Protecting Her Child

by Debby Giusti

  For the last two hours, Pete had sat parked down a lonely stretch of back road in sight of Dixie’s modest home. Hurry up and wait. Just like in the army.

  From the number of times she had stepped outside to use her cell phone, Pete wondered if something were going down.

  He needed patience. And another cola.

  His watch read 11:45 p.m. Time for Dixie to get some shut-eye.

  Pete wouldn’t mind catching a few winks himself.

  He pushed the seat back to its full extension and stretched his legs. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he was just about to nod off when he heard an engine. Startled, he straightened.

  A Lincoln Town Car pulled into the driveway. Green body, white vinyl top, mid-nineties vintage.

  The driver stepped onto the pavement. Six-two, if not a tad taller, and at least 250 pounds of muscle. He wore his hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck and was dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans.

  Dixie ran to greet him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, the two embraced and shared a lingering kiss.

  Follow your gut, Pete’s first sergeant used to remind him. Right now, his gut was screaming that something wasn’t on the up-and-up about this late-night rendezvous.

  Once the loving couple unwound, they climbed into the Lincoln and headed out along the two-lane road.

  Pete gave them enough leeway to keep from attracting attention before he followed the taillights that cut through the night.

  Staying clear of the main highway, Dixie and her boyfriend headed north, meandering along the coastal contours. Eventually, the two-lane road veered east into a narrow spit of black desolation.

  If they’d made Pete, the lonely road could be a trap. But Pete felt no sense of unease or warning.

  The taillights turned, and Pete increased his speed. He couldn’t lose them now.

  An outline of homes sat nestled along a coastal inlet. A plaque erected on the side of the road welcomed him to Refuge Bay.

  Driving on the main thoroughfare of the small community, Pete passed two gas stations, both closed, a corner mom-and-pop grocery and an all-night diner, where three patrons sat at a booth by the window.

  On the far side of town, a long, shingled building was perched at the edge of the water. A sign out front read REFUGE LODGE.

  At the next intersection, the Lincoln turned inland. Were they going in a circle? Or had he been spotted?

  The boyfriend didn’t look like the type of guy who enjoyed being followed. Hopefully, this cat-and-mouse game they’d been playing wouldn’t end up with Pete in the trap.

  Not a good thought.

  As if in response, the Lincoln stopped short by a tiny bungalow.

  Pete cut his lights and turned onto a path that led behind a clump of pines. He killed the engine, crawled out of his Jeep and watched the guy push open the rear door of the small frame house. Dixie followed him inside. Lights flipped on from room to room.

  Hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening, Pete circled to the far side of the wooden structure and wormed his way through the thick shrubbery until he could peer in the window.

  The man stood over a small table, his face twisted into a deep frown. A newspaper lay open. He shoved it aside, then lifted a square of cloth and studied it for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. Evidently satisfied with what he found, he turned abruptly, motioned to Dixie and headed for the door.

  If Pete left the cover of the bushes now, he’d be spotted. Better to hole up until they climbed into the car and started down the road. With a little luck, Pete would be able to backtrack and pick up their tail.

  Hunkered down in the bushes, Pete listened for the sound of an engine. All he heard were tree frogs against the backdrop of the distant surf.

  Two doors slammed and an engine purred into gear.

  Pete climbed from the bramble as the Lincoln drove out of sight, probably heading back to Dixie’s house. He glanced at the bungalow. Torn between seeing what had prompted the twosome to drive so far in the middle of the night and wanting to follow them, he crossed the road and stepped into a small kitchen. Neat. Clean. A bowl of fruit sat on the counter. An open pantry next to the back door held a few cans of vegetables, a box of oatmeal and a jar of pickles.

  The design on the linoleum was old and faded but without a spot or crumb. The floorboards creaked as he walked into the living–dining room combination where a love seat and rocker edged a braided rug. A wooden crate, decorated with a collection of seashells, served as a coffee table. Two folding chairs and a card table sat in the dining area.

