In The Arms of a Stranger

by Kristen Robinette

  As soon as he released her, she began to fall. Luke caught her arm again and flicked on the flashlight. The floor was littered with supplies, and the woman had inadvertently stepped into the circle of a coiled water hose. The flashlight’s beam focused first on the hose, as she stepped clear of it, then on the woman’s boots and slender, jeans-clad legs. Mud and moisture clung to her thighs where they met an oversize down coat. Luke’s gaze traveled upward but stopped abruptly at the hand that protectively cradled her full abdomen.

  She was pregnant.

  He inadvertently flashed the beam of light toward her face, and she used her free hand to protect her eyes.

  “Please…”

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Luke sat the flashlight on the floor, its beam of light pointed toward the ceiling, softly illuminating the small room. He hoped she understood that the apology included manhandling a pregnant woman.

  The woman immediately ducked her head, straight blond hair falling about her shoulders as she concentrated on unzipping her jacket. Her actions were frantic, her fingers trembling. Was she hurt? The sound of the jacket’s zipper lowering was punctuated by a shrill cry.

  Time seemed to freeze as the woman reached into the bulky coat and pulled out an infant.

  Luke suppressed a nervous laugh as he took in the blue-patterned sleeper that covered the baby from chin to toe. What had he expected? Considering he’d thought the woman was pregnant just moments before, not even a naked newborn would have surprised him.

  She hugged the baby against her for a moment before easing herself to the floor. Laying the infant against her thighs, she inspected every inch of him, ignoring Luke during the process. “Thank God,” she finally whispered.

  Luke knelt down next to her. “Is he okay?”

  The woman glanced up, making eye contact for the first time. Luminous gray-blue eyes stared back at him, her cheeks flushed with color. Disheveled blond hair covered her shoulders, and a trail of dried blood had stopped midway down her left cheek. Beautiful. The thought registered, though it had no logic in the time and place. He frowned, reaching out to inspect the wound.

  She didn’t pull away, but he watched her bite her lip as if the action frightened her. He turned her head slightly, noting that the wound wasn’t a threat, then forced his hand down. “Your baby—is he okay?”

  “Oh, he’s… Wind rattled the walls of the cabin, and she jumped, her eyes searching the open doorway. “I think he’s okay,” she whispered.

  “What’s your name?”

  A look of surprise crossed her face. “Dana Langston.”

  “I’m Luke Sutherlin. I’m the local chief of police.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. He realized then that she probably expected him to look more official. He’d slid on his oldest pair of jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt before making the trip up the mountain. The brown leather jacket he wore was hardly official either. Luke pulled out his ID and passed it to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Relief softened her features as she examined the ID and returned it. Her gaze returned to the baby. “There was an accident. The car went off the cliff…”

  Luke summoned his patience when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “Ma’am?” He gently touched her chin with his fingers and tipped her face upward. “I need to know what’s going on so that I can help.”

  “I tried to help.” She pulled the baby against her chest when he began to fret. “Someone started shooting at me.”

  “Why would someone shoot at you?”

  The baby began crying and the woman tried to soothe him, glancing nervously at Luke and then at the door. He let out a piercing yell as she rocked him against her shoulder.

  “You’ve got to get him quiet,” Luke growled, knowing the infant’s cries were like a beacon in the darkness, blowing any cover they had.

  “I know.” She shifted him, patting his back frantically. “I think maybe he’s hungry. I’m really not sure.”

  “I hope you have the answer in that diaper bag.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her chest. “Unless you need some privacy, in which case you’re right out of luck.”

  “No.” The woman looked confused then angry as she pulled the diaper bag to her. “I think I saw some formula in here.”

  Luke frowned. “You think? Why don’t you know?”

  Dana Langston looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “This is not my baby.”

  She began frantically searching the diaper bag with her one free hand while Luke digested her words. “The baby was in the accident?”

  “Yes.” She cupped her hand over the side of the baby’s face, as if shielding him from her next words. “His mother is dead.”

