by Rita Herron
The sight of Samantha Corley placing tiny baby socks and cuddly sleepers in the drawer made his stomach feel funny.
This scene felt way too domestic and cozy to suit him. Sam was actually humming. Humming, for God’s sake.
He lowered his head, trying to ignore this soft, feminine side of her. Sam had always been a tomboy. And right now, she was scaring the hell out of him because he was beginning to actually like being with her.
No, he wouldn’t let this get personal. He’d protect her and the child until they found out the truth.
Then Sam could do whatever she wanted, and he’d move on with his plans to leave town.
RITA HERRON
PEEK-A-BOO PROTECTOR
To Allison & Denise—
two great editors who sparked this idea!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092–1225, or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.
Books by Rita Herron
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
790—MIDNIGHT DISCLOSURES*
810—THE MAN FROM FALCON RIDGE
861—MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES*
892—VOWS OF VENGEANCE*
918—RETURN TO FALCON RIDGE
939—LOOK-ALIKE*
957—FORCE OF THE FALCON
977—JUSTICE FOR A RANGER
1006—ANYTHING FOR HIS SON
1029—UP IN FLAMES*
1043—UNDER HIS SKIN*
1063—IN THE FLESH*
1081—BENEATH THE BADGE
1097—SILENT NIGHT SANCTUARY**
1115—PLATINUM COWBOY
1132—COLLECTING EVIDENCE
1159—PEEK-A-BOO PROTECTOR
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Police Chief John Wise—He’ll do anything to protect Samantha Corley and the baby left on her doorstep.
Samantha Corley—She needs John’s protection for her and the baby, but she can’t lose her heart to the man.
Honey Dawson—She left her baby daughter at Samantha’s house. Is Honey dead or alive?
Dwayne Hicks—Honey’s high school boyfriend. Did he find out she’d come back to town and kill her for dumping him?
Sally Rae Hicks—Did Dwayne’s wife kill Honey because she thought Honey wanted to reunite with Dwayne?
Judge Teddy Wexler—He thinks Honey’s twins are his. Would he kill Honey to get the twins back?
Portia Wexler—She claims she’ll help Teddy raise the twins as part of their family.
Teddy Wexler Junior—He doesn’t mind his father’s affairs, but how far would he go to keep from sharing his inheritance with one of his father’s whores or her bastard brats?
Tiffany Maylor—Honey’s rival for the cheerleading spot with the Dallas Cowboys—would she hurt Honey to ensure she wins that spot?
Jimmy Bartow—The bailiff is in love with Honey. Would he kill her out of spite for leaving him for the judge?
Neil Kinney—Honey’s stalker.
Reed Tanner—Another one of Honey’s lovers. He claims he’s looking for her, but he obviously has secrets and doesn’t trust the cops.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Prologue
Leaving her baby was the hardest thing Honey Dawson had ever done.
But someone was trying to kill her, and she had to run. Had to in order to keep her babies safe.
She swiped at the tears trickling down her face and gulped back a sob. Beside her, her baby girl cooed up at her so innocently that her heart wrenched.
“I’m not a deserter, Emmie,” she said earnestly as her baby boy’s face taunted her. “I’ll go back and get your brother and we’ll all be together again one day.”
She wouldn’t be like her own mother who’d left her on the doorstep of the local orphanage with nothing but a diaper and an empty locket. She hadn’t even put a picture inside. Hadn’t even given her a name.
The caretakers had called her Honey because of her golden hair, and Dawson for the county she was left in. It was downright pitiful.
The reason she’d taken such good care to choose special names for her twins. “When I get us out of this mess, we’ll be a family, I promise.” Another sob escaped her. “I may have messed up but I swear on my mama’s necklace—” she stroked the pendant she always wore, one that now held her twins’ pictures “—I swear that I’ll be a good mama.”
Butterville, the small town where she’d grown up, loomed ahead with its welcoming arms, and she crossed the county line and veered the car toward Samantha Corley’s house. Sam was the only real friend Honey had ever known.
Men adored Honey, but girls didn’t take much to her.
Of course, lately she’d pissed off both sexes. Now one of them wanted her dead.
Trouble was, she wasn’t even sure who….
No, she wasn’t going to die. She had babies to live for now, and Honey would not let anyone stop her from raising them. Sam would help. Sam always knew what to do.
Her foster sister lived on the side of the mountain in a little cabin that had been there for decades. So like Sam to still be here. She probably hadn’t changed a stick of furniture or her hairstyle, for that matter.
Honey hadn’t been able to get away fast enough. She’d wanted to follow her dreams. Now the town felt like she was coming home, and her only dream was to take care of the twins.
