That was something his father would have done.

He had sworn he’d be a better man than his father.

He exhaled a shaky breath and released her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Carter.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his throat thick. “It’s been a hell of a day.” Of course, judging from her battered body, she’d had better days, too. Perspiration dotted her forehead, yet her hands had felt clammy. She had a fever, he realized, and wondered how long she’d been sick.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” Panic gave the woman’s voice an edge. She clutched the baby tighter and backed away. “I…I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Wait a minute—”

“No, I have to go.” She turned and ran, the baby’s cries escalating over the howling wind as she shielded it from the rain.

“Wait, come back here!” He ran down the porch steps, but she slammed the car door, started the engine and tore down the driveway.

Cain’s heart pounded. If she was in trouble and had come to Eric for help, he owed it to his brother to help her. And if she knew something, anything, that might tell him who had killed Eric, he had to get her to talk. Swiping a hand across his face, he grabbed his leather bomber jacket off the coatrack, yanked his keys from his pocket and ran out the back door to his car. He would follow her and see where she was headed.

Maybe she’d lead him to his brother’s murderer.

Chapter Three

Someone was following her.

Like a ghost breathing down her neck, Alanna sensed them on her tail. Hovering in the distance. Watching her. Ready to pounce on her. Was it Cain Caldwell?

Or someone who wanted Simon?

Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her heart pounding.

Rain attacked the car, the blinding whirl of water so heavy she could barely see the winding road two feet in front of her. She needed a place to stay for the night, a place to feed Simon. She had to catch her breath and think of a new plan.

Simon squirmed, his pudgy fists waging a war with the blanket she’d draped over him. The radio announcer broke into the music again with another update on the storm.

“The heavy rains are coming in off the coast of Florida, folks, a remnant of Hurricane Haley. A travel advisory is in effect for all of northern and middle Georgia.”

Great. It wouldn’t let up tonight, and she couldn’t cover any kind of distance in this weather. Simon cried and she tried to soothe him with her voice. She dared not drag her eyes from the road. A slow line of cars swerved and crawled in front of her, a thin thread of light from the cars behind her filtering through the fog. Thinking Simon might be cold, she turned up the heat, ignoring the fact that she was sweating. She couldn’t shake this fever.

The announcer continued, “If you do not have to go out, folks, we suggest you stay inside. Power shortages have been reported in the eastern parts of the state, I-75 has been closed, and we already have several fatalities reported due to the wet conditions.”

The car suddenly skidded. Alanna steered into the skid, her heart racing as she grappled for control. Simon’s cries grew louder. Ahead, blue lights flashed and an ambulance wailed. An SUV spun a circle, slammed into the side of the guard rail and bounced off, sparks flying. A Suburban flew into him, the cars behind the Suburban piling up like dominoes. Metal crunched in front of her as the cars crashed into one another. Alanna slowed and swerved, barely escaping the collision.

Thank God.

But she and Simon might be here for hours.

The police would come. They might find out about him.

She had to get away.

A faded wooden post swayed amidst the blur of rain, the sign pointing to a side road that led to an old fishing lodge. It was probably empty. She could take refuge for the night, feed Simon and get on the road in the morning when the roads cleared.

Pain stabbed at her head, splintering through her body, but she ignored it. A few minutes later, she’d maneuvered the car down the dirt road to the end of a hollow and found a group of dilapidated wooden cabins interspersed amongst the newer lake property. Bundling Simon inside the blanket, she struggled up the rocky path, hunching her shoulders in the wind, trying to protect Simon from the rain. A single light burned from the rusted front of the main building. An elderly man huddled in a ratty fleece jacket greeted her at the door.

“My baby and I are stranded,” Alanna yelled over the whistle of the wind. “Could we have one of your cabins for the night?”

The old man narrowed bushy gray eyebrows at her and nodded. “I’ll get you a key. I’ve been expecting a few people tonight.”

Alanna paid him in cash, accepted the key and hurried to the nearest cabin with Simon huddled in her arms. Headlights broke the foggy landscape, at least two other cars having followed her. Ducking her head so they couldn’t see her, she pushed open the door to the cabin and hurried inside. Simon clutched a strand of her hair with his fist, his cries quieting slightly. The room was dark, cold and smelled of dust, but was better than sleeping in the car. Or being discovered.

She quickly locked the thin wooden door, slid the curtain aside, and looked outside at the cars beating a path up to the cabins. Simon cried again and she removed a bottle from his bag and offered it to him, grateful when he latched on and ate greedily.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she crooned.

Simon stared up at her. So trusting.

He couldn’t know she was lying. That she hadn’t a clue as to whether or not they would survive.

Shivering, she glanced out the window at the other stranded tourists who’d veered off the road to seek shelter. The bare tree branches bowed with the weight of the wind, and several of them snapped and fell to the ground. But her eyes tracked the people as they climbed from their cars, searching their faces.

