Peek-a-boo Protector. Rita Herron
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And the boy every girl had wanted.
His father had been a politician and had pushed him hard.
And although she’d never admitted it, she’d secretly harbored a crush on the guy herself.
But boys had paid no attention to her. She was awkward and shy, not like Honey who was vivacious and sweet and feminine. Despite her background, Honey turned all the boys’ heads and had made varsity cheerleader her freshman year.
Odd though that John was one of the few guys in school who’d never hit on Honey.
Of course, he’d never paid attention to her, either. Why should he now?
His family had money and prestige where she was just one of the foster kids everyone pitied. The gossip about her father being a dirty cop, causing his own wife’s death, haunted her, as well.
Honey had been the only one who’d understood…
The door squeaked open and she froze, her nerves on alert, but she breathed out in relief when John poked his head in. “It’s me, Sam.”
She pressed a finger to her lip gesturing for him to be quiet, then eased the baby into her infant seat to sleep. Tonight she’d put together the portable crib so the sweet child would have a bed.
“I took a plaster cast of the footprint near the window,” John said. “It looks similar to the one from last night, so you may be right. This may be the same guy who attacked the baby’s mother. But there weren’t any fingerprints so he must have worn gloves.”
“You think he’s a professional of some kind?”
John shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Anyone who watches crime shows these days knows to wear gloves.”
“True.” Which made his job harder.
“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?”
She shook her head. “No, it looked like some kind of dark sedan, but he was behind me and his lights were blinding.”
“You said he rammed into you intentionally?”
She nodded. “Yes, at least twice. I was afraid we might go over the side of the mountain.”
“I’ll see if he left paint from his car on yours and take a sample.” Her eyes clouded over as if she was reliving the scene, and he rubbed her arms with his big hands. “I’ll find him, Sam, I promise,” he said. “Just give me time.”
She stared into his eyes and the tension seeped from her, yet another kind of tension vibrated between them. She longed to have him hold her again.
Then his gaze turned hooded, his jaw tightened and a wary expression darkened his face. “Sam?”
Alarm rippled through her. “What is it, John? Did you find something?”
He nodded. “Let’s sit down.”
Her pulse spiked, but she allowed him to lead her to one of the kitchen chairs. He claimed the one opposite her and planted his beefy fists on his knees. “I did get some interesting results from the fingerprints in the car from last night.”
She swallowed, nerves tingling as she realized he thought the news would upset her. “Whom do they belong to?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, then he cleared his throat. “Your friend Honey Dawson.”
Sam’s breath caught. Honey? Honey had driven the car here?
Pain and panic ripped through her as she remembered the blood on the floor in her kitchen.
Dear Lord…Honey must have been in trouble and she’d come to her for help.
But why hadn’t Honey told her she was pregnant? And who would want to hurt Honey?
She jerked her head toward the infant seat. And the baby…The little girl had baby fine, soft blond hair. And those green eyes…
Was Emmie Honey’s little girl?
JOHN SAW THE WHEELS TURNING in Samantha’s mind and knew she assumed the baby was Honey’s. But he was a cop and he had to go on facts.
And the facts were stacking up against Honey.
“Emmie is Honey’s,” Sam said with newfound awe in her eyes as she stroked the baby’s soft curls.
“We can’t say that for certain,” John said. “Remember, the car was stolen.” He paused, knowing Sam wouldn’t like his train of thought, but he was a cop and had to look at the facts. “Honey might have stolen the baby, too. Maybe this guy is trying to recover the child for himself or for the parents.”
“No. That’s crazy. Honey would never kidnap a child.” Sam’s dark brown eyes flashed with anger, and her shoulders snapped up in a defensive gesture. “This is Honey’s little girl. She looks just like her.”
“DNA will have to tell us that, Sam,” John said. “Until then, we can’t make assumptions.”
Sam laid a hand on the baby seat as if she expected him to tear the little girl from her. “Honey would never steal a child, John. I know her. And Emmie—I should have known. Honey always talked about naming her kids after Dallas Cowboy players. Emmit was one of the famous running backs during the Dallas Cowboys’ glory days.”
“Look, Sam, I understand she was your best friend, but it’s obvious that Honey was in trouble. She’s been gone over a year now. You have no idea what kind of mess she’s gotten herself into.”
Sam folded her arms. “I know Honey would have to be desperate to steal a car. That she came to me for help and I wasn’t here for her.”
John silently cursed. “Sam, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Honey.”
“What did happen to her? I saw all that blood,” Sam said, her tone full of terror. “Do you think that man…that he killed her, John?”
He hesitated, hated to give her hope and then have her disappointed. But he also hated to squash that hope. “I don’t know,” John said. “But at least we know who we’re looking for. I’ll file a missing persons report on Honey, and hopefully someone will come forward with information.”
She nodded, stroking the baby’s cheek with her finger, tears welling in her eyes. “I hope so, John. Honey wouldn’t want her little girl to grow up without a mother.”
The pain of Sam’s past reverberated in her voice, and his heart squeezed. Sam had always seemed so strong, tough, a fighter.
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