The Baby's Defender

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “Call 9-1-1,” he told Cady, “and stay directly behind me as we move from quadrant to quadrant. The safest place for you and Baby-bug right now is on my six.”

  Cady’s whispered tones into her cell phone told him that she was complying with his instructions to the letter as they edged into the living room. Some of the furniture had been upended and pictures and knickknacks had been smashed, but no one lay in wait. They continued into the kitchen, which was untouched and vacant of other human life. West checked the door to the basement, but it was still locked from the outside, so the intruder couldn’t be down there.

  Then they proceeded to the dark-paneled study. West flicked on the light and scanned the area, his pistol matching the swivel of his gaze. No one. This room, too, appeared to have escaped the violence. Quickly and quietly, they checked out the rest of the house, upstairs and down. The intruder was gone, and the destruction was confined to the foyer and living room. They returned to the main living space. West righted the Pabst chair and motioned Cady to have a seat. She looked ready to collapse. The cops would just have to deal with the fact that he’d moved a chair.

  Cady nodded and sank into it, settling the infant seat on the floor beside her. “Thank you,” she murmured. “If you were not here with me, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You’re most welcome.” His voice had gone a little rough. Her gratitude—or rather, the need for it—broke him up inside. “I’m sure you would have done exactly the right thing.”

  Cady shook her head. “I’m not certain of that at all. Look how I fared the night I was attacked in my bedroom. Supposedly, I did all the right things, but still—”

  “You were clobbered on the head, and someone heavier than you tried to suffocate you. There was nothing better you could have done.”

  “And I almost died.” Her thin whisper tore at West’s heart.

  He squatted down in front of her and captured her gaze. “Sometimes people do all the right things, but circumstances conspire against them. Thankfully, you called for help.”

  “And it arrived in time.” The edges of Cady’s mouth tilted slightly upward.

  Her shining gaze undid West. A deep groan heaved from his chest and he covered his eyes with his hands. “We didn’t arrive in time for Griff. We fought so hard to get to him, but—”

  “Stop!” Her gentle fingers parted his hands from his face. “I know you and Darius and Brennan. If Griffon could have been saved, you would have saved him.”

  West swallowed against a dry throat. “I can’t tell you what the mission was, but I can tell you that a bunch of people are alive today who wouldn’t be without your husband’s bravery and sacrifice.”

  Cady tilted her head, expression turning tender. “And that’s what being a soldier is all about. I know that in my head, but my heart is still working on it. Give me time.”

  “All you need.”

  Their faces were so close to each other that Cady’s breath fanned his cheeks. Only a few inches separated his lips from hers, but he didn’t dare close that gap. Her plea for time stood like a wall between them. Would that wall ever come down? West pulled away.

  Cady’s gaze roamed the room. “Do you notice something odd?” Her tone had gone hard.

  West followed the trajectory of her gaze from item to item. “The destruction in the living room and foyer looks staged in a very specific way.”

  “Just what I was thinking. Some of the antique furniture may appear to have been thrown around, but it was moved very carefully. See?” She patted the wooden arms of her chair. “Not a scuff or a scratch. On the other hand, things that I added to the space, mostly knickknacks and pictures, were destroyed with venom. Correct me if I’m leaping to conclusions, but I think that tells us this person is obsessed with keeping the place exactly the way it was when my great-aunt Anita lived here.”

  “I’d say that’s a spot-on deduction. Unfortunately, it also indicates that the individual is intimately familiar with the home and the way it was in years gone by.”

  Cady’s head drooped. “I know my mother fits that description to a tee. I can understand her having a passion for this house, but I can’t wrap my head around the idea that she has transformed from manipulative to murderous.”

  The wail of a police siren closed in and stopped outside. Soon they were joined by a pair of officers, but this time not the same two uniforms who had answered the call when Cady was attacked in her bedroom and when the bug was found. West tersely informed the pair of the situation, including the fact that he’d moved one chair from its upended condition. They shook their heads and performed the same search West and Cady had done and ended up rejoining them in the living room to report the same results.

  “We’ll get forensics in here to look for trace evidence and dust for prints,” one officer said, holstering his weapon.

  Cady rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my daughter upstairs to her room and change her.”

  The officer nodded permission, and Cady carried Olivia from the room. If West was going to be honest with himself, she carried his heart, as well.

  TEN

  Upstairs in Livvy’s bedroom, Cady cooed and chatted to her daughter while she changed the diaper. Livvy kicked and wiggled, showing no signs of wanting another nap. She was starting to stay awake for longer periods of time, which was fun but could be challenging when Cady had housework or laundry she needed to do.

  Her upbeat manner with her daughter belied the churning tension of her thoughts. Another home invasion. At least this time, no one had been in the house to take the brunt of an attack. Whoever had broken in—no, check that, no signs of break-in—whoever had gotten inside by some mysterious means had expressed clear signs of rage toward her personally. The fury probably stemmed from the fact that she wasn’t dead yet.

