Chapter One
Willow Lamont woke bathed in sweat and gasping for air. She lay still, listening to the silence of the apartment, inhaling the familiar scent of furniture polish and age. She was back in Benevolence, Washington. The place where the nightmare had begun.
Back and wishing that she wasn’t.
Five mornings spent gulping coffee like it was oxygen and she was climbing Mount Everest. Five evenings reading recipe cards and wondering why she couldn’t produce a good batch of chocolate to save her life.
Five nights of hell.
And it would all begin again in . . .
She glanced at the bedside clock—four hours.
She shoved the covers aside and climbed out of bed, the wood floor cold beneath her feet. It reminded her of childhood visits with her grandparents and of the way that it had felt to be young and happy and naïve.
She’d grown up fast.
Her father’s illness had been the beginning of the process. His death from brain cancer had been the end of it.
The thing that had happened in between?
That had made her who she was.
She might hate the nightmares and the fear, but she didn’t hate what she’d become because of them.
She did hate being sleepless, though. Especially in the darkest part of the morning when the blackness outside the windows seemed to pulse with energy. She snapped the curtain into place, making sure not even a hint of night was visible through the heavy fabric.
“Five days down,” she murmured. “Nine to go.”
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three-hundred-thirty-six hours. She’d calculated the time that she’d spend in Benevolence down to the minute. She’d explained it to her grandfather, to her sisters, to her mother. She’d told anyone who happened to be anyone who loved her family that she could only devote two weeks of her time to Chocolate Haven. Sure, it was the family legacy. Sure, she’d been the Lamont sister everyone had thought would eventually take over the store, but she’d grown up and moved away. She had a life and a career that she loved. Neither included chocolate or fudge or the little town she’d grown up in.
Everyone needed to understand that.
Everyone meaning Granddad.
When he’d called to ask for her help, she’d offered to give him money to hire someone to work part-time in the shop until one or both of her sisters returned to work. She’d pointed out that it was a practical solution to the problem. He’d pointed out that the chocolate and fudge recipes were top secret, need-to-know, and only for family. If he wanted some blasted stranger making them, he could afford to hire someone himself. He wanted family.
She was family.
Chocolate Haven was her legacy.
Plus, he missed her.
The last part had gotten to her.
She’d told herself that she was being manipulated. She’d reminded herself that she did not want to end up like her sisters Adeline and Brenna—living in Benevolence, working at the family store, settling into small-town life. She’d gone over all the reasons why she should not let Byron Lamont trick her into returning home.
And then she’d agreed to do it.
“Because you’re an idiot,” she muttered, walking out of the bedroom and into the hall. She’d left a light on over the stove. Its muted glow cut through the darkness, but even the light couldn’t chase away the remnants of the nightmare. Probably because the nightmare had been her reality, and the dream was nothing more than memories of it.
She hurried through the hallway, ignoring the dark corners that the light didn’t reach, the open doorway that led into the bathroom.
The living room was small and quaint. Just like the rest of the apartment. It smelled like chocolate and looked like a page out of a 1970s Sears catalog—plaid sofa and easy chair, small television with antenna ears. Just like Chocolate Haven, it never changed. The sofa had been there for as long as Willow could remember. The stove and cabinets and counters in the little galley kitchen were all the same. She could remember spending time there as a kid, eating cookies and drinking hot chocolate and listening to her grandmother talk about how fortunate they all were to have one another.
If she could have, Alice Lamont would have lived forever. Just to make sure that none of her granddaughters ever forgot what it meant to be family.
But, of course, no one lived forever.
Including Byron.
The patriarch of the Lamont family was getting older, and he was slowing down. Willow had noticed that when she’d come for her sister Brenna’s wedding. She hadn’t said anything to either of her sisters, but she was certain they’d noticed as well. They hadn’t put any pressure on Willow, but they’d hinted that she should spend more time at home. They hadn’t seemed to realize that Willow’s home wasn’t Benevolence, the chocolate shop, the big house on the hill that they’d grown up in. Maybe because, to both of them, home was all those things.
Not a surprise when it came to Adeline. She’d always loved Benevolence. Brenna, though . . .
She was an enigma.
One that Willow wasn’t going to solve at two in the morning when her stomach hurt and her head was pounding. Migraines sucked, and she’d been fighting one for days.