Were they all travelers stranded and lost in the storm?

Or could one of them be after Simon?

PHYLLIS FRENCH STOOD beneath the shaded cover of the neighboring porch and watched Alanna.

She had been following her since she’d left Savannah.

Smiling to herself, she patted the soft gray curls of her wig, pulled the hood of the ancient parka over her head and grabbed a bundle of wool blankets. Hunching her shoulders, she limped as she approached the cabin where the young nurse had just taken residence.

She had to see the baby for herself.

To make sure Alanna still had him. That he was safe and sound.

Phyllis placed one hand on her flat stomach where an ache burned through her belly. Emptiness clawed at her, gut-wrenching in its intensity. But she couldn’t give in to the agony. She could alleviate the ache, though. When she got Simon.

And she would. She just had to be patient.

Stifling the emotions clogging her throat, she knocked on the door, knowing Alanna would be scared to open it.

“Who is it?” Alanna’s thin voice barely cut through in the wind.

Phyllis masked her own voice, smiling at how well she mimicked an old lady. “It’s Mr. Dimsdale’s wife with extra blankets. Thought you might want them in case we lose power during the night.”

The metal latch squeaked as Alanna slowly slid it open from the inside. Alanna Hayes had no idea what she’d gotten herself into. Or how to deal with the situation.

Phyllis almost felt sorry for her.

Except she had been a victim herself. Bitterness welled inside, like a virus twisting her gut into pieces. She missed her baby. Wanted him. Had to hold him.

“Miss, it’s cold out here,” she said, purposely letting her voice quiver.

“I’m sorry.” The door finally opened a crack and the nurse peered through the narrow opening, her big blue-green eyes frightened. But her expression softened at the sight of Phyllis’s stooped posture. Alanna exhaled, a tiny puff of relief Phyllis was certain the young woman hadn’t realized she’d emitted.

“Thanks. My husband said you have a baby. Is the little one all right?”

Wariness darkened Alanna’s features. “Why, yes…thank you for asking.”

“You need anything? Formula, diapers?” Phyllis smiled, revealing fake crooked teeth. “Anything for the baby?”

“No, we’re fine.” Alanna opened the door just enough to take the blankets. “And thanks for these.”

Wanting desperately to get a look at the baby, Phyllis tried to peer inside, but the damn woman had the door blocked. Then she heard the baby’s cry. A soft little gurgling sound that squeezed at her heart.

“I’d better go feed him,” Alanna said.

Phyllis nodded and fisted her hands as the door closed in her face. Despite the disappointment, excitement stirred in her chest, along with a deep longing. Ducking into the shadows of the trees, she hurried to the cabin she’d rented next door.

She would know when it was time to play her hand. When it was time to reveal herself and take Simon. And she would fight for him when that time came.

Until then, she’d be a shadow trailing Alanna Hayes’s every move.

One day she would have it all. She would claim Simon as hers, the way it should have been. She would have him and everything that went along with being his mother.

Because she knew all their dirty little secrets.

The researchers’. Dr. Polenta’s. Arnold Hughes’s.

Even Alanna Hayes’s.

CAIN SAT IN THE CAR in the blinding rain and studied the small cabin where Jane Carter, or whoever the hell she was, had hidden out for the night.

There was no question in his mind that she was hiding.

From whom, he didn’t know. But she’d even acted suspicious when the old caretaker had taken her blankets.

Most likely an abusive boyfriend or husband. Eric tended to have a soft spot for women like her. They’d both known the reason why. He’d even understood Eric’s actions, had wanted to cross the line a time or two himself, but he’d taken an oath to uphold the law and he intended to keep it.

Still, this woman’s sudden appearance seemed too coincidental.

Did it have anything to do with Eric’s death?

He parked out back near her car and settled in his seat. Surely she wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave during the night, not with the bad weather and a baby in tow, and that fever. He’d sack out in the car and get some sleep and question her in the morning. If she did know something that would help him find Eric’s killer, he didn’t intend to lose her.

But when he closed his eyes, he couldn’t shake the image of Eric’s burning car from his mind.

THE CLOCK GLARED at Cain in the dimness of the predawn sky, its bold numbers mocking him with the time. Five-thirty in the morning—almost twenty hours since the explosion. Twenty hours since he’d told his brother goodbye.

He hadn’t realized it would be the last time.

He folded his arms behind his head and stared at the woods, an image of the explosion, the burning car, his brother’s charred remains tormenting him. They’d haunt him for the rest of his life.

Dammit, he’d told Eric that eventually something would happen to him, but even as he’d issued the warning, he’d never imagined the worst coming true, especially so soon. Eric had always managed to beat the odds. He’d acted invincible. Maybe somewhere deep down, Cain had believed it, too.

