“Faith’s sister is Jeremy Covington’s girlfriend?” Her voice grew louder, her surprise evident. “How old is she? Twelve?”
“Twenty.” He took his foot off the gas as he neared the Hasting house, just to take a quick peek in the driveway.
The police cruiser was there, of course, as was Bailey’svintage Volvo. But where was his foster mother’s vehicle? Slowing down even more, he knew everything was probably fine. Lorelei ran bank errands sometimes in the afternoons or stopped over at the pizza parlor.
But then he noticed Stallworth’s window was rolled down, and the officer’s head was hanging forward at an awkward angle.
What the hell? A low hiss of suspicion—of dread—slid between his clenched teeth.
“Is something the matter?” Amy’s voice was instantly alert.
He must have said something out loud.
“Aiden.” The bottom dropped out of his world. “Something’s wrong at my mother’s place.”
Yanking hard on the steering wheel, he pulled into the driveway fast and flipped on the police camera.
“What can I do?” The steeliness in her voice pierced through the fear for his child.
“Get to one of your brothers’ houses.” Vaulting out of the truck, he still hoped Stallworth had just fallen asleep. But he knew damn well that wasn’t the case. “Be safe.”
Disconnecting the call, he alerted dispatch even as he sprinted across the lawn toward his officer. Stallworth was breathing but unconscious. A minor head wound.
But Sam’s son was inside that house. Unprotected except for a teenage girl who was also a target for Covington.
Drawing his weapon, he charged inside, ignoring police protocol because this was his family. His home. Adrenaline fueled every step as he shouted his way through the eerily silent house.
He’d never been in this place before when it was empty.
Ever. And the quiet had him fearing the worst. It wassomething of a relief when he found each room vacant. His throat grew tighter, but he forced his hands to stay steady, his training never more important than now.
Still, when he reached the nursery and his son’s crib stood empty, his knees damn near gave out. He had to hold the crib rail for a second to pull it together.
Aiden was gone. And Bailey McCord had disappeared, too.
Chapter Sixteen
HOLDING AIDEN AS tightly to her as she dared, Bailey sprinted through the woods, channeling her inner huntress. She prayed she made it out of the woods alive so she could tell Megan that one.
She kept picturing one of the video-game Ts that Megan wore, the one with an iron-on patch of a fleet-footed archer queen in a green felt hat. Had she crossed the line into total hysteria that she wanted to laugh out loud about that as she zipped between trees and avoided patches of crunchy leaves that might give her away?
Definitely. But it was either laugh or vomit from fear.
Peering behind her, she couldn’t see any signs of movement through the trees behind her. If it had been dark, she might be able to hide better. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the person who’d entered the Hasting home, but she was sure it was a woman. Bailey had heard a female voice shrieking at her to “get back here” when she’d first sped into the forest.
After that, she’d thought she’d heard footsteps pounding the ground behind her, but it could have been her own. Herheart had been beating too loud to tell for certain, her blood rushing in her ears. She’d been too afraid to look back until just now.
Seeing a pile of rotting wooden pallets up ahead, Bailey sprinted—fast and quiet—never letting go of Aiden. She’d ducked into a baby sling on the way out the door and placed him inside, but she didn’t trust the cloth to keep him secure as she ran. A baby’s tiny neck was so thin. She used her forearm as reinforcement up his spine, cradling his head in her palm through the sling.
So far, he hadn’t cried. But if he did?
She didn’t have anything else with her. No purse. No cell phone. No pacifier or bottle for Aiden.
She swallowed hard, practically choking from lack of air as she slid behind the pile of pallets.
“Shh. Shh. We’re okay,” she whispered to Aiden, wishing she had the smallest sense of direction to know where to go next.
Dawson had ridden his bicycle through the woods to her house earlier in the week. Maybe if she ran long enough, she’d arrive in her own backyard. She’d let her father take care of the psycho following her.