She stalked into the kitchen, grabbed the old kettle, and turned on the faucet. Her hand shook and water sloshed over the rim, but she managed to get enough water in to make a cup of tea. She’d count that as a victory.
She needed to win at something.
She’d been losing at chocolate making for days.
She scowled, annoyed with herself and with the situation she was in. She could have said no. She should have said no.
The phone rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, the kettle clattering onto the stove, more water sloshing through the spout. She grabbed a paper towel with one hand and the phone with the other, the old yellow cord twisting and twirling as she pressed the receiver to her ear.
“Hello?” she barked, her voice too loud.
“I knew you’d be awake,” the caller whispered, and for a moment Willow was back in time, another voice whispering in her ear—Say a word to anyone, and your sisters die.
Her hand tightened on the cord, her nails digging into her palm. “Who is this?”
“How many people do you know who’d call you at two in the morning?” the caller whispered. This time, Willow recognized the voice, the hint of sarcasm, and the soft coo of a baby in the background.
“Addie? What in God’s name are you doing up?” she said, imagining her sister tucked in some corner of the pretty little house she shared with her husband, newborn daughter, and the two teenagers she’d taken in.
“What most mothers of newborn babies do at two in the morning: feeding my daughter. There is no end to her appetite.” She didn’t sound frustrated by that. She sounded content. “I’m also wishing I had cake. Coconut. With those yummy toasted coconut shavings on top. Just like Grandmom used to make.”
“Want me to bake you one?” Willow opened the fridge, eyeing the empty shelves. No eggs. No milk. No butter. She doubted she had flour or sugar in the pantry cupboard, and she knew for sure she didn’t have coconut. But if Addie wanted cake, she could run to the next town over, go to the all-night grocery store, and grab the ingredients. It would give her something to do.
“Don’t you dare!”
“Why not?”
“First, that would take hours. Second, I’m trying to lose the baby weight. That’s not going to happen if I stuff my face every time my daughter eats.”
“You don’t need to lose weight.”
“That’s not what Mom says.”
“Since when do you care what Mom says?”
“Since winter is over and spring is coming and I can’t fit into any of my clothes.”
“You gave birth eight weeks ago. You’re nursing your daughter, and your boobs are the size of Mack trucks. Of course, you can’t fit into your clothes!”
Addie laughed. “I knew you’d cheer me up.”
“I didn’t realize you needed it.”
“Sinclair left on business yesterday morning. The kids have been bickering all day. The baby is colicky, and my boobs are as big as houses, so . . . yeah. I needed it.”
“Mack trucks. It would be difficult to walk around with houses attached to your chest,” Willow corrected, and Addie laughed again.
“Thanks, Willow.”
“For what?”
“Picking up the phone. I shouldn’t have called, but you were on my mind. We haven’t really talked since you’ve been back.”
True.
They’d both been busy—Addie with her life. Willow with the shop.
“How are things going?” Addie continued, and Willow gave her the pat answer she’d given everyone who’d asked.
“Great!”
“Really?”
“Aside from the fact that Granddad is driving me crazy? Yeah.”
“What’s he doing? Trying to convince you to move back home?”
“Home is Seattle, and I plan to be back there in nine days.”
“You know what I meant,” she said easily. “He wants nothing more than to have all of us close.”
“Seattle isn’t that far away.”
“Close. As in—living in town, working in the shop, being near enough that he can stick his nose into all of our lives.”
“He already does that.”
“You have a good point, but I still think he’s going to try to talk you into staying. Brace yourself for it. And, be prepared for . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Adeline Rose! What should I be prepared for?”
“Him going off on some trip while you’re running the shop.”
“He wouldn’t dare.” She hoped not, because she wasn’t prepared to run the shop on her own. Not now. Not in a week. Not in a year.
“He went on a fishing trip while Brenna was helping at the shop. Left her alone to figure things out.”
“I didn’t hear about that.”
“You were busy planning your . . .”
“Wedding? You can say it, Addie. It’s not a dirty word.”
“I didn’t want to bring up bad memories.”
“Ken is a nice guy. We had a really nice relationship. I don’t have any bad memories.” She sounded stuck-up and snooty, and that embarrassed her. When had she become that person? The one who didn’t like any messy emotions or messy conversations, who liked everything neat and tidy and perfect?
“I’m glad,” Addie said, and the sincerity in her voice made Willow feel even worse.