  Luke cursed, his gaze scanning the confines of the cabin. He needed backup. Why hadn’t he gotten the damned two-way radio out of the Jeep?

  He forced his next words to sound calm. “You’re telling me someone died in this accident?”

  “A woman. I assume she was his mother. She was the only other one in the car.” Her voice took on a faraway tone, and he glanced up to find her staring at the baby as if she didn’t hear his cries, her expression fixed and her pupils dilated. “Her car went off the cliff. I climbed down and found them. I took the baby and then…”

  “It’s okay.” He forced himself to speak the words softly and to postpone the other questions he wanted to fire at her. Luke laid his gun on the floor and jerked the diaper bag from her hands. Inside it was a cell phone. “You have a phone?”

  “It doesn’t work,” she answered, patting the crying infant on the back.

  “Figures,” he muttered, substituting the word for a stronger one that came to mind. He turned his attention back to the diaper bag. There were several miniature glass jars full of milky-looking fluid and a canister of powder. He turned the label to the light. Powdered Baby Formula. Fat good that did. He found a couple of bottle nipples in the bottom of the bag but no bottle. The baby’s cries became even more frantic and Luke dumped the contents onto the floor, growing a little frantic himself.

  “Here—hold him. I’ll do it.”

  As Luke looked up, Dana thrust the baby into his arms. He felt a surge of panic as the baby squirmed against his grip, arms and legs flailing. He instinctively pulled the infant against his chest, his gaze falling to his gun, judging how many seconds delay lay between him and his weapon. Any delay could cost them their lives.

  “I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Luke looked up to find a sad smile playing about Dana’s mouth. The expression snagged some emotion within him, and he had to force himself to follow her gaze. When he did, he found the baby had pulled his pinky finger to its mouth and was gumming it frantically. “Beginner’s luck,” he replied.

  She lifted her hand. “Should I try?” Luke saw that she’d opened one of the small glass jars and capped it with a bottle nipple.

  “Yes.” He thrust the baby toward her and she popped the bottle into the infant’s mouth before he could protest.

  Luke watched as she covered the baby with the hem of her long jacket, and decided that she instinctively knew what to do. Unlike him. He retrieved his gun, relieved to hold something that he actually knew how to handle. He stood and covered the door, assessing the dark cabin, listening. He glanced down at Dana and the baby. The infant greedily consumed the bottle, but the woman’s eyes were glued to him.

  “You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

  He frowned, examining her face. “No. Should I?”

  “No—it’s just… I’ve gotten used to being recognized in Atlanta. I’m a television news anchor.”

  “We don’t really get Atlanta reception up here.” He cocked his hip against the door frame, his eyes scanning the interior of the cabin that was visible from the hallway. “We get Greenville, South Carolina, if the weather’s good.”

  Dana’s gaze flowed over Luke. He literally towered over her,
especially from her position on the cabin’s floor. His shoulders filled the doorway, casting an impressive shadow into the hall. If he was a cop, and Dana had every reason to believe that he was who and what he said, she was a lucky woman. If he wasn’t—if he were playing some sort of twisted game—then she was…how had he put it?

  Right out of luck.

  But the choice to trust Luke Sutherlin had already been made. She’d made it the minute she saw him hold the infant. He’d obviously not known what to do. Yet he’d held the baby with tenderness. An old pain twisted inside her, but she forced herself to focus on the present.

  “Have you heard of Paul Gonzales?”

  “Yes.” She noticed a muscle twitched at the side of Luke’s jaw. “I don’t know much about the case but I know what he did.”

  “I think that’s who’s out there.” Her voice sounded uncertain, even to her own ears. “That’s who was shooting at me.”

  Luke whirled to face her, his blue eyes narrowed. For a moment she recoiled at the anger reflected there. “Why would you think that?”

  Dana hesitated, thrown off guard by the question. Every news station, including her own, had hinted at her involvement in the Gonzalez case. The Atlanta papers had reported the story endlessly, at least until a fresher story had finally stolen the headlines. Maybe her guilt had led her to believe that her connection was more obvious to others than it really was.

