Colton Baby Homecoming. Lara Lacombe
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complete with small mittens. “I guess this means you’re a girl,” he said softly.
It took him a second to figure out how to extract her from the harness, but after a few fumbling attempts he was able to gently lift her from the carrier. Her head lolled back at the movement and she emitted a small squeak of distress, which sent his heart racing. Had he hurt her? What if she was already injured—was he making things worse? Sweat broke out on his palms, and he feared she would slip right out of his hands and onto the floor.
“Don’t drop the baby,” he told himself, tightening his grip on the little torso. He could feel her heartbeat under his fingers, fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Was that normal? Maybe she was stressed or sick.
He brought her to his chest and held her against his heart, his large hand spanning her entire back and extending to her head. She squirmed a little against him, and he was gratified to feel the warmth of her body through his shirt. Not too cold then. That was something, at least.
Now that he’d taken her out of the carrier, he noticed a folded piece of paper that had been left behind. It was slightly wrinkled and a little damp from its stay under the baby, but the message was still legible. Please take care of her until I can come back.—F
Okay, then. It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was something.
If the note was to be believed, the baby’s mother intended to come back for the child. So what kind of circumstances forced a woman to stash her baby on a stranger’s front porch? Why not take the little one to the police station, or the hospital? After all, there was no guarantee the baby would be found, so the mother had to be truly desperate to resort to such an action.
Based on the signature, if an initial could even count as a signature, the mother’s name started with the letter F. Was this woman worried she was the next target of the Alphabet Killer? Did she think she was in mortal danger, and had left the baby in a last-ditch attempt to save her?
It was possible, he mused. So far, the killer had targeted women in alphabetical order of their names. The latest victim’s name had started with E, which meant an F name was next on the list. Maybe this mother knew the killer and had good reason to suspect she was the next target.
The baby wriggled against him, and he brought his other hand up to secure his hold on her. He lifted her off his chest and was rewarded with the sight of two dark eyes squinting up at him. Her movements had knocked her cap askew, so he tugged it off her head to reveal a light dusting of dark brown hair.
Just like the Alphabet Killer’s previous victims.
A tingle raced from his fingertips to his chest. Was he holding a clue to the identity of the killer? If they could identify this baby and somehow find her mother, would that lead them to the Alphabet Killer? Maybe this was the break they’d all been waiting for.
“But why are you here?” he asked the baby. She smacked her lips together as if she was trying to respond, but otherwise gave no indication she’d heard him. Was her mother somehow connected to the mysterious armed subject he’d been hunting all day? Perhaps the Alphabet Killer had been playing hide-and-seek with the unknown F, and the mother had taken the first opportunity she’d found to get the baby to some kind of safety. That still didn’t explain why Archie Johansen had heard someone on his porch, but it would account for why the baby had been left on his property.
The little girl was now emitting an increasingly loud series of grunts and squeaks, and Ridge felt his heart begin to pound as he realized he had no idea what was wrong with the baby or what to do about it. Apparently dissatisfied with his response, or lack thereof, the baby opened her mouth to emit a piercing wail. Penny dropped her favorite toy and stared up at Ridge, her expression saying more than words ever could. Are you going to deal with this?
“Ah, it’s okay,” he said, awkwardly patting the baby’s little back in what he hoped was a comforting cadence. “Don’t cry. You’re fine.”
This did not have the desired effect. The baby settled into a rhythmic cry that made it clear she had needs and he was failing to meet them. She’s probably hungry, he realized belatedly. Who knows how long it’s been since her last meal?
But what did you feed a baby? There was definitely nothing in his pantry suitable for an infant. And he couldn’t very well run down to the grocery store for formula—he had no idea what kind to get, nor did he have any bottles. He was hopelessly out of his depth here. Time to bring in a professional.
He tucked her back into the car seat and carried her out to the truck, dodging the big fat raindrops beginning to fall from the sky. Not about to be left behind, Penny followed him and hopped onto the floorboard of the passenger seat, keeping a watchful eye on the now red-faced and squalling baby.
“So much for my quiet night,” he muttered to himself as he threw the truck into gear. “Hang in there, little one,” he said, a bit louder. “We’re going to get you checked out, and I’m pretty sure they have baby food at the hospital.” And maybe, just maybe, he’d get lucky and there would be a record of her birth there, too.
Stranger things had happened.
Doctor Darcy Marrow leaned forward and tied off the last stitch, then offered her patient a smile.
“You did a great job,” she assured the little boy.
He stared up at her, his blue eyes wide with amazement. “I didn’t feel a thing!” he exclaimed.
“That’s good,” she told him, pushing back from the bed and setting her tools on the nearby metal tray. “That means the medicine worked.”
“Am I going to have a scar?” He sounded hopeful about the possibility, which triggered a sigh from his mother.
Darcy hid a smile as she started gathering up empty wrappers and used instruments. “Maybe,” she said. “It’s important you keep the stitches clean and dry for now. And I can promise you, once the medicine starts to wear off, your arm is going to ache.”
“That’s so cool!”
She met his mother’s gaze and shrugged slightly. “You’ll want to take him to his pediatrician in a week, and they can remove the stitches. In the meantime, if he starts to run a fever or the wound looks infected, bring him back in.”
“Thank you,” the woman said. She was clearly exhausted, and no wonder. She’d come home from work and had started to cook dinner, only to be interrupted by the crash of the glass coffee table breaking into a million pieces. Apparently little Johnny had decided to practice his karate moves while waiting, a decision that was all the more mysterious seeing as how the boy hadn’t taken a single karate lesson in his life.
“No more kung fu movies for you,” his mother said as the pair shuffled out of the exam bay.
“But, Mom,” the boy protested, their voices growing softer as they walked away.
Darcy shook her head and silently wished them well. The injury itself hadn’t been too bad, but given the boy’s enthusiasm and appetite for adventure, it probably wouldn’t be his last scrape.
She pulled the curtain back and stepped out into the main bay of the emergency room. The facility was shaped like a giant U, with the exam rooms set up on the periphery to orbit a large central workstation where the nurses and doctors could order tests, access lab results or maybe even drink a cup of coffee when things were slow.
Like now.
One of the nurses gave her a friendly smile when she sat down. “I take it Johnny is all fixed up?”
Darcy nodded. “He’ll be back in action in no time, which I’m sure will drive his mother nuts.”
The woman laughed. “He is a handful.”
“Is it just the two of them?” She didn’t remember seeing a father’s