Anguish overpowered him. He’d felt helpless yesterday when his captain had ordered him to sit out the case.

Today he would start investigating.

After he made the arrangements for the memorial service.

Eric had been only twenty-nine; how could he choose a plot of land to bury his ashes in? His cell phone rang. Not wanting to listen to another awkward condolence, he let the voice mail pick up, then retrieved it in case it was important.

“Caldwell, this is Flack. Just let me know when the service is and I’ll be there.” Cain’s captain cleared his throat, an uncharacteristic bit of emotion resonating in his voice. “And don’t plan on coming in for a while. We all know you need time to deal with this. Pirkle and Wade caught the case, so try and get some rest. We’ll find out who killed your brother.”

A bitter snort escaped him. Rest? Like hell. He wouldn’t rest until he found out who had turned his brother into a…no, he couldn’t think it. And he couldn’t sit around and let two half-cocked rookies handle the investigation.

Eric had devoted his life to helping victims, the vulnerable and the needy. In honor of his mother, Eric had said. If the cops had done their jobs, she wouldn’t have killed herself.

What if the locals or the feds discovered his brother had taken the law into his own hands a time or two? What if Eric had something to do with Charlene Banks’s husband’s death?

Could Cain bring himself to cover it up to protect Eric’s memory?

Jane Carter suddenly opened the door to the cabin she’d rented. She cuddled the baby to her chest and stumbled over the gravel, her face ashen, the dark circles beneath her eyes even more prominent this morning.

She was going to run. He recognized the fear in her agitated pace.

He opened the car door and stalked toward her, his gut clenching when she gripped the baby tighter and threw a terrified look his way.

FEAR SHOT THROUGH Alana at the sight of the imposing man standing before her. “You…you followed me?”

He held his hands out, palms up, to assure her he wouldn’t hurt her. “I wanted to talk, that’s all.”

“I…I have to go.”

She tried to sidestep him, but he caught her arm. “Listen, Ms. Carter, it’s obvious you’re in trouble. I can help you.”

Huge blue-green eyes stared at him, the tension palpable as she clutched the baby protectively against her. “I don’t need your help, Mr. Caldwell. I needed to see your brother.”

“About what?”

She hesitated, the faint line around her mouth twitched. “That was between the two of us.”

“Why won’t you talk to me? Because I’m a cop?”

Her sharp intake of breath echoed in the quiet morning air. “I just want to leave.” She glanced pointedly at his arm. “Now, please let me go.”

He stared at her for a long minute, trying to gauge the emotions in her eyes. He wondered at the secrets. But he didn’t bully women. And judging from the bruises around her arms, that was the kind of man she’d known. So he released her and took a step back, giving her space.

“I have to find the person who killed my brother.” The stark need in his own voice must have gotten to her. She faltered, her pleading look full of regret and sorrow.

But fear overrode those feelings, and she reached for the car door. “I really am sorry about your brother. I wish I could help you but I can’t.”

Fear laced her voice, coupled with sincere remorse, which surprised him. How well had she known Eric? She strapped the baby into the car seat and started the car. When she drove away, he saw tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dammit, he wanted to help her, but she obviously didn’t want his help. And he had Eric’s funeral. He had to be with his brother.

Mud and rocks spewed from the back of her car as she barreled down the driveway. A green Honda pulled out behind her, a woman at the wheel. Was she following Jane or just another tourist? He memorized both license plate numbers anyway. He’d check them out later.

But now he had to go and say goodbye to his brother.

PAUL POLENTA PULLED at the leather straps holding him prisoner on the steel table, his body limp with drugs. The overhead fluorescent light glared directly at him, nearly blinding him, triggering pinpoints of pain behind his eyes. The scent of alcohol, formaldehyde and other chemicals wafted around him and he felt an icy numbness.

The irony of his situation didn’t escape him. He was a genius of modern science, now trapped, a virtual prisoner of the same technology.

What had they given him? How long had he been lying here? Hours, days? Time shifted in and out of focus, as did the voices, the faces, the bare white walls. He tried to move his head to the side to determine his location, but he couldn’t move. Was he in one of the research labs on Nighthawk Island? The surgical wing?

An echo of footsteps clicking on the hard floor droned into his consciousness, low, muffled voices growing nearer. He remembered talking to them. Telling them something…

They must have given him a truth serum. What had he told them? Had he mentioned Eric’s name? Had he told them his address?

God, he couldn’t remember.

Had they found Alanna? Simon?

In spite of the cold, beads of sweat rolled down his face. Regret swept over him almost as strong as the physical pain in his stomach. Why had he crossed the line and let them talk him into agreeing to play God? How had he ever justified tampering with people’s lives?

Suddenly a blur of white moved in front of him.