  Or maybe it was that this north Georgia mountain range was a world unto itself. The borders of North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia came together like the crosshairs of a rifle scope, with Sweetwater situated at the borders of all three. It was as close to no-man’s-land as you could get. Was it possible that he really didn’t know her tragic connection to Michael Gonzalez?

  A sort of freedom presented itself to her. She’d lived with the judgment of others—including herself—for over a year now. But if Luke Sutherlin didn’t know…

  He doesn’t have to know, her mind whispered, that Paul Gonzalez had been ready to relinquish his paternal rights until the story aired. He didn’t have to know that because of her a madman had been given the opportunity to kill an innocent child.

  Her mistake was her own. All Luke Sutherlin really needed to know was that she was scheduled to testify in the Gonzalez trial. And that Paul Gonzalez wanted to stop her.

  “Why?” Luke demanded a second time.

  “I’m a key witness in his trial. He’s threatened me.” She met Luke Sutherlin’s flinty-blue eyes and saw them soften. But would he feel concern if he knew the whole story? “Someone broke into my apartment two days ago. I believe it was Gonzalez.” Her chin began to quiver and chill bumps rippled down her arms, scattering her thoughts. “He wants to scare me, to keep me from testifying.” She forced the words out, wrapping her free hand over her arm to still the trembling.

  What was happening to her? It was cold, but she still wore her jacket. Besides, this cold seemed to come from within, emanating outward. She drew in a ragged breath. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Her hands began to tremble and her arms felt weak. Dana clamped her chattering teeth together and concentrated on her precarious grip on the baby.

  “Are you okay?” Luke’s voice was deep but soft.

  She looked up. “I—I don’t know what’s happening.” It was becoming more difficult to breathe with each passing second. “I’m cold and it’s like I can’t…I can’t get enough air.”

  “Damn.” Luke dropped to his knees in front of her. “How badly were you hurt?” he asked, leaning over the baby as he examined the cut on her forehead a second time. “Were you injured anywhere else?”

  Dana shook her head.

  “You might be shocky.” He said the words more to himself than her. “Or it could be a panic attack—a delayed reaction.” He shimmied out of his jacket and draped the leather over her knees, partially covering the baby. He grasped her shoulders firmly. “Either way, you need to calm down. Try and relax.” His palms slid to her neck and upward, finally cradling her face. “Look at me, Dana.”

  Her eyes met his.

  “You’re safe.”

  She felt tears well up in her eyes and hated herself for the weakness. They spilled as she nodded, trailing over Luke’s warm hands.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He placed one hand against the baby’s head, absently caressing the dark peach fuzz that topped it. “Not to either of you.”

  Dana tried to answer, but she couldn’t seem to take in enough air to form the words.

  “You need to slow your breathing,” Luke stated, his eyes never leaving hers. He pulled her free hand to him, spreading her fingers over his chest. “Breathe with me.”

  Dana stared at her hand, pale against the black fabric that covered Luke’s chest, her fingers resting inches from the leather holster that crisscrossed it. Slowly she began to match her breathing to the rhythmic rise and fall of Luke’s chest. Time passed in a haze, and every breath she took with Luke loosened the smothering tightness in her chest. Soon Dana was more aware of the subtle play of muscle beneath fabric than the rise and fall of his chest.

  The baby squirmed in her lap and Dana blinked, her gaze rising to Luke’s face. Loose waves of dark-brown hair just brushed the neck of his T-shirt. The fabric expanded to cover broad shoulders. He was a giant of a man, yet there was a gentleness about his face, more specifically his eyes. Set above high cheekbones, his eyes were startlingly blue against his dark complexion. Eyes that watched her intently, missing nothing.