“I’m not saying it was a perfect relationship. It’s just . . . well, Ken really is a nice guy. He made our breakup easy.”
“You sound like you’re apologizing,” Addie said with a quiet laugh. “You don’t have to. I had my heart broken once, but Sinclair has more than made up for that. I just want you to be happy, and I was worried that you might feel lonely after living with someone for so many years.”
“Is that why you called me at two in the morning?”
“I called you because I’ve missed you, and I was sitting here nursing Alice, thinking about how we used to sneak into the kitchen together at night when Dad was sick. You’d always make me warm chocolate milk. Remember that?”
“I can make you some now, if you want,” she responded.
“I’d rather we have dinner together tonight. I’ll cook. You bring dessert.”
“I’ll cook and bring dessert.”
“How is that fair?”
“Why does it have to be fair? You have a newborn and your husband is out of town. I’ll make lasagna, and I’ll be there at seven.”
“You’re going to make lasagna and work at Chocolate Haven all day?”
“I’ll manage. If I don’t, I’ll swing by the diner and have Laurie Beth plate up some of whatever the special is. Are Chase and Lark going to be home?”
“Lark will be. Chase has a new girlfriend. So, we’ll see.”
“A girlfriend? Isn’t he a little young?” She grabbed a bottle of Tylenol from her purse, popped three in her mouth, and swallowed them with water. She’d taken so much of the stuff the past few days, she was probably going to OD on it. If she didn’t die of caffeine poisoning first.
“He turned twenty last week.”
“Time flies.” She grabbed a tea bag, realized she hadn’t turned on the burner, and did that. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore and the nightmare and memories were where they should be—far off in the back of her mind. Thank God!
“I know! A couple of years ago, I was living in this house by myself, thinking I was going to become the resident cat lady. I blinked my eyes, and now I’m married and have a baby.”
“Are you happy?” Willow asked, because she wanted her to be. She wanted both her sisters to have what she’d never quite been able to find—contentment and peace.
“Very.” Addie yawned, and Willow could picture her, red hair sticking up in a hundred different directions, the baby curled up on her chest.
“You’re exhausted. You need to finish feeding the baby and go back to sleep.”
“You need to go to bed too. The shop opens in a few hours, and Granddad hates to get off his schedule.”
“So he’s been telling me. I’ll see you tonight, Addie.”
“See you, then. Love you, sis.”
There was a soft click, and the line went dead.
Outside, the wind whistled through the alley and rattled the old shutters, the sounds familiar and oddly comforting. She walked to the living room window and looked out onto Main Street. It hadn’t changed. Not a bit. Same streetlights. Same sidewalks. Same businesses. Mr. Murphy still had a bench outside of the five-and-dime. Eunice Simms still had a wreath of flowers hanging from the door of her florist shop.
And Willow? She still had an ache in her heart when she looked at it, a longing for what used to be.
Two blocks down, a car turned onto Main. She watched as it crept toward the shop. Most people in Benevolence were tucked safely into their beds. If they weren’t, they sure as heck weren’t trolling along Main at the speed of a slow-moving turtle.
She stepped away from the window as the car rolled past, but she kept an eye on it, following the headlights as they slid along the blacktop. She watched as it disappeared around the corner a block up, holding her breath for whatever would happen next.
Of course, nothing did.
Five minutes. Ten. She turned off the burner, poured water over the tea bag, watched as the mug filled with tan liquid. Told herself everything was fine, because this was small-town America, and nothing bad should ever happen here.
It did, though.
Even if her childhood hadn’t proven that, her job did. As the King County prosecuting attorney, she’d helped put away hundreds of criminals. She knew that horrible things happened in the nicest places—upscale neighborhoods in the wealthiest areas of Seattle, rural hamlets at the edge of the county line, anywhere people lived, crime happened. But, Benevolence was about as safe as any place could be.
She grabbed the tea and turned away from the window, because waiting for something to happen in a town like this one was like waiting for Santa in the summer. He could show, but he probably wouldn’t.
The exterior stairs rattled, the sound of metal bouncing against brick so unmistakable she set the mug down and turned toward the door. No way on God’s green earth was anyone she knew climbing the stairs to the apartment. She pictured the car that had been crawling along the road. God! Had the person seen her light and come back to . . .
What? Rob her?