  Could her mother be so jealous of Cady’s inheritance of the family home that she’d become homicidal? Even if that were so, was her mother’s damaged mind capable of conceiving and executing the savvy and diabolical plans that had not only nearly succeeded in killing Cady, but Darius and West, as well? The idea seemed far-fetched, but who else could be doing these things and for what reason?

  Then there was the issue of the attraction she had begun to feel for West—an attraction that she’d had the impression he reciprocated. Obviously, that impression was nothing but wishful thinking on her part, because his words downstairs explained the matter fully. Guilt, not attraction, motivated him. She’d had no idea how deeply he, Darius and Brennan felt responsible for Griff’s death. She didn’t blame them for the loss of her husband. Not at all. Her response to West that if they could have saved him, they would have, was entirely genuine. But, apparently, they couldn’t quite exonerate themselves for his death, and now West felt extraordinarily obligated to Griff’s widow and daughter.

  Cady ground her teeth together. Once this horrible business was resolved, and if she survived, it would be best if she distanced herself from West. They both needed to get on with their lives. Why did that decision sound exactly right to her head, but exactly wrong to her heart? Cady picked up her daughter and snuggled and kissed her. Her heart would just have to get over Westley Foster. She had this little one to fill her days and her affections.

  Sounds of activity downstairs let her know that the crime scene techs had arrived and were processing any evidence. Please, God, let there be some this time. Surely, the perpetrator of these crimes would make a mistake at some point.

  The front stairs let out telltale creaks and groans. Someone was heading in her direction. She turned and West appeared in the doorway. Her heart panged. Why did he have to look so good? Why did he have to be so good? It was going to be excruciating to push him away.

  “Brennan just called,” he said. “I told him what went on here, but that he should stay at the hospital with Darius. If that neighborhood watch guy told him som
ething—”

  “Our killer might want to finish him off,” Cady finished his sentence.

  “Bingo.” West nodded. “But there is a little good news. Darius’s vital signs have stabilized already, much to the doctor’s surprise. He hasn’t woken up, but they’re upgrading his condition from critical to serious. Bren thinks they’ll be moving him out of the intensive care unit sometime in the next few hours.”

  “That is good news.” A smile bloomed on Cady’s face.

  “For sure!” The brightness faded from West’s face. “Then there’s the bad news. Bren finished examining those house plans from the lawyer’s file, but they yielded no clues about a secret entry into the house. They didn’t eliminate the possibility, either. The sketches are simply too bare-bones to provide that sort of detail.”

  Cady huffed. “I rekeyed the locks soon after I moved in, as well as updating the security system, so I don’t see any other way for the killer to be gaining access to the house than by some secret entrance. So much for finding out about its location the easy way. That leaves us with whatever might be stored in the attic. Going through that stuff will be a big job, but I don’t see any way around making the attempt.”

  “Agreed. I’ll hang out downstairs until the crime scene people leave and then I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “Thank you. Facing that devastation again wasn’t something I was eager to tackle. I’ll stay here and play with Livvy. Maybe by the time she goes down for a nap, we’ll be ready to start in the attic together.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  His grin warmed Cady from top to toe. Chill! She scolded herself. Too bad she hadn’t been willing to admit to herself that her feelings for West were growing beyond friendship until it was too late to nip them in the bud. Now she could add that area to the places in her heart that needed to heal.

  A half hour later, Livvy finally wound down and started rubbing her eyes with her little fists. Cady nursed her, and she fell asleep. Her tiny, perfect features and the winsome contrast of dark lashes against plump, rosy cheeks sent a pang through Cady—part joy at such a gift in her life, part envy at the innocent relaxation. What she wouldn’t give for a little of that right now!

  Cady placed her daughter in her crib and went to find West. She met him coming up the steps.

  “All tidied up down there,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind that I popped a frozen lasagna into the oven.”

  “Perfect.”

  He looked at his wristwatch. “That gives us about an hour to start rummaging around up there.” He pointed over their heads.

  Cady turned and led the way to the attic stairs, which were opposite the locked and boarded up servants’ stairwell. Opening the door released a waft of stale air. Cady sneezed, and West let out a muted cough.

  “Into the trenches,” he said.

  Cady allowed herself a small chuckle. Humor, even the ironic sort, was in short supply around here.

  West flicked a switch to turn on a bare light bulb overhead, and they trod up steep, creaky steps. Dirt-streaked, round windows at the front and back of the cavernous space let in enough fading daylight to illuminate a rabbit warren of stacked boxes and scuffed-up trunks thick with dust. Against a side wall, a jumble of larger items filled a set of ancient shelves. Here and there a piece of discarded furniture or a garment rack filled with faded, vintage clothing peeked out of the morass. Near the stairs, a couple of short stacks of medium-sized plastic storage containers didn’t wear quite as much dust, clearly more recent additions to the clutter.

