In Protective Custody

The boy’s father opened the door beside her, and she dropped a soft kiss on the baby’s head. His sweet baby scent, talcum powder and milk, filled her nose and tangled around her heart. The man reached for the child, and a knot of doubt lodged in her chest.

The day care center where she worked maintained a rigid screening process, assuring a child was never released into the care of the wrong person. But she had no assurance this man had any real claim to the baby.

Panic streaked through her. Her thoughts tumbled over each other. She needed some confirmation the man was who he said he was, that she wasn’t negligently turning this poor baby over to a kidnapper, before she could drive away in good conscience.

Asking him for that assurance wouldn’t help. His word alone wouldn’t convince her he had a right to the child. Perhaps something inside his house? Another person to verify his story, an arrangement of blue flowers congratulating him on his son’s birth, a wedding picture of him with the mother?

Something. Anything.

She had a responsibility as a childcare worker to protect this baby’s interests. But her own history, her experience as the child needing protection, needing someone to care, made her professional responsibility a personal mandate.

Protect the baby.

“Ma’am, I’m really in a hurry. Can I have the baby now?”

He motioned toward the infant impatiently.

“I, uh—”

Without waiting for her to finish, he scooped the boy out of her arms and stepped back. Laura scrambled for a plan. She had to get inside his house, just for a minute, just to reassure herself the baby would be all right. As the man moved quickly toward his carport door, she climbed from her car and called to him. “Hey, may I…use your bathroom before I go?”

He hesitated as if looking for an excuse to tell her no. “Well, okay…but make it quick. I gotta get going.”

Get going? He’d just gotten home. Her anxiety cranked another notch. She followed him into the carport where a firefighter’s sooty turnout gear hung on a peg by the back door with black boots sitting below. He fished in his jeans pocket for his keys, unlocked the door, then stood back to let her enter first. “Around the corner. First door on the right.”

“Thanks.” She scanned the interior with curious scrutiny as she made her way to the bathroom. The decor could be summed up with one word. Masculine.

Dark colors, wood paneling, hunting trophies. Not a ruffle or frill to be seen. Likewise, she saw no evidence in the bathroom that a woman shared his home. No hairspray or makeup or stockings drying over the shower curtain rod. Laura recalled the way he’d answered her query about his wife.

The baby’s mother is still in the hospital.

The baby’s mother, not my wife.

Did that mean he didn’t live with his son’s mother, that they weren’t married? She knew his private life was not her business, but the oddity of his earlier behavior still bothered her. Something didn’t add up.

That something didn’t register until she found her way back to the living room. Not only did the house lack any signs of a woman’s touch, she saw nothing, not the first rattle or diaper, indicating he’d expected to care for a baby tonight.

She watched him bounce the infant, awake now and crying again, while he yanked clothes from the drier and jammed them into a grocery sack. More evidence he planned to leave again as soon as she did.

He spared her a brief glance. “Listen, the baby’s seat is still in the back of your car. Could you leave it on the driveway for me when you go?”

On the kitchen counter, his answering machine played his messages. “Jordie won’t make Friday’s game. He has a dentist appointment. Thanks, coach!”

A beep signaled the end of the current message.

“Are you divorced?” She blurted into the silence before the next message began.

His head came up with a jerk. His expression clearly said her bluntness stunned him. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“It’s obvious no woman lives here.”

He gave her a slow nod then went back to grabbing clothes to stuff in the paper sack. “You’re sharp.”

“You also don’t have anything here for a baby.”

His chin lifted a notch, his expression guarded. “No.”

“Max, it’s Cheryl,” a woman on the answering machine said. “Where you been hiding, handsome? Call me.”

Laura spread her hands. “How are you going to feed him or change his diaper with no supplies?”

Before he could answer, the next message began playing.

“Caldwell, we know you have the baby!” The voice on the machine spat venom. Icy shivers snaked up her spine.

“He belongs with us, and nothing you can do will stop—”

The man crossed the floor in two steps and slapped the stop button on the answering machine.

Laura gaped at him, speechless. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Acid churned in her stomach.