  Swatches of fabric that had drawn the guy’s interest lay on the table in various pastel patterns of tiny, delicate hearts and crosses. Pete drew closer, overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity. The intricate motif looked like something Eve would create.

  Glancing into the bedroom, he smelled a fresh, floral fragrance as sweet as honeysuckle. Had to be a woman’s room.

  Blow-up mattress on the floor. Rumpled bedding, the beige blanket and pink top sheet thrown aside.

  Had someone or something interrupted her sleep? Not Dixie and her friend. The house hadn’t been occupied when they had entered through the back door.

  A photo on the floor next to the bed caught Pete’s attention. A woman with shoulder-length raven hair and green eyes the color of the ocean looked lovingly at a man, perhaps two inches taller, who held her close.

  For an instant, Pete longed for something as real in his life.

  Abruptly, he turned away. Whoever lived here didn’t need her privacy violated.

  Stepping into the kitchen, he spied a stack of bills on the counter addressed to Meredith Lassiter. Probably the gal in the photo.

  He glanced at the open pantry, noting the black hinges attached to the doorframe.

  Odd.

  He retraced his steps to the bedroom.

  A couple of pairs of slacks and a blouse hung on the rack in the closet. Slippers were neatly placed on the floor below.

  He hadn’t noticed earlier, but the closet door had been removed from its hinges, just like the pantry.

  Some type of space-saving decorating trick?

  Then Pete left the house, the lights still ablaze to warn the woman, should she return before the break of day. Tomorrow he’d make more inquiries in town. Hopefully, he’d learn why Dixie and her friend had driven through the night to break into this bungalow.

  A second question needed to be answered as well.

  Who was Meredith Lassiter?

  “Are you a policeman?”

  Not the response Pete expected from the shopkeeper.

  “No, ma’am, but I am trying to find Meredith Lassiter.” He paused, searching for a way to ease the concern he saw in the woman’s eyes. Gray hair, mid-sixties, she continued to stare at him.

  “I’m a friend of her mother’s.” Pete needed the woman’s cooperation. “One of Meredith’s neighbors said she teaches quilting classes here at your store.”

  “Taught. Past tense. She’s missed her last three classes and hasn’t answered her cell in days.”

  The friend-of-the-mother angle must have worked, although annoyance was still evident in the shopkeeper’s voice. Hopefully aimed at Meredith and not at him.

  “I left a message, reminding her that she’s got a check to pick up,” the woman continued. “With the economy and all, I don’t have to tell you money’s tight.”

  He thought of the lack of funding for his research. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman shrugged and worried her fingers. The frustration he’d heard earlier in her voice softened to concern. “I thought she’d be back by now. Truth be told, I’m worried about Meredith. She’s a delightful young woman with a big heart. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”

  Pulling out his business card, Pete placed it on the counter. “I’m staying at the Lodge over the weekend. If she comes back, would you tell her that Pete Worth is looking for her?”

  “Shall I mention her mother?”<
br />
  “No.” Pete glanced at the colorful quilts displayed around the shop. “Her quilting. Tell Meredith I’m interested in her work.”

  The woman’s eyes softened. “She is gifted.”

  “Do you happen to know where I could find her boyfriend?” Pete thought back to the bedroom photo. “The guy’s about her age, maybe a few inches taller. Dark hair, long sideburns?”

  The shopkeeper furrowed her brow. “Doubt there’d be a boyfriend this soon after her husband’s death. I heard the police are calling it a homicide.”

  A buzz sounded in Pete’s ears. Like a trapped fly. His own internal warning system. Seemed the deeper he dug, the more problems surfaced. His desire to help Eve had led him to Dixie and now to a missing woman whose husband may have been murdered.

  Getting involved in a homicide investigation wasn’t on his list of things to do this weekend, but if Meredith knew Dixie, she might provide information that Eve needed to know.