  West let out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding when you said this would be a big job. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “A part of me sees this as a treasure trove of history. If the circumstances were different, I might enjoy the exploration. But with time of the essence, I would suggest we turn on every hanging bulb and take a quick walk-through to see if we can spot any likely places where something like house plans might be stored—specifically an old desk or a trunk that dates back to the nineteenth century.”

  “Sounds logical. With your interest in vintage objects, you might make a good antiques dealer. There may be enough stuff up here to get you started.”

  “You know, that’s one career I’ve never considered. I was a store clerk when I met Griffon. I’ll have to give the idea some thought. Oh, and by the way—” she shot him a sidelong look “—smooth way to distract me from the current danger and help me focus on a good future.”

  “Thank you for seeing through my devious ploy, but I was serious, too.”

  “I know.” She waded into the maze.

  A half hour later, they met again at the top of the stairs.

  “Anything?” Cady prompted.

  West shrugged. “I ran across an old rolltop desk. It wasn’t locked, but when I rolled back the lid, it was empty.”

  Cady flopped her arms against her sides. “I found a couple of ancient trunks, but one contained knickknacks and wall hangings, and the other was full of clothing items from the early twentieth century—a vintage clothing dealer’s dream, because they were in good shape.”

  West frowned. “That means we have to start looking through every container up here. But first, we need to check on the lasagna and maybe throw together a salad to go with it.”

  Cady stepped forward and her knee bumped a stack of plastic totes. The stack toppled over and tubs skidded everywhere. One popped open, releasing a collection of holiday decorations. She groaned and bent toward the mess then froze, her gaze captured by the label scrawled on top of the container that had been on the bottom of the stack: Maylene’s Things. The breath stalled in Cady’s lungs.

  “What is it?” West touched her shoulder.

  Slowly, Cady straightened, pointing at the labeled tub. “My mother’s full name is Maylene. That’s her stuff.”

  Cady’s heart galloped in her chest. Did she have the audacity to rifle through items from her mother’s early life that had been valued enough to store away? The act would feel like an invasion of privacy. Yet, what choice did she have? They needed answers about the dangerous things that were happening now, and the slightest lead could be golden.

  Of course, the tub might contain ordinary items like school papers or awards or even special toys that might at least give Cady insight into the type of child her mother had been before hard knocks and drugs had transformed her adult life. Then again, her mom had always insinuated that her upbringing in this house had been far from conventional. It was possible that this benign-looking container could hold information that might explode her world once again. Could she bear one more awful revelation about her family?

  * * *

  West laid a serving-sized bowl of tossed salad in front of Cady at the kitchen table. She nodded in wordless acknowledgment. Maybe he should have insisted she open the container of her mother’s things before they sat down to eat, but she’d said it could wait. West was getting mixed messages from her body language. Her pale face and subdued demeanor signaled that she dreaded the chore, while her continual darted glances toward the living room, where West had brought the container downstairs and deposited it, telegraphed that she was anxious to find out what was inside—for better or worse.

  Should he pray that the contents proved to be innocent trinkets from a little girl’s childhood, or that they would discover a clue to what was going on here today? The former might be easier on Cady’s emotions, but the latter might help keep her alive.

  Somehow, the two of them plodded through dinner. West forced himself to eat every bite, the way he had done when his squad was on a mission. One never knew when the next opportunity for a meal might come. Cady nibbled here and there, but mostly pushed her food around with her fork.

  “Whatever is in that container,” he said, “we’ll get through this together.”

  Her head jerked up, and her gaze lasered int
o him. “Together? No, we can’t!” Her body gave a small shudder and she lowered her gaze. “Sorry. Major overreaction. Yes, I’m beyond thankful for all Triple Threat Personal Protection Service is doing for me now, but when we get through this, we can’t stay together.” She peered up at him as if fearing her next words. “You deserve to pursue your career and have a life.”

  West wrinkled his brow. What was she getting at? “I am pursuing my career, and I have a life that I appreciate very much. Right now, it’s centered on protecting you.”

  “And one day soon it will be protecting someone else. What I’m trying to say is that you and the guys don’t have to be tied to me for the rest of your lives. Livvy and I are not your permanent responsibility.”

  West wiped his mouth on his napkin, then crushed the paper in his fist. “Are you returning to our prior conversation about us gladly giving you a hand here and there? I thought we’d settled that issue. You’re not a duty or a responsibility. It’s our honor to serve you and Baby-bug.”

  Cady sat up stiff and straight. “What I’m getting at is that you don’t owe us anything. I told you. I don’t hold you or Darius or Brennan responsible for Griff’s death. You can move on.”

  Move on? West’s chest went hollow. She was telling him, clear as a bell, to back off as soon as this case was over. Did she sense his romantic interest in her? Was this her way of telling him she couldn’t return those feelings and providing him a graceful way to exit her life? If that’s what she wanted, he would have no choice but to grant her wish. But walking away might prove more difficult than any mission he’d ever carried out.