Her Stolen Son. Rita Herron
punched him and made him want to yank her in his arms and comfort her. Made him want to promise her he’d make everything right.
But that wasn’t a promise he was sure he could keep.
“Serena, I’m not judging you for dating. That’s human, normal.”
She sighed, then glanced away, and he realized she had judged herself. That she felt guilty, as if she was cheating on her husband when he was dead and never coming back. She must have loved him deeply.
“Anyway, Lyle and I only went out a couple of times,” she said softly. “First coffee. Then a movie. But last night we had dinner, and I sensed something was different, that he was ready to take things to the next level.”
“You mean sex?”
A blush crept onto her cheeks, then a sliver of fear darkened her eyes. “Yes.”
“But you weren’t ready?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.” She swallowed, then licked her lips, making him uncomfortably aware that she was sensuous and fragile and a woman.
“Anyway, when he brought me home, he came in for a drink, which I never should have allowed,” she added beneath her breath. “Then he came on to me. I told him right away that it wasn’t going to work between us and asked him to leave.”
Colt didn’t like the images forming in his mind. “But he didn’t?”
She twisted that ratty blanket in her hands, fidgeting. “No, he got angry, then pushy. I asked him to leave again, but he refused to accept my rejection, and he pushed me against the fireplace.”
She paused, her breath coming faster. “Then Petey came in, and…” Emotion thickened her voice. “Petey tried to pull him away from me, but he threw him to the floor.”
Her hands knotted into fists around the blanket. “So I grabbed the fire poker and ordered him to get out.”
“Then he left without a fight? You two didn’t struggle?”
“No, but I did knee him in the groin. Then he did leave.” She ran a hand through her hair. “But he was seething and before he went out the door, he warned me I’d be sorry, that I had no idea who I was messing with.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “God, I am sorry, but not that I told him to leave. I’m sorry I ever met the man.”
So far her story matched Petey’s.
Colt gripped the cot edge to keep from drawing her up against him. Her fragile body was trembling, her lip turning blue where she kept worrying it with her teeth.
“What happened after he left?”
She shifted restlessly, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. “Petey was upset, so I cuddled him for a while and lay down with him until he fell asleep. This morning we were having breakfast when the sheriff knocked on the door.” She waved her hand. “Then they tore Petey away from me and arrested me….”
“Lyle didn’t come back during the night? Maybe he broke in and attacked you—”
“No,” Serena said firmly. “He didn’t come back, I didn’t fight with him, and I didn’t go to his place. In fact, I’ve never been to his house.” Her voice grew stronger. “And I would never leave Petey alone. Never.”
Colt frowned. “Do you have proof, someone who can alibi you?”
“Petey, but he was asleep.”
“Did you make or receive any phone calls during the night? Were you on the computer?”
“No, I fell asleep beside Petey, then woke up around four and went to my bed.”
Damn. A typical single mother routine, but not much for an alibi.
Colt tapped his foot, thinking. “Did the sheriff mention the evidence he has against you? How he knew you were involved with Rice?”
Serena’s forehead puckered. “No.”
“How about the cause or time of death?”
She shook her head. “No, he hasn’t told me anything.”
A situation he would rectify.
“Tell me more about Rice. What did he do for a living? How did you two meet?”
Serena heaved a breath. “He told me he was an entrepreneur, that he had investments in small companies. I run a bookkeeping business out of my home, and one of my clients gave him my name as a reference in case he needed my services.”
He definitely needed more background information on Rice. “Have you phoned a lawyer yet?”
A sense of despair seemed to wash over her. “No. I haven’t had a chance to call.” Her voice cracked again. “Besides, I don’t know who to call. I’ve never needed a criminal attorney before.” She swung her gaze toward the cell door. “I can’t believe I need one now.”
Colt gave up the battle to keep his distance, and tugged her hands into his. “Listen to me, Serena. I know a good lawyer. I’ll put in a call to her.”
The sheriff’s footsteps echoed down the hall, and Colt stood. “Hang in there. I’ll call my friend about arranging your bail. And I’m going to question the sheriff and find out more about Rice’s murder.”
Sheriff Gray appeared at the door, keys jangling as he motioned to Colt.
Serena rose and gripped his arm. “Please, Colt. Tell Petey I love him. And don’t let him end up in the system. I grew up there myself. It’s not pretty.”
He’d been a cop long enough to know what could happen, too. But the law was the law, and his hands were tied.
Petey was going back to Magnolia Manor.
SERENA PACED the jail cell, the tiny space closing around her. The nauseating scent of old sweat, urine and dirt wafted around her, nearly suffocating her.
She felt trapped. Panicky. And worried sick about her son.
Colt Mason’s face flashed into her mind, and a sliver of something frightening stirred in her belly. He had a strong, prominent jaw that seemed permanently set in anger. That crooked nose, the scar on his forehead and his black, intense eyes gave him a menacing look.
But she’d heard a tenderness in his voice when he’d mentioned Petey. And if he worked with GAI—and she had seen his badge as proof—then he had to answer to his boss and the other agents, meaning he had to be legitimate.
His questions about Lyle also roused her own questions. What would the sheriff tell him about her case? Sheriff Gray had to have some kind of evidence to hold her. But what kind of evidence could he possibly have against her?
Her shoulders and body ached with fatigue and tension, and she collapsed onto the cot, sick at the thought of having to spend the night in the cell.
At the thought of Petey sleeping in a foster home or orphanage where God knew what could happen to him.
He was so little, so young. He wouldn’t know how to protect himself against the bullies or the street-savvy kids. And he didn’t have enough strength to protect himself if one of the caretakers assaulted him.
Memories of one foster father in particular taunted her, and she automatically rubbed at the scar below her breastbone.
His wife…she’d been just as bad. A religious fanatic who’d sacrificed Serena to her husband in order to save herself from his vile touches. God’s will, the woman had said.
But God never meant for a man to do the things that man had done to her. God never meant for people to hurt children.
Tears threatened again, but she willed them away and let her mind go to that safe place where she’d retreated as a child. Where nothing could hurt her. Not the evil touches of those who pretended