Paul tried to speak, but his tongue was swollen and stuck to the roof of his mouth. Through the haze, he finally discerned the distinct lines of a man’s face: the thick bulbous nose, the mole on his chin, a scar above his right eye. Peterson? Ames? Hughes? The doctor raised a hypodermic, tapped it, then lowered the needle, a frown of concentration pulling at the deep grooves of his face. Paul fought, but the weight of the drugs had paralyzed him. The needle pricked his arm, and slowly warmth seeped through his veins, numbing and languid. The light was so bright, so harsh, it swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors.

Then darkness overcame him, swallowing him into its vortex. Was he finally going to die?

Maybe it was better he did. Better to die than face the shame of his family learning what he’d done. That he’d sent them money at the sacrifice of his honor.

Alanna Hayes’s beautiful face appeared in his mind’s eye. He saw her holding baby Simon in her arms, cuddling the infant, rocking him good-night, whispering goodbye. He just prayed they didn’t find her.

ALANNA’S THROAT CONVULSED, and clogged with tears as she sped away from the cabin. Simon flailed his hands, and she crooned to him while the winding dirt road blurred in front of her.

Where could she go now?

Although her fever-ridden body had finally given in to exhaustion around four in the morning and she’d slept for an hour, despair and fear had kept her awake most of the night.

Eric Caldwell was dead.

The grief and pain in his brother’s eyes had nearly ripped the last vestiges of her control right from her. She’d wanted to tell him everything. To plead for his help. But something had stopped her.

She spared a glance at Simon who popped his chubby thumb into his mouth and began to suckle it. He trusted her to take care of him.

But could she live up to his trust?

The only person in the world she’d thought could help them was a stranger who had been killed the same day he was supposed to meet her.

Guilt pressed heavily against her.

What was she doing to do now? How could she possibly keep Simon safe and give him a new life without Eric Caldwell’s help? And how could she live with his death on her conscience?

Chapter Four

The brisk January wind tossed brown leaves across the graveyard, the whistle of winter a bitter reminder of the emptiness that had settled inside Cain’s chest. Head bent, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded leather jacket, he stared at the ground where his brother’s remains lay, the steel gray of the casket the same drab color as the clouds hovering above.

The gatherers were sparse. It was a sad testament to Eric that he had so few friends. Yet he had helped so many nameless, faceless strangers who had drifted through his life for a day or week until he could help them move on. They might mourn him if they were still around. Or if they dared come out of hiding. But they didn’t.

A few of Cain’s friends from the police force had turned out for the memorial service, more out of respect for him than his brother, since half the force had had run-ins with Eric over the past two years.

They hadn’t seen Eric’s good side like he had. They hadn’t known that the man who pretended not to care about anyone or anything, the hardened renegade who crossed the line and had little regard for the law, was really a tender heart inside, risking his life and reputation to give hope to abused women.

Cain’s throat ached from grief, and his cheeks stung from the wind sifting through the limbs of the nearby trees.

The minister offered a few words of prayer, the same mindless mutterings that should offer hope to those left behind, but Cain felt too numb and angry to be comforted.

“You doing okay?” Captain Bobby Flack laid a broad hand on Cain’s shoulder.

Cain shrugged. What could he say? Hell no, I watched my brother get blown up, and couldn’t do anything to stop it. Cain was the oldest; he should have protected him…

“You need some time off, Caldwell. Take it.”

Cain shot him a dark look. He didn’t want time off. He wanted to be on the case and Flack damn well knew it.

The scrape of dirt being hoisted into shovels and thrown onto his brother’s casket jerked his attention back to the grave. His co-workers shuffled by, one by one, heads bowed, voices low as they offered their condolences. Cain nodded and grunted, knowing the men didn’t expect any more. Not that the officers didn’t face their own mortality every day; probably why it made them all so damn uncomfortable to attend a funeral.

“We’ll get the person who did this,” Wade said as he moved past.

“Hang in there, man,” Pirkle added.

Cain’s throat closed as the mound of dirt grew higher. From his pocket he pulled the gold cross that had belonged to Eric, and ran his thumb over the worn, cool gold, remembering the day his mother had given it to his brother. Eric’s thirteenth birthday.

Eric had already started to develop an attitude. He’d gotten into several scrapes and brawls at school, had beaten up some bully who’d been picking on a younger girl. They’d come home from school that day and found their mother bruised and battered again, lying on the sofa with an ice pack on her face. Their father had left, Eric’s birthday not even a speck of dust in his memory.

Furious over his mother’s black eye, Eric had wanted to tear out of the low-rent flat where they’d been living and charge after his dad, but his mother had told him he couldn’t leave, not on his birthday. Then she’d shown him the homemade cake she’d baked and given him the cross. Cain could still see the tears in her eyes as she’d hung the cross around his neck.

“This is to remind you of the good in the world, so you don’t grow up to be like your father,” she said.