It’s not like anyone in town would think she’d brought a fortune with her from Seattle. She sure as heck wasn’t driving a Lamborghini or Corvette. Nope. She’d ridden into town in the minivan she’d purchased the day she’d completed her foster parenting classes. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would give anyone the impression that she was carrying around trunks of riches.
She did have enemies, of course. What prosecuting attorney didn’t? But she’d never experienced any overt threats.
The stairs rattled again, and someone knocked on the door. Just a quick, hard rap, but it was enough to prove what she’d already known. She had an unexpected and completely unwanted visitor.
She flicked off the living room light and grabbed the phone. She’d been a victim once. No way in hell did she plan to be one again.
She dialed 911, her finger shaking, her eyes glued to the door.
“Nine-one-one. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“I need the police,” she responded as the stairs rattled again. “Someone is . . .” On my apartment stairs didn’t seem like a good way to get help. “Outside my apartment.”
“Is he trying to get in?” the operator asked.
“He knocked.” That sounded way less urgent than she wanted it to.
“What’s your address?”
She gave it quickly, her eyes glued to the door.
“Hey, that’s Chocolate Haven!” the caller exclaimed. “Is this Willow? I heard you were back in town. It’s Jason Morgan. We went to high school together.”
“Yes, it’s Willow.” And she might remember a Jason, but she was too busy being scared out of her mind to think about it.
“Man! It’s been ages. How are you enjoying being back?”
“I was enjoying it a lot more a few minutes ago.”
“I bet, but don’t worry, the police are on the way. Can you hear the sirens?”
Not over the frantic pounding of her heart, she couldn’t!
“Not yet,” she murmured, staring at the door as if doing so could keep an intruder from bursting in.
A weapon! That’s what she needed!
She opened the kitchen drawer and took out the sharpest knife she could find.
“You still there, Willow? Don’t hang up until the police arrive, okay?”
“Okay.” She could finally hear the sirens. She could see emergency lights, too. “The police are here. Thanks for your help, Jason.”
She hung up, dropping the phone into the cradle and running to the door. She almost pulled it open. Almost. Then she remembered that she’d heard someone on the stairs, and that whoever it was could still be out there.
A minute passed, the stairs rattled, feet pounded on metal, and someone rapped on the door.
“Sheriff’s department,” a man called. “Everything okay in there?”
“Yes.” She yanked the door open and looked into a familiar face. Silvery blue eyes, jagged scar, short-cropped blond hair. Jax Gordon. The kid who’d always been the outsider. The teenager who’d kept to himself, done his own thing, made his own way. A rebel in the eyes of the town. She’d always admired him for that. He’d left town after graduation and had returned a few years ago to help care for his uncle. She’d seen him several times during previous visits, but that was the extent of their contact.
And, now he was here, standing on the icy landing, waiting for her to tell him what was going on. Which was great. Except that nothing much had happened. Just someone knocking on the door and leaving.
“I shouldn’t have called,” she said.
“How about you tell me what happened before we decide that?” he responded, his gaze dropping from her face to the knife she was holding.
“I heard someone on the stairs. Now that you’re here, that doesn’t seem nearly as threatening as it did when I was in the apartment alone.” She tried to smile and failed miserably.
“Threatening or not, someone knocking on your door at 2 in the morning is unusual. But, maybe not worth digging holes in your palm over.” He uncurled her fingers from the knife, took it from her, and turned her palm so she could see the marks her nails had left.
“Right. I guess the knife was a little overboard.”
“I didn’t say that, Willow,” he responded, his calm tone exactly the kind she used when she spoke to crime victims.
“I know. I’m saying it. This was a mistake. An overreaction. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
“How about you tell me exactly what happened, and let me decide if it’s been wasted?” he repeated.
“I saw a car driving very slowly down Main Street. It went around the corner, and a few minutes later, someone knocked on my door.” She shrugged, happy that she sounded as calm and reasonable as he did. “That’s the entire story. Nothing intriguing about it.”
“It was intriguing enough for you to call for help,” he pointed out. “Did you see anyone on the stairs?”
“I was too chicken to open the door,” she admitted.
He smiled. “In my line of work, we call that smart.” A drop of rain splattered on the landing near his feet. Another fell on his cheek, sliding down the curve of the scar before he wiped it away.
“Why don’t you come in?” she suggested, stepping aside so he could walk into the apartment.
He stayed where he was, head cocked to the side, his smile fading. “Hear that?” he asked.
As if his question had conjured it, a faint mewling drifted through the darkness.