  “Ma’am, do you recall when her husband died?”

  “Hmmm? Must have been six months ago or so. Meredith never talked about him, and most folks didn’t connect her with the story in the paper. Seems he died on a fishing boat out of Jackson Harbor.”

  “South of here?”

  “That’s right. The article said he’d just hired on. Went out on a day trip, and his leg got tied up in one of the nets as it was being tossed in the water. According to the story, he was pulled overboard, and the blades on the motor caught him. Cut him pretty bad. He bled to death before they could get him to shore.”

  “They?”

  “The crew. I wouldn’t have thought much more about the accident except the paper ran a picture of the wife he left behind, and Meredith arrived in town not long after that. Last week the police arrested the boat owner.”

  If the husband had been involved in something criminal, Dixie and her boyfriend could be as well. Perhaps that’s why they’d made the late-night visit to Meredith’s bungalow.

  Pete pointed to the counter where he’d placed his card. “You have my cell number. Be sure to tell Meredith I’m looking for her.”

  “Do you know that other guy who stopped by? He wouldn’t say what he wanted.”

  Pete thought of Dixie’s friend. “Big man with a ponytail?”

  The shopkeeper shook her head. “The man was Latino, probably five-eight.” She touched her face. “He had a scar on his left cheek.”

  Evidently, Dixie and her boyfriend weren’t the only other people looking for Meredith. The shopkeeper had mentioned the police, who probably wanted a chat with the grieving widow as well.

  Leaving the store, Pete headed down the block to the diner and sat in a booth that faced the street with a clear view of the quilt shop. Three cups of coffee later, he noticed an elderly woman shuffle inside, holding a cane in her right hand. One of the few people who had visited the shop that morning.

  Pete caught the eye of the waitress and pointed to his cup, which she quickly refilled.

  Taking a sip of the hot brew, he glanced once again at the shop. The old woman stepped through the door and onto the sidewalk.

  This time she held the cane in her left hand.

  A baggy sweater hung over her sweatpants. A floppy hat covered her hair, except for a long strand that trailed along the slender curve of her neck.

  The same raven hair he’d seen in the bungalow photo.

  Pete threw some bills on the table and raced from the diner.

  The woman turned the corner and crossed the street. A clunker sat parked at the end of the block.

  Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. Spying him, she tossed her cane aside and ran toward the car. Her hat flew off, and dark hair spilled across her shoulders, swinging back and forth.

  She had an awkward gait and kept her hands close to her body. Was she holding something?

  He was gaining on her.

  “Meredith, wait,” Pete called. “I need to talk to you.”

  She flicked another glance at him. Fear flashed across her face.

  Not what he wanted.

  At that moment, a police cruiser turned onto the block.

  Meredith stopped abruptly. She turned and caught Pete’s eye, her own wide with panic.

  He slowed his pace. Meredith paused long enough for the black-and-white sedan to pass before she took off running again.

  Silhouetted for that brief moment against the backdrop of the brick building behind her, Pete realized something he hadn’t noticed before.

  Meredith Lassiter was pregnant.

  THREE

  After everything that had happened, Meredith’s internal radar was set on high. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that no one new had entered the bank before she counted the money and stepped away from the teller. A month’s wages for teaching classes at the quilt shop wouldn’t take her far, but at least she had some cash.

  Had they found her because she’d used her credit card? She’d tried to be careful, but the prenatal vitamins and the fresh fruits and vegetables she ate to protect her baby’s health cost more than red beans and rice. Last week, she’d been forced to charge her groceries. The steel-gray pickup had appeared on her street a few days later.

  Coincidence? Maybe, but she wouldn’t risk charging anything again. At least until she ran out of money.

  What about the guy who had chased after her today? Too many unfamiliar people were appearing in her life. Life-threatening complications that sent her nerve endings into alert mode.

  Her immediate need was to get as far from Refuge Bay as possible. Find a safe place to hole up, then a job and an obstetrician.