Honey checked over her shoulder for the umpteenth time, but she didn’t spot anyone following her. Thank God. She’d finally lost the son of a bitch who’d followed her across the country.
She slowed the vehicle, her heart fluttering as the car lights flickered off the porch swing where she and Sam had shared lazy afternoons drinking sweet tea, dreaming about their futures and trading secrets.
But Sam’s house looked dark as Hades, and she didn’t see a car anywhere nearby, so she parked and cut the lights. Emmie had fallen asleep, so she left her in the car long enough to check the front door. It was locked. She searched the flowerpot where Sam usually kept a key. Darn it, it was gone.
Not to worry though. A locked door never kept Honey Dawson out.
She removed a hairpin and jimmied the door open in five seconds flat. The night shadows seemed ominous, the whistle of the wind as eerie as the mountain lion’s howl. She scanned the trees surrounding the house and shivered. Someone could be hiding in those woods, ready to pounce.
No, she was safe. Finally. Sam would take care of her. Help her figure out what to do. Then they’d get her little boy back.
She rushed back to the car, grabbed the diaper bag and then the infant carrier and car seat base. “I love you, kitten,” she purred. Smiling at her daughter, she juggled the carrier and bag up the steps, shut the door and went straight to the kitchen to heat a bottle. The sweet scen
t of chocolate-chip cookies warmed the air and memories suffused her.
But a noise startled her. The wind? Leaves crunching? A stray dog scrounging in the garbage for food?
Boards creaked as if someone was climbing the back steps.
Trembling, she grabbed the baby and diaper bag and rushed up the staircase to Sam’s room. Determined to protect Emmie, she opened the closet door, set the baby and bag inside then pulled the door closed.
Fisting her hands by her side to defend herself, she tiptoed down the stairs, then heard a noise in the kitchen and ran to the back door to make sure it was locked. But it stood open, a gust of cold fall air swirling through the room blowing dry leaves into the entryway.
Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a knife to her throat. She kicked and screamed, clawing for something to use as a weapon. She grabbed a glass from the counter, but he knocked it from her hand, and it fell onto the floor and shattered. Shouting an obscenity, he tightened his grip and dragged her toward the door. They knocked a chair over as they struggled, then the blade pierced her skin, and warm blood oozed down her neck.
“Where’s the snotty brat?” he growled.
“Somewhere far from here,” she cried, “someplace safe.”
He jabbed the knife deeper, piercing her shoulder blade. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”
Honey had to get him out of the house. “Just don’t hurt me. I’ll take you to her.”
A car engine rumbled in the graveled drive. Her attacker cursed and dragged her out the back door. She bit and kicked at him, aiming her foot toward his groin, but he slapped her so hard her ears rang and the world swirled blindly.
Still she tried to scream, but the sound died as he dragged her into the woods to kill her.
Chapter One
“You’ll be sorry you messed with me.”
Leonard Cultrain’s angry words echoed through Samantha Corley’s head as she drove up the winding graveled drive to her cabin. His mother, Lou Lou, one of the most bitter, crotchety old ladies she’d ever known, had insisted that her son was innocent of murdering his wife, that he never should have been arrested in the first place.
But everyone in town knew Leonard was out of jail on a technicality, and the residents were on edge.
Gravel spewed behind her as she pressed the accelerator and screeched up her driveway. Normally she wasn’t skittish, and could hold her own, but she’d feel a hell of a lot better once she was inside her house with her shotgun by her side.
Usually Sam liked living out here alone in the wilderness, but today the isolation felt eerie.
The thick dense trees rocked with the wind, the branches dipping like big hands trying to reach her, hands like Leonard’s.
Hands that could choke her just like he’d choked his wife.
Stop it; you’re just being paranoid. You’re home now.
But her headlights flickered across the lawn as she braked, and she spotted a strange car parked in front of her house.
An uneasy feeling rippled up her spine. Had Leonard come to make good on his threat?
No, this wasn’t Leonard’s old car.
The license plate was from Fulton County, the Atlanta area. She didn’t know anyone from Atlanta.
Maybe she should call the local police. Chief John Wise’s strong masculine face flashed in her mind, and for a brief moment, she wished that he was here. That he’d take charge and make sure she was safe.
But she couldn’t depend on a man. She’d learned that a long damn time ago. Besides, John would only fuss at her for going out to Leonard’s. He thought she was foolish to go up against bullies like him.
The infuriating man was like most others she knew. They wanted a dainty little female, one they could protect—and control.
Sam was none of those things. In foster care, she’d learned to do the protecting and to stand up for herself.
Besides, tangling with the tall, dark brooding cop rattled her every time—and made her want things she couldn’t have. Like a man in her life….