And Eric hadn’t. He might not have followed the letter of the law, but he hadn’t deserved to die the way he had.

Someone had to pay for his death. And if Cain found whoever had killed him, he would take care of them himself. To hell with his badge. He wanted justice. No—he wanted more than that.

He wanted revenge.

SIMON’S SMALL SOUNDS of hunger grew more incessant over the miles.

“I’ll feed you when we reach the monastery,” Alanna promised. “We’ll be there soon, honey.” Alanna struggled to remain calm as she veered from the winding road onto the highway that led to Buford.

Simon continued to fret over the next few miles, the countryside changing to suburbia. She glanced at her rearview mirror, trying to decide if the dark car was following her or if she’d finally succumbed to paranoia.

When she’d left Cain Caldwell, she’d debated whether to return to the lake cabin, but she was afraid he’d show up, probing for more information on Simon. This morning she’d remembered Paul telling her that Eric Caldwell had helped women go underground through a local monastery in Buford, and she’d searched the phone book for a number. Thankfully, there was only one listed in the small town, although there were several others in and around the city of Atlanta.

Headlights flashed ahead, nearly blinding her, but she managed to stay on the road, Simon’s cries escalating. “Hang on, sweetie, we’re almost there.” She checked the directions, then the numbers along the street, grateful to see the side road that led to the monastery. She turned down the road, then steered the car into the long driveway, her stomach knotting as Simon’s wails increased. A huge stone structure surrounded by black iron gates sat back from the road, woods surrounding it. Although the building seemed imposing, she had no choice. She needed help and she had nowhere else to turn.

Simon was screaming now, thrashing his fists and hands wildly. She stopped in front of the building, but darkness shrouded the stone structure, and the mixture of overgrown weeds and dead leaves and broken rock near the awning was not a good sign. Neither was the broken glass in the window to the side or the spiderwebs climbing like vines up the walls of the building.

The building had obviously been abandoned.

She was just about to drop her head and give in to tears when a dark sedan crept up the driveway toward her. Dear God. The car had been following her.

Adrenaline and self-preservation kicked in. She shoved the car into Drive, hit the gas and took off, passing the car and flying toward the highway. She tightened her hands around the steering wheel as the screeching tires roared behind her. Swerving onto the main road, she drove like a demon.

But a few minutes later, she bumped across the railroad tracks just before the railroad crossing warning dinged. Then the crossing rails lowered and trapped the sedan, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The shrill sound of her cell phone cut into her reprieve. Alanna’s heart raced as she glanced at it. Was Paul calling her?

Hands shaking, she answered it. “Hello?”

“Ms. Hayes, this is a friend of Eric Caldwell’s.”

Her breath hitched. “You worked with Eric?”

“Yes. He told me about your call. I know he was supposed to meet you the day he died.”

Relief spilled through her. “You work for the same organization as Eric?”

“Yes. He gave me your cell number in case he couldn’t reach you.”

“I went to the monastery but it was closed.”

“I know. Meet me at the cemetery where Eric is buried.” He recited short directions in a clipped voice. “And make sure you’re not followed.”

“I will. Thank you.” She checked her rearview mirror and drove toward the graveyard. Thank heavens Eric had told someone else about her. Maybe they could help her and Simon escape.

CAIN HAD TRIED TO LEAVE the cemetery several times, but each time his legs had refused to work. Now he sat on the ground beside the fresh mound of dirt with his head down, so swamped with childhood memories of Eric that he could barely breathe.

He caught the flicker of a gray parka in his peripheral vision and glanced sideways.

Jane Carter, the woman with the baby, had come to Eric’s grave. Her frail figure stood like a ghost in the shadows of the trees only a few feet away. The baby lay bundled in her arms, her shivering form a staunch reminder of the terror he’d seen in her eyes that morning and the day before.

He had to know why she’d come.

And why she’d been drawn to his brother’s grave when she’d been in such a hurry to escape from him this morning.

ALANNA ROCKED the baby in her arms, shielding him from the howling wind with her coat as she searched the graveyard for the man who’d phoned her.

She spied a man sitting hunched over on the ground beside Eric’s grave. Was it Cain or the man who had called to help her?

Gravel crunched behind her, the footfalls of someone approaching sending a chill up her spine. She turned around, half expecting the men in the black car to have dogged her, but the shadow of a woman deep in the heart of the knotty pines flickered. Alanna couldn’t distinguish the woman’s face or anything else about her, except that she wore black. Maybe she worked for the organization, too. Or was she just a mourner?

Then the man turned and looked straight at her and she realized it was Cain. The anguish in his eyes nearly made her legs buckle.