He turned a hard glare at her, his face drawn and grim. “I’m really in a hurry. I need you to go now.”

Chapter 3

Accusation burned in the blond woman’s eyes. Deep inside, Max squirmed uncomfortably. Her unspoken disapproval and doubts chafed a raw wound inside him. Jennifer had given him that same look too many times, whether he deserved it or not. And, as with his ex-wife, this woman’s glare caused a flicker of guilt, of responsibility, of disappointment.

Max knew he could explain the situation to her, try to make her understand, but that would take valuable time he didn’t have. He had to get back on the road. Quickly.

Besides, as she’d put it, why should she believe him? He’d already lied to her—lies that nettled his conscience but which he’d deemed necessary to get results. He glanced down at his charge. Emily’s son.

Yes, results were what mattered.

However, if he didn’t say something to answer the suspicion blazing from her turquoise eyes, she’d be on her cell phone to the cops the minute she left his driveway.

Max released a breath that hissed through his teeth. “It’s…not what you think.”

“Oh? And what am I thinking?” She crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brow.

The pose emphasized the swell of her breasts, and Max’s libido kicked hard. He’d been trying not to let her beautiful figure distract him. But like any red-blooded male, he’d noticed and appreciated her lush curves anyway. If his current circumstances were different…

The baby whimpered louder, and he cringed. The woman had nailed it when she suggested he wasn’t prepared to care for a baby. She didn’t know how right she was.

He took the woman by the arm and tugged her toward the door. “I really don’t have time now to explain, but I’m perfectly within my rights to have this child. His mother knows he’s with me. That’s how she wants it. Now, if you’d just go—”

She shrugged out of his grip. “And the baby’s father? What does he want?” Her incisive gaze dared him to contradict his previous assertion that he was the infant’s father.

He thought of the baby’s real father, Joe. A man involved with drugs—smuggling, most likely, since his father owned a shipping company. A man who’d put Max’s sister in harm’s way, whose enemy had murdered him and shot Emily, whose family now tried to usurp custody of Emily’s son. What a scum. Anger for what Joe had cost Emily heated Max’s blood. The baby was better off without Joe’s negative influence.

For all intents and purposes, Max was his nephew’s father for the time being.

But Max also knew the Rialtos would show up at his door any minute, and he didn’t have time to explain the nuances of the situation, hoping to convince her of the truth. Anthony Rialto’s message made it clear his energy was better used getting the baby out of town. Hidden. This unplanned return to his house, thanks to his car being trapped at the accident, was costing him valuable time.

Max decided changing his story concerning the baby’s paternity now would be counterproductive. And the woman’s suspicions already ran high.

“I’m his father. I don’t need anyone’s permission to have my son with me, and I don’t owe you any explanations beyond that.” With a hand at the small of her back, he tried again to hustle the woman toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get moving. I promise to make a trip to the grocery for diapers and baby food, okay?”

He fished in his pocket for her car keys and extended them to her.

She stepped forward and snatched the keys, her gaze darting briefly to his sobbing nephew. “Formula.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

She flipped her mane of golden waves over her shoulder with an impatient huff. She turned her attention to the baby, shifting her weight uneasily, clearly chomping at the bit to try her hand again at quieting the squalling baby. “A newborn doesn’t eat baby food,” she said loud enough to be heard over his nephew’s screams. “They drink mother’s milk or formula. Do you know what brand to buy? Did his doctor say anything about soy?”

Soy? Formula? Damn. She could speak a foreign language, and he’d have a better chance of making sense of it. Frustration and impatience roiled inside him. He didn’t have time for this!

“Formula, milk, whatever! I’ll figure it out. Lady, I’m in a hurry here—”

“So you’ve said. Why the hurry? What’s going on here?”

The resounding wails of his nephew, letting them know in no uncertain terms what he thought of his uncle’s ability to care for him, fed his agitation. A pang of sympathy for the baby, stuck with his inept uncle, jabbed his gut. Bouncing the baby on his arm, Max fell back on what he did best when under stress. Pace.

He needed a plan.

