Gun raised and flashlight up, he navigated the steep stairs. He swept the light across the small space. In the rear was a pile of discarded boxes. The whimpers were coming from there. They sounded human. His boots shuffled against the dusty floor, and motes danced in the beam. Peyton’s hand touched his back. Like him, she had her gun raised. Her breathing was shallow, but her expression was determined.
“Knoxville Police Department, make yourself known.” Dawson’s voice reverberated off the metal. A sharp cry followed.
And suddenly, he knew.
His steps quickened. Dawson tossed aside the cardboard.
A baby—only a few weeks old—lay strapped in a carrier, wearing a pink snowsuit. Her tiny fist was pressed against her mouth, her dark eyes wide under the brim of a knitted cap. A small backpack sat next to her.
Behind him, Peyton inhaled. Shock seemed to render her motionless.
Then the baby looked at Dawson and wailed.
THREE
Grace Elizabeth Morrison.
Peyton stared at the name on the birth certificate that’d been tucked underneath the cover of the baby carrier. The scents of antiseptic and stale coffee soured her stomach. Or maybe it was the painkillers the emergency room doctor had given her. The lump on her scalp throbbed even through the painkillers, promising a migraine later. A cart rattled as someone pushed it past the room.
“You didn’t know Lilia had a baby?”
Peyton looked up from the birth certificate to Dawson. He stood at the foot of the bed, his expression a careful mask of indifference. Built like an ox, with broad shoulders that strained the fabric of his jacket, he cut an intimidating figure. The badge hooked to his belt, along with his holstered weapon and quiet confidence, radiated authority. Dark curls—trimmed short and neat—drew attention to his strong jaw, shadowed now with stubble. The past five years had added a few crow's feet to the corners of his rich brown eyes, but they only made him more attractive.
Her heart skipped a beat, an unconscious reaction that cut through her shock. Peyton forced herself to focus, turning her attention to the baby nestled in a clear bassinet. Like Peyton, little Grace had been examined by the emergency room doctor. He’d declared the one-month-old in perfect health.
Peyton, on the other hand, had a concussion. They were waiting for the results of her MRI to determine if she could leave tonight, or if she’d have to stay in the hospital for observation.
“No, I didn’t know Lilia had a baby.” Regret and guilt pinched her, threatening to unmoor the careful hold she kept on her emotions. “We had a falling out three years ago. Tonight was the first time I’ve seen or heard from Lilia since.”
“What was the falling out about?” Detective Liam Miller asked from his perch on a chair near the window. Like Dawson, his expression was flat and nonjudgmental. Peyton vaguely remembered Liam from high school. He’d been a senior when she was a freshman. The intervening years had been kind. Muscular and clean-shaven, he’d ditched the thick glasses for contacts, revealing a set of stunning baby blues.
But Peyton saw past his even tone and good looks. She recognized the way he surreptitiously studied her. Liam hadn’t decided if she could be trusted, and she wondered how much Dawson had told his colleague about their past. Neither of them had lived in Knoxville when they got divorced. Both had been working in Dallas back then.
Dawson would never speak badly of her, but Peyton was smart enough to realize Liam’s loyalty would be to her ex-husband. Rightfully so.
“Money. Lilia showed up at my house high, looking for a place to stay and cash. We argued.” She winced, remembering the harsh words her cousin had hurled at her. Peyton hadn’t been in a good place herself, still mired in grief and working herself to the bone. Her temper had gotten the best of her. Thefight had devolved quickly. “She refused to check into rehab, and I threw her out. She disappeared after that. I tried to contact her last year, hoping to make amends, but her cell number was no longer working.”
“So you were surprised when she called asking for help?”
“Yes and no. This is the longest Lilia and I have gone without talking, but we’ve had periods of estrangement before. Mostly when she was using. It used to be, when she needed help, she’d call our grandmother. After Nana Grace died, Lilia turned to me.” She smoothed out a wrinkle in the sheet. “I guess…I figured one day she’d pop back into my life.”
“And Lilia didn’t tell you why she wanted to meet you at the train depot?” Liam asked.
“No. She only said she was in trouble and needed my help. Lilia promised to explain everything in person.” Worry plagued her. Knoxville police officers and state troopers were currently combing the train depot, searching for any sign of her cousin. Peyton fiddled with the edge of her sheet. “Maybe I should’ve insisted on more information, especially given her prior history with addiction, but she sounded so scared…and I knew she had to be desperate if she was calling me after all this time.”
Liam asked a few more questions, but Peyton couldn’t provide any helpful information. The man who attacked her at the train depot had been wearing a ski mask. She only had a vague description to give him—roughly six-feet tall and fit. “There was a homeless man nearby though. Caucasian, with a thick beard, wearing sweatpants and a tan wool jacket. He disappeared into the shipping container when he saw me. Maybe he spotted Lilia earlier. Or witnessed the attack on her. I’m certain the scream I heard was my cousin.”
“The responding officers will interview everyone they find at the train depot, but I’ll make sure they keep an eye out for the man you’ve described.” Liam shifted his weight and pulled hiscell phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this. Be right back.”
The door swung softly shut behind him. An awkward silence followed. Peyton felt small and vulnerable in the hospital bed, but didn’t quite have the wherewithal to stand. She also couldn’t bring herself to look at Dawson. Instead, she focused on baby Grace’s birth certificate. Lilia’s name was typed out in all caps on the official document under mother, but the space for father was left blank. “There’s no father listed. That’s weird, right?”
Dawson shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want to be involved.”
“Probably so. Lilia never had good taste in men.” The letters on the birth certificate swam as sudden tears filled her eyes, catching Peyton off-guard. She was scared to death for her cousin. Despite their years of estrangement, she loved Lilia deeply. Had longed for the return of the sisterly bond they’d shared as children.
Would they have a chance to reconcile? The sound of Lilia’s screams kept replaying in her head, and Peyton didn’t need a decade of law enforcement training to know her cousin was in danger. Mortal danger.
A tear escaped, trailing down her cheek before she could hide it.