She couldn’t let him see her. Alanna pivoted and started back to her car, but before she reached it, Cain caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

“I thought you were headed out of town.” Cain Caldwell’s hulking body towered over her, and Polenta’s warning rang in her head. Be careful of Eric’s brother. He had some military background, medical training. Don’t let him know about Simon.

“I am. But I thought I’d stop and pay my respects to your brother.” Not much of a lie, but she was so rattled she couldn’t think.

“So you knew Eric well?”

She shrugged, not knowing how to answer. Eric had had a nice voice. She just prayed he truly hadn’t died because of her.

A drop of sleet hit Cain Caldwell’s cheek, another pelted the ground below. Dead leaves fluttered into his black hair, across his leather jacket and onto the ground, but he seemed oblivious to the cold or the weather. Except for the black irises of his eyes. They burned with an intensity that seared her.

“Your brother was a good man,” she said, knowing in her heart it was true. He had planned to help her. No questions asked.

“Yes, he was.” His jaw twitched slightly, the only indication her comment had affected him. “Not everyone realized that, though. Sometimes he liked to straddle the line of the law.”

“He…I’m so sorry he’s gone.”

Again that twitch in his jaw. “Tell me why you’re here.” His gaze flickered over her. Then Simon.

As if Simon realized he was being scrutinized, he squirmed in her arms, one fist sneaking out of the blanket. She tucked it back and soothed him, not wanting the cold air to touch his skin.

“I…I need to go.” She gestured toward Simon. “I don’t want him to get sick.”

She moved quickly to escape him, but Cain pulled her toward him, holding her so close his breath bathed her face. He’d obviously neglected to shave, and the dark stubble of his beard looked abrasive. She heard his teeth grind as he clenched them.

“It’s no coincidence that someone murdered my brother the same day you showed up needing help,” he said in a low growl. “Tell me what you’re afraid of and who you’re running from.”

She had no idea what to do or what to tell him. But his fingers dug into her arms tighter, almost to the point of pain. If he thought she had caused his brother’s death, would he take his anger out on her? Would he turn Simon over to the scientists searching for him or expose his birth circumstances publicly?

A shudder coursed through her. She could not let him do that to Simon.

His grip tightened as he stared deeper into her eyes. The way the guards on Nighthawk Island had handled her, their brutal force and threats suddenly rushed back, haunting her. She jutted her chin in the air, hoping the shiver in her body didn’t betray her show of bravado. “I’m running from men like you.” She purposely lowered her eyes to his hand where his fingers held onto her.

His gaze dropped to his hand, too, and he went still. He released her so suddenly that she stumbled backward, then caught herself and leaned against the tree to calm her nerves.

“I’m sorry.” His apology gushed out, so quick and gruff that she blinked to make certain she’d heard it. Then she saw him glance at the bruises on her wrist, and his anger transformed into regret. He held his hands up and frowned at them, then stepped away from her, as if to give her the freedom to leave if she wanted. “I won’t hurt you.”

She nodded stiffly, as uncomfortable with this tender side as she had been with his gruff exterior.

“I simply want some answers.” He jerked his head toward the mound of his brother’s grave. “He was my baby brother. My…my only family.” He cleared his throat, pain lacing his thick voice. “I…I have to know who killed him.”

Alanna closed her eyes, the raw grief in his words pulling at her heartstrings. How could she help him without endangering herself or Simon? Polenta’s warnings reverberated over and over in her head. She couldn’t trust him…

“A…an ex-boyfriend is after me. He…” Lies tumbled through her mind. What would he believe? What would make him want to help her, not harm her or Simon?

“He’s the one who hit you?”

She nodded, shame washing over her for deceiving him. But Simon’s safety was the only thing that mattered. “I’m afraid he’ll hurt the baby.”

“The baby’s his?”

Before she could answer, a gunshot pierced the air. Cain pushed her and Simon behind a tree, and they both hit the ground, shielding Simon with their bodies.

Chapter Five

Cain’s jaw snapped tight. Who were these thugs? Why would they try to gun down an innocent woman and baby?

He pulled out his own weapon and aimed, then fired, sending the bullet into a tree only a few feet from the men’s heads. Jane screamed and the baby cried out.

The men froze. He fired again, this time hitting a lower tree branch that splintered and fell to the ground. He aimed the next one into the ground at the bald man’s feet. He reached for his cell phone to call for backup, but the men turned and ran toward their car, both heaving for air and looking over their shoulders in fear. His gaze swung back to Jane. She had scrambled behind a low bush, trying to quiet Simon but to no avail. Cain waited several seconds until the men’s car tore from the parking lot, then slipped as quietly as he could toward her. Seconds later, she raised her head and peered through the brush, cuddling Simon close as she searched for the men. He gently placed his hands on her arms. “Jane—”

She jerked to a standing position, ready to run.

“It’s okay now, they’re gone.” She was shaking so badly he did the only thing he could.

He pulled her and Simon into his arms and offered her comfort.