In this case, his goal was simply to get rid of this woman and get out of town before the Rialtos came knocking.

“Don’t do that!” The blonde scowled and reached for the baby.

“Don’t do what?” Feelings of futility sharpened his tone. He hated the sense of helplessness and ignorance that had swamped him the minute he stepped out of the hospital.

“Ever heard of shaken baby syndrome?” She plucked his nephew from his hands and cuddled the infant to her chest. “You can’t bounce him around like that. He’s too little and that much shaking can damage his brain.”

Hell! Brain damage?

He noted with satisfaction that his nephew didn’t calm down for her, either. With a flash of envy, he watched the baby nuzzle his face into her breast. Lucky kid.

She shot him an accusing look. “Didn’t they tell you at the hospital not to jostle or shake him?”

Obviously, he was way out of his element, and if someone didn’t help him, he feared he’d hurt Emily’s son due to plain ignorance regarding babies.

He ran a hand down his face, sighing his fatigue. “No, they didn’t tell me anything about brain damage or soy or where to send him to college. Yeah, I’m new at this. No, I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m trying to get it right, so would you cut me some slack?”

Her expression softened, but her eyes still blazed with conviction. “If we were discussing your new iPod, that would wash. But this is a baby. A helpless, dependent little human being.”

“I’m well aware of that!” He raised his voice to be heard over the volume of his nephew’s cries. “For God’s sake, can you please quiet him down!”

The pressure that had been building inside him since he received the call about Emily’s injuries reached a boiling point. He felt ready to explode. Taking a step back from the woman, he raked both hands through his hair and bit out an expletive that would singe dirt. “Damn it, I don’t have time to debate with you! They could be here any minute!”

“Would you stop yelling?” she fussed. “You’re not helping matters….”

A movement on his driveway distracted him from the rest of her tirade. Through his front window, he watched two large sedans pull up to his house. Alarm streaked through him, tensing every muscle. He was too late.

A tall, linebacker-sized man climbed from the driver’s side of the first car. Reaching under his windbreaker, the linebacker pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and checked the chamber.

Max’s mouth went dry. Keeping a close watch out the window, he grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Hey! Wh—”

“Do exactly what I say. No questions. Got it?” The gravity of his tone obviously told her something was wrong.

“Who’s out there?”

“Remember the nice guy making threats on the answering machine?”

“What!” He heard the concern in her voice. His own disconcertion echoed hers with the thundering of his pulse. Fortunately, he did his best work under pressure. The guys at the station called him the Ice Man for his ability to keep his cool amid the smoke, flames and chaos of a fire call.

The station alarm was sounding. Time to get to work.

“Give me back your keys.” He thrust his hand at her.

“Why?”

“I said no questions. You’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” she shrieked.

A loud pounding on the front door blew the whistle on their huddle. Time for action.

Max crouched low behind the kitchen counter, yanking her down with him.

“Quiet!” he whispered harshly. “Go out the back. Take the baby, and get in your car. Don’t close your car door until I get there. I don’t want the noise to alert them.”

“Like this screaming baby won’t?”

Max gritted his teeth. She was right. They’d certainly hear the baby.

“Are they cops?” she whispered, the hope in her voice unmistakable.

“Afraid not, sweetheart. These men are dangerous, and they mean business.”

Her eyes opened wide with trepidation. “But the baby—”

“Stop talking and go!”

He saw the shudder that shook her, and guilt for placing her in danger wrenched inside him.

She scurried for the back door, clasping the baby close to her chest.

“Stay low!” he called.

Without waiting to make sure she’d followed his orders, Max hustled, crouched low, toward his gun cabinet. Like most native Louisiana men, he’d been raised on hunting. He’d learned to fire a gun before he had his driver’s license. Now he was the hunted, and he needed his rifles for self-defense.

The men on his porch must have seen him through the tall, narrow window by the door. He heard a shout from one of the goons informing the others of his position.

“Caldwell, open up! That baby belongs to us!”

Anthony Rialto. So, the patriarch of the drug clan had made a personal appearance.