No, she’d check this out for herself. Maybe she simply had a visitor.
Yeah, right. Sam didn’t have a lot of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but no one she shared her secrets with. No one to sleep over.
Not since Honey had left.
Clenching her cell phone in one hand, she grabbed the baseball bat she kept with her from the backseat floorboard and climbed out.
Slowly she moved up the porch steps, glancing at the windows and searching for movement inside the house, listening for sounds of an intruder. If a car was here, someone had to be around. But where?
Her senses sprang to alert at the top of the steps. The front door had been jimmied. She held her breath and inched forward, then touched the doorknob. It felt icy against her finger, then the door swung open with a screech.
She exhaled shakily. Inside, the house was dark, the smell of fear palpable. But another scent drifted to her. A man’s cologne. Heavy. Cheap. Too strong.
She hesitated and moved behind the door. She’d be a fool to go inside. She had to call for help.
But a baby’s cry pierced the air. A baby? God, what if the child was hurt? If the parent was here for her help?
It was a small town. Everyone knew what she did for a living, that she was a children’s advocate, a guardian ad litem, and sometimes they needed her help.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. If the child was in danger, she couldn’t wait.
Still she had to be cautious. She inched into the entryway, but froze at the sight of blood in the kitchen.
Someone was hurt.
Trembling, she slipped into the corner behind the door and punched 9–1-1, then whispered that she had an intruder.
“We’ll get someone there ASAP,” the dispatch officer said. “Stay on the line.”
But the baby wailed again, and she ended the call and slipped up the stairs. Gripping the bat in her hands, she paused to listen, searching for the direction of the noise. It was coming from her room. She scanned the hall, the extra bedroom and bath at the top of the stairs, but they were empty.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark now, and she peered into her bedroom. The windows were closed, the bed made, nothing amiss. No signs of an intruder.
She crept inside, then realized the cry was coming from her closet. She eased opened the door and her heart clenched.
An infant was kicking and screaming from an infant carrier on the floor, a darling little girl wrapped in a pink blanket.
She knelt and scooped up the child to comfort her, her mind racing. What was going on?
There had been blood downstairs…. Someone was hurt.
The baby’s mother?
POLICE CHIEF JOHN WISE gripped his cell phone with his fist as his father lapsed into a diatribe about his plans for John’s future.
“You know you were meant to do more than work in that hole-in-the-wall town,” his father bellowed. “The most serious crime you’ve solved has been the theft of those stupid Butterbean dolls. And that was just a bunch of kids selling them on eBay.”
John silently cursed. “You don’t have to remind me.” The case had been the talk of the small town. All the parents had been in an uproar, divided on the issue. Some blew it off as boys being boys while others wanted the kids punished for tainting the town’s biggest tourist draw.
CNN had picked up the story, plastered photos of Butterville Babyland Hospital on the news, panning the rooms where the Butterbean babies were birthed from their butterbean shells along with a picture of him in uniform as if he were guarding the dolls. Miss Mazie, the doll’s originator, had her five minutes of fame.
And he’d looked like a country bumpkin fool.
“You need to move on,” his father continued. “We want the political supporters to take you seriously when your name comes up for office.”
Sweat dribbled down his jaw. “I know, Dad. But the town needs me now. Leonard Cultrain has been released from prison and poses a threat.
” Especially to the women.
His phone beeped that he had another call, and he jumped on it. “A 9–1–1 is coming in. I’ve got to go.”
“What this time? Someone’s cat up a tree?” his father said in disgust.
His father was probably right. But he’d heard enough for tonight. “Later.” He disconnected the call and clicked to dispatch. “Chief Wise here.”
“We just got a call from Samantha Corley’s house. An intruder.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, scraping beard stubble. “Did you remind her not to go inside?”
“I told her to stay on the line but then the line went dead.”
John swore, then hit the siren, wheeled around and raced toward Samantha’s cabin. The damn woman was a magnet for trouble. That job of hers was going to get her killed one day.
Not that he didn’t admire her dedication to her calling—and her killer legs—but he wished she’d choose another line of work. Let someone else deal with the parent abusers and troubled families in the county.
But she’d grown up in a foster home, so he guessed it was her nature. Still, sometimes he worried about the blasted woman.
Why, he didn’t know. He’d known her since high school, but she’d never given him the time of day. Except for that friend of hers, Honey Dawson, who’d left town months and months ago, Sam hadn’t made many friends. And as far as he knew, she’d never had a boyfriend.
He guessed the morons in town couldn’t see past that quiet, independent demeanor of hers. That and the gossip about her father being a bad cop, killed because of it.