ALANNA FELL INTO Cain’s arms, knowing she should resist but unable to help herself from accepting the safety of his strong embrace. She’d been running scared for days with nowhere to turn, and she had come so close to losing Simon.

The phone call had been a setup. How had the men gotten her number and known about her contact with Eric? She should get rid of the phone—

Paul. Dear God, she couldn’t. It was her only way of staying in touch with him.

Simon seemed to calm, his cries quieting. Cain stroked his back in slow rhythmic motions, murmuring soft words of reassurance.

A tear threatened to escape but she blinked it back. She couldn’t allow herself the weakness.

“Are you all right?” Cain asked softly.

Alanna nodded against his chest, finally pulling away enough to look into his eyes. Simon angled his head toward her, then toward Cain as if to ask why someone would try to hurt them. Alanna kissed the baby gently on the cheek. “It’s okay, Simon. Everything’s all right now.”

“Who were those men?” Cain brushed at a leaf caught in her hair. “And don’t tell me one of them was your old boyfriend.”

She clutched Simon’s pudgy finger and disengaged herself from Cain’s arms, already missing his warmth and strength. “I don’t know.”

“Why are they after you?” His voice was low, but his gaze dared her to lie.

“I…my ex-boyfriend must have hired them to find me.”

“To gun you down?” Not that he hadn’t seen it all before. But he didn’t believe her.

“He wants me to come back.” She stumbled backward. “He’s obsessed…”

Cain steadied her. “Come on, you’re going home with me tonight.”

“No—”

“Don’t argue with me, Jane. You damn near got yourself killed. No telling what could have happened to Simon.” He reached out and laid a palm against Simon’s cheek. “The baby needs a safe place for a while. And I want some answers.”

“Thanks for rescuing us, Cain, but I can’t stay with you.”

He took her arm and ushered her toward her car, ignoring her protests. But as they reached it, he pulled her past the door. “We’ll come back for your car later.”

“No.” She might need to escape later. She needed her own wheels. “I can’t leave the car here.”

“Then I’ll send one of my buddies after it.”

One of his cop friends? “Then you’d have to tell them about me and Simon.”

“Yes. And if you’ll give me the name of this old boyfriend and a description, I’ll issue an APB for him.”

She halted, gathering all her strength to remain still when he tried to urge her forward. “You can’t do that, Cain. Please. Just let me go.”

“I’m not letting you drive off tonight with Simon. And if you don’t level with me about Eric, I’ll haul you in for withholding information in a murder investigation.”

“Please, Cain, no.”

“This obsessive boyfriend of yours might have followed you here and killed my brother.” He hesitated, obviously reading the panic in her face.

But his steely gaze didn’t waver. “If you don’t want me to call the police in, then when we get back to my place, you have to tell me what’s going on.” He gave her directions to the cabin.

She reached for the door handle. Cain grabbed it first, wrapping one arm around her. “And don’t get any ideas about running, Jane. I’m going to be right behind you.”

CAIN’S PULSE CLAMORED as he jumped in his Jeep. Sleet pelted the windshield, the bitter wind picking up. Trying to stay on Jane’s tail, he turned on the defroster as the car flew over the ruts in the dirt road.

The same small dark green Honda turned off the dirt road onto the highway and he caught a glimpse of black inside—was the woman following her?

Peering through the fogged windshield, he stayed right behind Jane’s Toyota. He tried to get a good look at the person in black inside, but the Honda suddenly pulled into a convenience store and he realized he must have been wrong about the car following Jane.

Still he called in the plates along with Jane’s. A few minutes later, he learned the Honda belonged to a woman named Phyllis French. She had no priors, no record, nothing unusual about her at all.

The car Jane drove belonged to a doctor named Paul Polenta. He had no record either, and the car hadn’t been reported stolen. So who was this Polenta guy? Was he the old boyfriend who’d been stalking her? Another lover?

DAMN.

Irritated, Phyllis slipped into the convenience store, grabbed a disposable cup and filled it with coffee. The man Alanna Hayes had gone to see was either a cop or working with them. She’d recognized the standard weapon and the badge clipped on his outside coat pocket.

The cop was also following Alanna.

He’d spotted her as well.

So had Alanna Hayes at the graveyard, though the woman had no idea who she was or that she wanted Simon just as badly as the men searching for her.

Phyllis stirred cream into the coffee, then added a packet of sugar. The cop hadn’t seen her face. And even if he had, he couldn’t know anything about her connection to the Hayes woman. No one did.

As far as the scientists back on Nighthawk Island were concerned, Phyllis had disappeared from their lives after her miscarriage. But she hadn’t. She’d suspected something strange about their work. Then she’d found out about those fertility treatments….