“What was it?” she whispered.
“Damned if I know,” he responded as the thing— whatever it was—mewled again. “It sounds like a kitten. Wonder if someone dumped it in the alley.”
That made all kinds of sense. The car. The stairs. The knock. Someone with a box of kittens to dump but not quite heartless enough to leave it where it wouldn’t be found.
She was so relieved, her knees felt weak.
“A kitten,” she murmured, leaning past him and staring down into the alley. “I guess I should go find it.”
“How about you let me do that?” He reached past her and set the knife on Granddad’s recliner. “Stay here. There’s no sense in both of us getting wet.”
The rain fell in sheets as he moved down the stairs, plastering his blond hair to his head. She could have stayed where she was—warm and dry in the apartment, but the kitten mewled again, the sound shivering along her spine and making the hair on her arms stand up.
It didn’t sound all that much like a kitten.
Not now that she was really listening.
She followed Jax down the stairs, her feet slipping on the ice-coated steps as she neared the bottom. She stumbled, probably would have taken a header, but Jax caught her arm, holding her steady while she caught her balance.
“Careful,” he said, flicking on a flashlight. He trained it toward the end of the alley and the Dumpster that stood against the wall there. “I think the sound is coming from there.”
He strode forward confidently. Not even a hint of hesitation in his steps. No fear. No caution. She’d heard that he’d worked on a drug task force in LA for nearly a decade. She didn’t guess there was much that would scare him.
She was scared, though.
She wasn’t going to lie.
She hated surprises. The car, the sound on the stairs, the cat’s cries, they were all surprises, and her heart was thrumming along at high speed, threatening to jump right out of her chest.
She didn’t realize how close she’d gotten to Jax until he stopped and she nearly plowed into his back. She managed to pull up short, her feet slipping a little in the icy slush that was forming. Shoes would have been good, but it was too late for that. They’d reached the Dumpster, and Jax was shining his light inside it.
“Nothing there.”
“How about behind it?” she asked, peering into the space between the Dumpster and the wall. Jax’s light illuminated an old fruit crate covered with a blanket.
“That’s got to be it,” he muttered. “Hold this.” He handed her the light, his fingers warm against her chilled skin. Then, he was on his stomach, his head and shoulders disappearing behind the Dumpster.
* * *
Abandoning an animal might not be number one on the list of cruel things Jax had seen during his years working law enforcement, but it sure as hell was right up there at the top of the stupid list. There was a no-kill shelter just outside of town, and there wasn’t a person in Benevolence who didn’t know it. Of course, people did stupid things all the time. Even in a town like this one. Usually, though, the stupidity didn’t have the potential to hurt anyone or anything.
He snagged the edge of the rain-damp crate and gave it a quick, hard jerk. It slid across cement, the scratchy sound of it mixing with the kitten’s mewling cry.
Only, it didn’t sound much like a kitten anymore.
It didn’t sound like a cat.
It sounded like . . .
He pulled the blanket off, looked down into the scrunched-up face of a newborn baby. His heart stopped. He was damned well certain of that, and then it started again, pounding frantically as he lifted the baby from the box. No injuries that he could see. Clean footy pajamas. No coat. Cold hands. Cold cheeks.
“Dear God,” Willow breathed, kneeling beside him, her hair plastered to her head, her eyes wide. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.” He kept his voice steady, his hands steady, but he was fuming inside, quaking with the kind of rage that came from seeing someone abused or used or . . .
He looked into the baby’s pale face.
Abandoned.
He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped the baby in it. A girl maybe, because there was a tiny bow attached the peach fuzz on her head.
Willow touched the baby’s cheek, brushing moisture away with the palm of her hand. “She’s freezing. We need to get her inside.”
“We need to get her medical attention,” he responded. He didn’t know much about babies, but this one looked smaller than most, her little hands flailing as she cried, her lips an odd purple-blue.
“I’ll call for an ambulance,” Willow said, and she would have darted away, but he grabbed her wrist. She had tiny bones and a delicate build, but he’d never thought of her as anything but tough. That had been the persona she’d shown to the world when she was a teen, and she still seemed to wear it. Shoulders back, head up, gaze direct. Kind of an I-dare-you-to-mess-with-me stance.
“I’ll call. Can you bring the baby up the apartment? I need to take some pictures of the scene and collect evidence.”