  Thankfully, she’d escaped from the bungalow in time. The last two days spent living out of her car made her overdue for a hot shower and a good meal.

  She shoved the bills into her purse, her thoughts once again on the guy she’d seen earlier.

  An all-American type with his dark polo shirt, khaki slacks and short hair. Maybe a reporter? She hadn’t spilled anything to the police, and she certainly wouldn’t divulge information to a stringer looking for a story. Not that she had much to tell.

  Peering through the bank’s thick glass doors, she glanced up and down the street, searching for a pickup with an extended cab and tinted windows.

  Two minivans drove by. Soccer moms with their brood of kids. Nothing to fear.

  Meredith swallowed the wad of anxiety that seemed perpetually lodged in her throat, pushed open the door and stepped into the humid outdoors. The briny smell of the sea hung in the early spring air.

  Regret filtered past her with the breeze. She’d miss the ocean when she left Refuge Bay, but she wouldn’t miss the nervous apprehension that continually bubbled up, causing her chest to burn and her head to pound.

  Just as long as the stress didn’t affect the baby. Bless this child, dear Lord. Let nothing harm the precious gift You’ve given me.

  Purse draped over her shoulder, she rubbed her hand protectively over her belly as she rounded the corner and nearly collided headlong into the guy who had chased her earlier.

  She did a hasty about-face, ready to run back to the bank.

  He grabbed her arm. Twisting, she tried to break free.

  “Ma’am, please. I won’t hurt you. I work in an Atlanta medical lab. My name’s Pete Worth.”

  She glanced down at the fingers wrapped around her arm.

  He relaxed his grasp and dropped his hand. “Please, don’t run away.”

  Raising her gaze, she noted concern in his dark brown eyes.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, keeping her shoulders back, her chin jutting forward. No need to cut him any slack.

  He drew a business card from his pocket. “Information about a woman named Dixie Collins.”

  She took a step back. Collins? “I…I don’t know anyone named Dixie.”

  The lab guy crooked a brow and leaned in closer. He raised a finger to her eye. “You’ve got a little brown dot in your iris.”

  The m
ark she’d had since birth. Her adoptive father called it the devil’s curse. Not what a child needed to hear.

  “Look, I don’t have time for this,” she said with a huff.

  He held up his hand. “Sam Collins and his wife Hazel adopted a baby twenty-four years ago.”

  Meredith’s world shifted. Vertigo or lack of food, but for half a second, everything swirled around her.

  “The infant was born on November sixteenth.” He stepped closer. “The Collins family lived in Augusta, Georgia, at the time. Now a woman named Dixie claims she’s the adopted daughter.”

  Questions flew through her mind, not that she’d give them voice.

  “I’m helping Eve Townsend, the birth mother, find her rightful heir.” He stared at her, waiting for a reply.

  Meredith swallowed, trying to form a response. “Seems…seems to me someone who gave her child up for adoption wouldn’t want to revisit the past,” she managed to stammer.

  “Unless the woman’s dying.”

  His words hit Meredith hard. “Dying?”

  Pete looked past her down the street. “Is there someplace we can talk? A coffee shop? Or the diner? I’ll buy you lunch.”

  She shook her head. Much as she wanted to believe the man with the even gaze and the calming voice, she’d learned things weren’t always as they seemed.

  She took the offered card. “I need to go.”

  Frustration washed over his face. “Eve has the same mark on the iris of her eye, which you evidently inherited from your biological mother. She also has a fatal genetic condition that could have been passed on as well.” He glanced at Meredith’s belly. “You need to be tested, for your baby’s sake.”

  She shook her head, not ready to absorb what he was saying. Every action and reaction she’d had in the last seven months had been to protect her child.

  Now a stranger she didn’t know tells her about a woman to whom she may be related, and a disease that could adversely affect the precious life growing within her.

  Her husband had been murdered. The men who’d killed him were after her, and this guy wanted to compound the situation?