Max searched the top drawer of the gun cabinet for the key to unlock the display case. Moving with deft, sure speed, he grabbed out his best hunting rifle. Next he removed the 9mm Glock he kept for home protection and shoved it in the waistband of his jeans.

His front door rattled and shook as Rialto’s men tried to break it down. Gambling precious time, Max crawled across his living room floor to the front window and raised the rifle. With one swift motion, he broke a hole in the glass and aimed at the tires of the lead car.

His fire drew an answering assault from Rialto’s men. The rest of the front window shattered under the barrage of bullets. Glass littered the carpet around him. The jagged shards bit his hands as he scrambled away from the window, leaving a trail of blood. He’d reached his kitchen when the front door burst open.

Bullets whizzed over his head and peppered his cabinets. Over the cracking gunfire, he heard the woman scream. His heart leaped to his throat.

Damning the consequences, he rose to his full height to beat a quicker retreat. A sharp sting pinched his shoulder, telling him he’d been hit.

Spinning, as he taught the kids on his Pee Wee team to dodge a tackle, he ran for the backyard. When he plowed through the back door, he found Anthony Rialto stalking the blond woman. Rialto backed her away from her car with a gun aimed at her head. She held the baby clutched to her chest in a protective grasp that won Max’s admiration. She could easily have handed the baby over to Rialto to save her own skin. The woman had guts.

In three long strides, Max covered the distance between him and Emily’s father-in-law. He tackled the man from behind, knocking him to the ground. Rialto fired, sending the bullet into an oak tree at the line of the woods.

“Get in the car!” Max yelled.

The blonde jumped to follow his order.

The gunshot and shouts brought reinforcements around the side of the house. Max landed a hard blow to Anthony’s temple with his elbow. The abrupt movement caused pain to streak like lightning through his shoulder and arm.

He left the older man clutching his head and staggering.

Shifting his focus to the men at the side of his house, Max held the thugs at bay with a couple of blasts from his rifle. As soon as the woman reached her car, Max made a dash for the driver’s door. His feet slipped as he scrambled through the cypress needles littering his yard.

Bullets pocked the side of the Accord. As he climbed in the Honda, he heard Rialto shouting.

“Damn it, hold your fire! My grandson’s in that car! What if you hit the gas tank?”

Max wasted no time cranking the engine and shifting into Reverse. Rialto’s men tried to stop the escaping car with their bodies, but Max refused to slow down for any reason. The men jumped out of his path at the last second. When the thugs tried shooting at the Honda’s tires, Max swerved left then right, making their target more difficult to hit.

“I said, hold your fire!” Rialto screamed. “Follow them!”

Max peeled across his front yard, around the sedans blocking his driveway. He’d managed to take out the front tire of the lead car, he noticed as they sped past. Good. That meant only one car could pursue them.

He stole a glance at the woman as he wheeled onto the narrow, two-lane road. Tears streaked her pale face, and a mask of sheer terror molded her delicate features.

His gut knotted as he mashed the accelerator and sped away from the nightmare scene. “Did he hurt you?”

She didn’t respond.

“Did he hurt you?” he barked.

She jumped. “No.”

Max nodded. “Hang on. We’re taking the shortcut.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged the baby closer and slumped down in the seat.

Bouncing across the ditch at the side of the road, he headed down a narrow dirt road. “ATV trail. Kids in the area use it to go four-wheeling.”

She didn’t acknowledge his explanation, and he worried about her slipping into shock. “Stay with me, darlin’. The worst is over. We’re gonna be okay now.”

Skeptical turquoise eyes rose to meet his glance. Her look asked, Why should I believe you?

Good question. He’d gotten her involved in this mess, lied to her, nearly gotten her killed. He knew he didn’t deserve her faith. But he also knew he’d move mountains to see that she got out of this disaster safe and sound.

One more person he couldn’t let down.

The stakes in this fiasco kept growing. But he’d never been one to let an obstacle keep him from accomplishing a goal. Results were what mattered. He lived by that mantra as a firefighter and taught it to the kids on his football team. No excuses and no quitters.

Especially since, in this game, they were playing for their lives.