  Dana was surprised to find that a surreal warmth had filled her, calmed her when she wasn’t even aware of it. But to her amazement, that wasn’t all. She’d hardly been aware of herself as a woman during the past year and a half. But emotions she’d thought long dead now warmed her body in places she’d learned to ignore. Luke’s gaze flickered to her mouth, and Dana jerked her hand away as though she’d been burned.

  “Is anyone expecting you?” Luke’s deep voice cut through the silence that followed.

  Was anyone expecting her? She desperately wanted to say yes, but couldn’t think of a soul who’d look for her. Her aunt and uncle had raised her since the age of five, after her parents died in an auto accident. Dana checked in with them once a week. But if she didn’t, would they call her? An old pain threatened to resurface, and she suddenly knew why she phoned them so regularly. The answer was no.

  Her chest constricted again, but this time Dana reached for Luke, her hand seeking his chest like a lifeline. He placed his hand over hers, warm and reassuring.

  “No, Dana,” he crooned, his deep voice hypnotic. “Don’t let it happen again. Breathe.”

  Her eyes were glued to his chest, but her thoughts were frantically searching for a positive answer to his question. The list of people close to her was short and getting shorter. Her ex-husband? She shook her head, forcing down a hysterical sob. No, Robert was busy tending to his new wife and newborn son. His biological son, she mentally added. A child that even the most advanced fertility treatments hadn’t allowed her to bear.

  Perhaps that was the reason she was so out of control, she reasoned. She’d continued to try to become pregnant, even after the divorce, for the last year and a half. Her doctor had pumped enough hormones into her system to give her normally laid-back personality a jolt of hysteria. Not that the effort had done any good.

  And now that door had permanently closed.

  I’m afraid we’ve reached an impasse, Dana. Her doctor had delivered the news as gently as possible. There’s nothing more we can do.

  She’d received the call from her doctor just moments before she was to go on-air today. The proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back.

  There hadn’t been time to confide the news to anyone, but she could predict the reaction of friends and family. It’s for the best, they’d say. After all, she was a single woman in the public eye. If viewers reacted negatively to a pregnancy, it could mean the end of her career.

  But wha
t did she care?

  People looked at her carefully arranged appearance, her high-profile career, and thought she’d achieved her dream. It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. What she wanted was to spend sleepless nights holding an infant against her breast, make mud pies with a toddler, and teach a first-grader how to turn a wad of gum into a shiny pink bubble.

  At one time the dream had included a loving husband, but not anymore.

  “Dana?”

  Dana looked up, knowing his watchful eyes had seen the play of emotion on her face. She dropped her hand, forcing her breathing to steady on its on. This was her life, the hand she’d been dealt. She called on the stubborn pride that had seen her through more than one lonely crisis, including her childhood.

  Dana lifted her chin slightly. “No. No one is expecting me.”

  Chapter 3

  Luke nodded, trying not to be distracted by the sudden moisture in her eyes. In his experience in law enforcement, emotion that intense could be traced to one of two things. Either the suspect had just bared their soul or they were desperately lying. The thought struck him as odd. He had no logical reason to think Dana Langston would lie.

  He flexed his free hand, wishing for the familiar feel of the radio, for the chance to call for backup. And to check her story, he admitted. He lifted the cell phone from the floor where it lay among the spilled contents of the diaper bag and optimistically pressed the power button. The phone came to life, its face illuminating in the dim lighting of the storage room. Luke cast a questioning glance at Dana.

  “I couldn’t get through earlier when I tried. Maybe the mountains, maybe the storm…”

  Luke punched in the number for the police station and hit the send button. Nothing happened for a few seconds and then the familiar no-connection tone sounded. “Still nothing,” he announced.

  His shoulder muscles tensed beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, reacting to the cold in a painful spasm. There was nothing more bone-chilling than an empty house, no matter what shelter it offered. Luke looked at Dana and the baby. Dana’s jeans were encrusted in mud and melting snow, as his were. And the baby just looked vulnerable as hell. Without a means to call for help, they were stuck for the night. He had no intention of spending it shivering in a supply closet.