In Protective Custody. Beth Cornelison
He had to stay in control for Emily’s sake.
Even the suggestion that he could lose his baby sister, whom he’d helped raise, knotted his chest and haunted him with sickening dread. She was his only surviving family. He’d do anything, anything to better her chances of recovery. For now that meant serving as watchdog, keeping the wolves who would discourage and upset her away.
He bowed his head and clutched her hand. Please, God, don’t take my sister. I’ll do anything….
“You want me to what?” Max stared at Emily in disbelief, and a prickle crawled up his spine. She couldn’t be serious, could she?
“Take m’baby… Hide ’im.” Emily’s slurred speech indicated how much talking wore her out. She’d wakened again the next morning after a long, worrisome night. For her health’s sake, Max had tried to avoid discussing her in-laws, but Emily would not be swayed. Her pale face and haggard expression showed the degree of her distress.
“Look, nothing’s going to happen to your baby,” Max crooned, hoping to placate her. After witnessing the ill effects of stress and worry on her condition the day before, he knew he had to calm her somehow. Her weak system couldn’t handle the strain.
“I know losing Joe has upset you, but…now is not the time to talk about this. You have to save your energy and get stronger—”
“Max—”
“—so you can take care of your son. Now quiet down and—”
“Lis’n!” Emily winced in pain, and even more color drained from her face.
When she grew eerily quiet, Max’s heartbeat stilled. “Emily?” He patted her hand. “Emily!”
The lids of her soulful brown eyes fluttered open. “Rialtos…dangerous.”
Max frowned. “Dangerous?”
An ominous tension made the air thick. Emily’s face reflected the strain, and her eyes grew dark.
“I…didn’t know,” Emily whispered. The sadness in her eyes pleaded for her brother’s forgiveness and understanding.
A vise-like tightness squeezed his chest. He knew she wouldn’t rest until she’d had her say. Arguing would only waste her breath and his, so he sat in the chair beside her bed and squeezed her hand.
Emily whispered something he couldn’t understand. Max leaned closer. “Say it again.”
“Drugs.”
Drugs? A chill burrowed into Max’s bones.
“Joe was involved with drugs? You mean he used them?”
“No.”
“Then you’re saying he sold drugs or smuggled them or—”
She closed her eyes and dropped her chin slightly. Yes.
Max sighed. “Em, why didn’t you leave Joe when you found out about this?”
Emily raised a misty gaze then looked away.
Because she was pregnant with Joe’s child.
“Em, what—” He snapped his mouth closed and swallowed his questions, his rebuke. Now was not the time to get into whatever poor choices Joe had made. Emily needed to stay calm and concentrate on healing.
“All of…them,” Emily whispered. “Dang’rous.”
“Not now, Em. We’ll talk about this later, once you’re better.”
Whatever she thought her in-laws were involved in could wait. Hadn’t he already bitten his tongue regarding the Rialtos for more than a year? While Max had instinctively distrusted Joe from the start, Emily had been blinded by love.
Emily drew an unsteady breath and frowned. “Joe…murder’d.”
This much he already knew. The police had filled Max in on witness accounts of how an armed man had barged into the restaurant where Emily and Joe had been dining and shot her husband in cold blood.
Max choked back the bile that rose in his throat, imagining his sister’s fear and pain the night Joe’s killer had opened fire on them. The horror. The violence.
“I know, Em. The police are working a few leads to try to find the man—”
“Joe…murder’d.”
Acid burned his gut. Was she saying she knew who killed Joe? That his murder was somehow linked to his family and drugs?
Max mentally reviewed what he knew of Joe and his father. Their shipping business was small but enormously lucrative. And could easily have been infiltrated by drug smugglers.
Or did Joe’s murder mean the Rialtos’ involvement was consensual?
That possibility kicked Max’s pulse up a notch, stirred a cold frisson of suspicion in his bones. Either way, living on the fringes of such a volatile business was no life for Emily. Or her son.
“Pr’tect…baby from…Rialtos.” Emily’s pleas echoed his own thoughts, and a foreboding chill washed through him.
“Maybe you could get a restraining order to—”
Emily shook her head, her eyes reflecting the same skepticism that twisted in him. After witnessing Anthony Rialto in action, Max knew she was right. A court order wouldn’t stop the Rialtos from taking what they wanted.
He tried to reason out a better option, but Emily nixed every idea, offering cold truths she’d learned about her father-in-law. When he suggested involving the police, she claimed Anthony Rialto had dirty cops on his payroll.
Gasping her beliefs one key word at a time, she argued breathlessly that if the Rialtos got the baby when he was released from the hospital, they’d take him out of the country and fight her custody rights. Her impassioned pleas for her child, even as she fought for her own life, wrenched Max’s emotions in knots.
“You’re only…one I…trust. Don’t…let baby…outta…your sight.” She was truly winded now, struggling for air, and Max place his free hand over her lips.
“Easy. Hush now.” He clenched his teeth and sighed. “I won’t go to the police, and I won’t let Joe’s family get near your son. I promise.”
Her grip loosened, and relief softened the tension in her face. “You’ll…take…m’baby? Hide?”
Her breathlessness plucked at his heart as much as her determination. The pleading in her eyes tore him apart. The fear and resignation in her voice tormented him.
What else could he do? The Rialtos didn’t negotiate. They had the money, the lawyers, the power and influence to get their way, right or wrong.
“But what about you, Em? I can’t leave you like this. And I can’t care for a baby and be here for you at the same time.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and Max knew he’d lost. He was a sucker for a woman’s tears. Especially Emily’s.
“I don’t know anything about babies,” he mumbled, dragging a hand over his stubbled chin.
“You’ll…learn. All new…fathers do.”
“But I’m not his father.”
“If…I die—”
Ice sluiced through his veins. “Don’t talk that way! You can’t die. You have a baby to raise.”
“Raise him…for me.”
A cold ball of fear lodged in his throat. He’d tried the family-man thing once.
And failed. Miserably.
He was all wrong for the job of raising a child.
Another tear escaped his sister’s eyelashes. Hell!
“How