The man’s hands and shoulder were bleeding.

Laura gaped at the crimson stains on the steering wheel and on his shirt and battled down a wave of nausea. Considering the armed men on their tail, they couldn’t afford any delays. That included any stops for her to be sick at the side of the road, so she averted her gaze from the bloodstains.

Mercifully, the baby had finally worn himself out and fallen asleep. Since the baby’s safety was paramount to her, even above her own, Laura unfastened her seat belt and wiggled between the front seats, leaning into the back. As they bumped down the dirt side road, she secured the baby in his car seat then slid back into the front.

When the baby’s father checked his side and rearview mirrors for the umpteenth time, clearly watching for the men who could be following them, a chill scraped down her spine.

Small talk, she decided, might help distract her from her swirling nausea. “So what…what’s the baby’s name?”

“Hmm?” He blinked at her, a confused knit in his brow as if he’d forgotten she was there. As if she’d pulled him from serious deliberations.

She had some major thinking of her own to do. And soon. How did she get herself out of this nightmare? And what kind of mess had she stumbled into?

“Your son. What’s his name?”

“Uh, I…”

The man’s hesitation piqued her suspicion. “You do know your son’s name, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He scoffed and gave her a what-kind-of-idiot-do-you-think-I-am look. But not a name.

“Well?” She lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

“It’s…uh, Elmer.”

Laura blinked. Surely she’d misunderstood him.

“Did you say Elmer? As in Fudd?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Nobody’d name a baby that!”

He scowled at her. “It was my grandfather’s name. What’s wrong with Elmer?”

“Nothing if you don’t mind the poor kid getting picked on his whole life. Please tell me he has a middle name he can use.”

“No…not yet.” The man looked decidedly uncomfortable with the conversation. Her doubts about him stirred to life again.

Careful to keep her gaze on his face, not his bloody shoulder, she gauged his reaction as she fired more questions. “Who are you? Are you in some kind of trouble with the law? And who were those men? Why do they want the baby?”

With his lips pressed in a grim line, he rubbed the back of his neck.

She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a finger on her arm.

Finally he heaved a deep sigh. “Max Caldwell. I’m a firefighter and volunteer coach for the rec center’s kindergarten Pee Wee football team.”

When he said no more, she scoffed. “Let me guess. You moonlight as a CIA agent, and those men were Russian spies. You’ve hidden the plans for a new bomb that could destroy the world in Elmer’s diaper. Am I close?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, and when he cast a sideways glance at her, a spark of humor lit his dark eyes. “You watch too much television.”

“I don’t watch any television, thank you. It’s all far too unrealistic. In real life, people don’t get kidnapped and chased by bad guys with guns.”

A wry chuckle rumbled from his chest, and a lopsided grin eased the tension in his face. When he smiled, she discovered, Max Caldwell was a devastatingly handsome man. She caught herself staring.

“And you are…?” he prompted.

“The beautiful double agent sent by the enemy to steal the bomb plans, of course.” She cracked a smart-alecky grin.

His gaze grew hot and penetrating. “Well, you got the beautiful part right.”

When he brushed her hair back from her cheek, she gasped, as much from the electric jolt his touch sent through her as from the shock of his intimate gesture. Trembling, she pulled away from his hand.

“Easy, beautiful. I won’t hurt you.” The husky baritone of his voice caused a tingle to skitter over her skin.

She forced a short laugh. “Said the spider to the fly?”

The humor on his face faded. He focused on the road, his expression hard and grim.

A pang of regret for the lost joviality left a pit in her stomach. She twisted in her seat to check on Elmer.

Protect the baby, the voice in her head chanted again.

“Tell me something.” She pinned a hard stare on Max. “If you’re a firefighter as you claim, what’s with all the guns? Last time I checked, a firefighter didn’t need to own a small arsenal or know how to shoot in order to do his job.”

Max lifted a black eyebrow, and his returned glance asked, Are you serious? “How long have you lived in Louisiana?”

“Only a couple of years. Why?”

“Ever heard the state called the Sportsman’s Paradise?”

“Of course.”