Why the hell would Alanna Hayes go to the police? The stupid nurse had to know the danger in doing so. She would have been better off going to the press. And if she’d told that cop her story, why hadn’t he taken her in for kidnapping?

Brahms’s “Lullaby” floated into her head. She’d hummed the song to her unborn child during her pregnancy. She’d intended to sing her baby to sleep with it every night. But now Alanna had Simon, cuddling and rocking him at night, when it should have been her.

Those bastards on Nighthawk Island had kept Simon from her long enough.

Phyllis would make them pay.

Grabbing a newspaper from the bin on the wall, she stepped to the counter to pay.

“Will that be all, ma’am?”

Phyllis nodded.

“Four fifty-five.”

She threw down a five-dollar bill, then rushed out the door. She’d already lost precious minutes hiding in the store. She couldn’t afford to waste any more, or she might lose her only connection to Simon.

But before she made her move, she had to find proof that Simon belonged to her. So they’d never be able to steal him from her again.

A HALF HOUR LATER, Cain stood in his kitchen heating a can of soup while Jane fed Simon. The baby gurgled and spit rice cereal everywhere, then lapped up the peaches with gusto as Jane spooned them into his mouth. She had been suspiciously quiet, avoiding conversation with him, focusing all her attention on the baby.

Cain would let it ride for now.

But when Simon went to bed, they had to talk.

He filled the bowls with steaming chicken noodle soup and placed one on the table in front of her, the other at the opposite end for himself. He added crackers and poured them both some coffee, then set the sugar and milk on the table, and took the seat at the end of the table.

He had not been around babies much, but Simon seemed happy and well cared for in spite of their earlier ordeal. Jane, on the other hand, was a mess.

He didn’t want to think about the strong urges he’d felt when she’d pressed herself into his arms. Protective instincts had mushroomed alongside sexual feelings that had no place between them.

Especially if she was involved in Eric’s death.

Simon suddenly blew bubbles, spraying Jane’s shirt. Jane laughed, a soft, lighthearted, totally content and motherly sound that pinched his stomach. Even pale and frightened, she’d draw any man’s eye, but with a smile on her face she looked absolutely beautiful.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Jane wiped Simon’s chin with a paper napkin. “Now how about some milk to wash it all down?”

Simon cooed a reply while she laid him back in her arms and slipped the bottle into his mouth. Like an experienced mother, she angled herself to sip her coffee and eat at the same time.

“Looks like you’ve done that before.” Cain couldn’t keep a grin from sliding onto his face.

She smiled at him, actually blushing. “Seems like babies always want to eat when the adults do.” She shrugged, her green sweater slipping off one shoulder. “I don’t mind, though. He’s good company.”

“It’s obvious you love him very much.”

“I do.”

“Did you and this ex-boyfriend break up before you met Eric?”

She stiffened, then sipped her coffee again. “Yes. He was stalking me and I asked Eric for help. That’s how we met.”

He nodded, admitting the plausibility of her story. But she didn’t quite meet his eyes when she spoke.

“Why didn’t you want me to call the police? You can issue a warrant for this guy, get a restraining order—”

“I’ve done all that before.” She stood and rocked Simon from side to side. He was falling asleep in her arms, one hand curled against the bottle. “Is there someplace I can let him rest for the night?”

“This way.”

Cain’s cabin consisted of two bedrooms with a shared bath and an open room that served as the den, with an attached kitchenette. A faded green sofa and comfortable recliner occupied the den along with a TV and his ancient stereo system. He normally didn’t bring women here. They found it too rustic.

“Is he crawling yet?”

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Although he’s trying.”

“So, he’ll be okay on the bed?”

“I’ll put some pillows beside him so he doesn’t roll off.” She gently pulled the bottle from Simon’s hand and kissed him on the forehead while Cain turned down the navy comforter. Then she eased Simon onto the bed, brushing a tender hand over his belly as he stretched his chubby arms and legs. Light blond eyelashes fluttered once, but he didn’t wake.

“He’s so tired. It’s been a trying day.”

“I imagine so. It’s not every day a baby gets shot at.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. As soon as they made it back to the small den, he turned to her.

That haunted look returned to her eyes. “We’ll be out of your way in the morning.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Cain folded his arms. “Now, just before those goons showed up you were going to tell me about Simon’s father.”

ALANNA WAS EXHAUSTED, but she couldn’t give in to it. Even though she’d told Cain she and Simon would leave tomorrow, she had no idea where they would go. With Eric dead, the monastery abandoned and the men after her close on her tail, how would she possibly escape? She was in way over her head. Completely out of her element.

And Cain Caldwell was demanding answers.

What would make him want to protect Simon instead of turning him over to the men looking for him or to the police? There was only one thing….

“Who is his father, Alanna?”

She hesitated, gathering courage, praying God could somehow forgive her for what she was going to say. “The baby, well…Eric is Simon’s father.”