In Protective Custody. Beth Cornelison
own situation or the baby’s?
“Go on,” she prodded reluctantly.
“He’s…sick.” The man’s black eyebrows knitted in a frown. He glanced away, huffed then pinned her again with a pleading look. “He needs his medicine. That’s why he’s crying.”
Laura’s breath caught. “Medicine? Oh, my God…what—”
“Will you help us?”
“I…of course. But what about your car? The police haven’t written up the accident yet and—”
“I can’t wait around for the cops to get here. Don’t you hear him screaming? He needs his medicine. Now!”
“But the other drivers…” Indecision and apprehension swelled in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. When she hesitated, the man grunted and jabbed his wallet back in his rear pocket. With long-legged strides, he stalked over to the driver of the Camry and shoved a business card in the other man’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotta get the baby home. I’ll be in touch about the insurance. Are you hurt?”
When the Camry driver shook his head, the dark-haired man hustled over to the pickup and poked a card through the window to the teenager, too. He drilled a hard look on Laura as he returned. “No one’s hurt, and they have my contact numbers. Now can we go?”
The sounds of the baby’s wailing tore at her heart. What if the child really was sick, and he suffered because she wouldn’t help? How could she live with herself? Then again, how could she trust that this jittery-acting man was telling her the truth?
The man’s gaze froze on someone or something in the crowd, and his expression hardened. “Oh hell, he’s here! We’re outta time. Where is your car?”
His tone brooked no resistance.
“I…the Honda over there.” She tipped her head, directing his gaze across the intersection.
“Good. Let’s move!” With his fingers wrapped around her wrist, he grabbed the baby seat in his other hand and hustled her toward her Honda.
“Who did you see? Who’s here?” She stumbled to keep up with his long strides and struggled to keep a safe hold on the baby.
He cut a sharp glance toward her without slowing his pace. “Never mind. Just get us out of here!”
“I h-have a phone if you’d rather call your wife to have her bring the medicine here.” They reached the passenger side of her Accord, and he opened the back door. “That way you could take care of the paperwork for the accident—”
“No.” He put the baby’s car seat in the back then faced Laura. “That won’t work. My wife…isn’t home.”
When she made no move to get in, he opened the front door and pushed her toward the seat. “Get in! I’ll drive.”
“But—” Her legs bumped the frame of the car. She lost her balance, dropping clumsily into the passenger seat while clutching the baby to her chest. In the seconds it took her to gather her wits, the man ran around to the driver’s door.
A flash of panic crashed down on her. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. She needed to think, to reason with him or… Get out. Take the baby and run.
But he’d already cranked the engine. With a squeal of her tires, they sped away.
Chapter 2
Laura grabbed the armrest to steady herself as her abductor took a corner too fast.
Abductor. The word rattled through her brain with an ominous ring. Was he really kidnapping her? Had he kidnapped the baby, too?
He didn’t seem to have a weapon. He’d never threatened her. But his edginess rattled her. That and his no-questions-asked bullying.
She studied the rigid set of his jaw. “A-aren’t you going to put the baby in the car seat?”
“Can’t take the time now.”
“But it’s not safe!”
He silenced her with a dark glare. “Just hold him for now and sit tight.”
As he hurtled them around another corner, she spotted her cell phone in the console under the radio. But how could she get it without alerting her abductor?
She felt the man’s eyes on her and glanced up just as his gaze shifted to the phone. She held her breath. Prayed.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he growled. Snatching the phone from the console, he jammed it in the map pocket of the driver’s door. Out of her reach.
Her stomach sank to her toes. So much for secretly dialing 911. Swallowing her disappointment and fear, she searched for another option.
She glanced down at the infant, the helpless little baby who still screeched for all he was worth. His tiny fingers had clamped around one of her long blond curls, so she gently worked to free her hair from the baby’s fist. When she cuddled him closer to her breast, an eerie prickle crept up her spine.
“This baby’s not really sick. Is he?” Her voice trembled, as did her hands, her stomach.
He met her gaze, and the hard determination setting his jaw softened. His coffee brown eyes held a measure of guilt and remorse, but he turned back to watch the road without answering.
Her thudding heartbeat counted the tense seconds. While the baby’s cries filled the dearth of conversation, she studied the man’s profile. Warring emotions played across his rugged features. A muscle jumped under his square, stubble-covered jaw. His narrow nose looked as though it had been broken once, leaving a slight bump near the bridge. Sweat trickled from a high forehead, dampening wisps of his thick black hair and leaving wet stains at the armpits of the blue golf shirt he wore with his jeans.
He caught her gaze again, and the intensity of his dark eyes unnerved her, accelerated her already rapid breathing.
“No. He’s not sick.” His tone was flat, grave.
His admission caught her off guard. She blinked her surprise, uncertain how to respond.
Turning away again, he squeezed the steering wheel.
While his confession spun her thoughts in a hundred directions, a maternal instinct surged inside her.
Protect the baby.
She drew the infant even closer to her body and eyed her kidnapper warily.
He gave her another quick look and muttered a curse. “Don’t look at me like that. I won’t hurt you.”
Laura raised one eyebrow skeptically to let him know what she thought of his promise. “Why should I believe you?”
He had the audacity to look offended.
“I wouldn’t—” He snapped his mouth shut without finishing.
“Did you kidnap this baby?”
He shot her an exasperated look. “No! Of course not!”
His defensiveness intrigued her. What was he hiding?
She studied the baby’s features, looking for similarities. Same dark hair, same narrow nose. But with newborns it was hard to tell.
The infant’s screams had tapered to mewling whines. She stroked his small pink face, and her heart melted like ice cream in the sun. She’d trained herself not to grow emotionally attached to the children at the day care, a self-defense mechanism she’d mastered growing up, shuffled from one foster family to another. Yet somehow this tiny life chipped at the walls she kept around her heart.
On the job, she could indulge her love for children without forming deep bonds. Emotional bonds served only to wound her when they were inevitably broken. She’d already suffered a lifetime of shattered relationships, broken promises, lost loved ones. Her aching