Page 17 of Protecting the Newborn

Tony wants Gracelyn in as well, Charla added a few seconds later.You’ll both need to give a statement about the attack last night.

I emailed Tony a statement, Ruston quickly pointed out, knowing what he’d given wouldn’t be nearly enough. It had been the bare-bones details.

You know how this works, Charla insisted.You need to be interviewed in person.

Ruston had a quick comeback for that, too. The attack wasn’t in SAPD’s jurisdiction. Technically, that would fall under the duties of the county sheriff, but Duncan had already spoken to him, and he’d relinquished authority to Duncan. Charla almost certainly knew that.

Again, he didn’t respond, and a few moments crawled by before Charla attempted to call him. So that the sound wouldn’t wake up the baby, he’d put his phone on vibrate, and it rattled in his hand. Shortly after the rattling had stopped, he got the ding for a voicemail and listened to it.

“Damn it, Ruston, talk to me. This is important.” In the voicemail, Charla huffed. “We got an anonymous tip that Marty was Green Eagle. We could finally be close to solving the case about the baby farm, and I know you want to be in on that. Call me,” she demanded.

“Anonymous tip,” he muttered, and, yeah, there was plenty of sarcasm in his voice.

If such a tip had indeed been phoned in, it had likely come from Marty’s killer. Or someone connected to the murder, anyway. Then again, if Charla was behind this, the tip could be a lie, a ruse to try to tie all of this up.

Ruston’s attention zoomed to the makeshift crib when the baby whimpered. Gracelyn had fed her less than thirty minutes earlier, before she’d gone in to take her shower, and the baby had fallen asleep during the burping process. That was when Ruston had gone down to the kitchen to get himself and Gracelyn some coffee.

The burping and so-called uptime, which Gracelyn had explained was to minimize baby reflux, had just been coming to an end by the time he’d returned, and Abigail hadn’t stirred when Gracelyn had placed her in the crib. However, she continued to squirm now, prompting Ruston to get up and move closer.

The baby still had her eyes closed but was smiling.

That made Ruston smile, too, even though he’d read somewhere that babies this age didn’t actually sport that particular expression. It certainly looked like the real deal to him.

The bathroom door opened, and before he could even glance in that direction, Gracelyn blurted out, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s fine,” Ruston assured her.

Or rather that was what he tried to do. It was obvious the reassurance hadn’t worked one bit. Gracelyn ran to the baby, practically pushing him aside.

“She was just moving around a little and smiling,” he added to his explanation. In fact, that smile was still on her tiny mouth.

Gracelyn released an audible breath of relief, and he could see she had to work to rein in whatever emotion had sent her running to the baby. Fear, no doubt, mixed with a whole boatload of worry.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Nerves on edge.”

“No apology needed.” He attempted more reassurance by giving her what he hoped would be a soothing look. This time, he was the one who failed when he saw the blood on her forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

She immediately pressed her fingers to a spot just inside her hairline. A spot he hadn’t noticed the night before since her hair hadn’t been swept away from her face the way it was now.

“It’s just a small cut that I must have gotten when the safety glass was shot out in the SUV. It’s okay,” she insisted, taking out a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and pressing it to the wound. “I must have aggravated it when I was trying to brush my hair.”

“Do you have any other cuts?” He immediately wanted to know.

“I think there’s one other,” she said, turning and lifting her hair so he could see the already scabbed spot on the back of her neck.

He wanted to curse. Wanted to beat those gunmen to a pulp. Yes, an extreme reaction to seeing two small cuts, but they were reminders that they could have easily been gunshot wounds.

She turned back to face him and muttered, “Yes.” Gracelyn knew exactly how close they had come to dying.

He was about to fill her in on the three texts and voicemail he’d gotten from Charla, but she continued before he could do that.

“If their plan was to kidnap Abigail,” she said, “those men took a huge risk shooting into the SUV.”

They had indeed, and thinking about that had been a big contributor to Ruston’s lack of sleep. “Maybe they did that because they panicked?” He threw the idea out there. That was one of his theories, anyway. “Or maybe because their orders were to eliminate you and me at all costs?”

It sickened him to think that the “cost” could have been the precious baby.

“The men had the infant seat in their truck,” he reminded her. “And if the plan wasn’t to take Abigail, then they could have just blown up the house or set it on fire with us inside.”

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