“Sure.” She lifted the baby from his arms, the beam of the flashlight jumping in a dozen different directions. Something fluttered at the very edge of the light, and he bent to retrieve it, frowning as he saw black marker bleeding through soaked paper.
“Do you think that came from the crate?” Willow asked, moving closer, her arm bumping his as she tried to read the blurry words.
“It could have. Go on up to the apartment. I’m going to get the evidence kit. I’ll send the ambulance crew up when they arrive.”
He knew he sounded dismissive.
He didn’t mean to, but he had a job to do, and sometimes in a town like Benevolence, that was more difficult than it had been in Los Angeles. People here meant well. He knew they did. But they tended to want to help. A lot. Sometimes that meant getting in the way, contaminating evidence, offering unsolicited advice.
To her credit, Willow didn’t argue. She didn’t offer anything but a quick nod and a fast retreat.
And she did move fast—her long legs sprinting across the pavement, her bare feet slapping against metal stairs as she took them two at a time.
Seconds later, she was in the apartment and the door was closed. She’d taken the flashlight with her, and the alley was gray-black, rain falling steadily. Late March, and winter still had a tight-fisted grip on eastern Washington. The temperature was hovering just above freezing, and the wind made it feel colder than that. No one in his right mind would leave a baby out on a night like this.
He strode to the cruiser, calling for an ambulance and then for his boss, Kane Rainier. He could see a few lights on in the residential section of town. Probably people woken by his sirens and currently manning their scanners to see what they could find out. Eventually a few of them would make their way to the scene. That was the way things always were in Benevolence. No criminal case was ever private. No crime ever went unnoticed.
He loved it just about as much as he was frustrated by it.
He snagged his evidence kit from the back of the car, pulled out a bag, and put the soaked paper in it. He’d have liked to take a look at it, but it was too wet and too delicate. He’d let it dry a little first.
He snapped a few pictures of the crate and the blanket, crouched to look behind the Dumpster again. Maybe whoever had abandoned the kid thought it would be warmer and safer back there, but it was a piss-poor place to leave a baby. A few hours, and the infant would have succumbed to the cold.
Just the thought sent rage surging through his blood again.
He tamped it down, lifting the crate with gloved hands. There was something wedged into its corner. Looked like a dollar-store doll. Small. Drawn-on face that was about as cute as the back end of one of Ander Smithfield’s prize hogs.
“Poor baby,” he muttered. “No wonder you were crying.”
Butt-ugly doll. Cold. Rain. And parents, or parent, who had their heads up their behinds.
Sirens screamed and lights flashed as Benevolence’s finest arrived. Ambulance. Fire truck. Sheriff’s car. Everyone rushing in, the EMTs running up the stairs to the apartment. Sheriff Kane Rainier walking toward him.
“What have we got?” he asked, his expression as grim and hard as Jax had ever seen it.
“Abandoned newborn. Found in this crate.” He held it up and Kane nodded.
“Looks like something from the farmers’ market. Probably had fruit in it at one point. Maybe we can trace a vendor, but I’ve got a feeling the thing is as old as me. Was there anything else with it?”
“Blanket. Doll. Possible note.” He handed over the plastic evidence bag. “Willow Lamont may have seen the vehicle the baby was transported in.”
“Did she give you a description?”
“Not yet. We were distracted.”
“I bet.” Kane eyed the crate, his gaze moving from it to the Dumpster. “Not a very nice place to leave a baby.”
“Would any place have been?”
“The police station is a mile away. The fire department is just a little farther. Either would have been a better option. Let’s get the vehicle description from Willow. We’ll give it to the local media along with a photo of the baby. Someone somewhere knows the mother.”
“She could have been passing through,” Jax pointed out, but Kane was right. The sooner they got the information out to the public, the sooner they’d start getting leads on the identity of the mother. From there, they could work out who had abandoned the baby and why.
“Could have been, but anyone coming through town has probably been here before.” Kane swiped rain from his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. Eventually. For now, go ahead and get the vehicle description. We’ll work from that.”
He strode away, moving toward a small crowd of curious onlookers. Half of them were still wearing pajamas. The other half had managed to dress in street clothes before they came running to the scene.
Jax turned away.
Let Kane deal with the community. He was good at it. Jax? He was good at doing his job. Finding the bad guys. Putting them in prison. Making sure they paid for their crimes.
The rest . . . all the political crap that went with being a deputy in a small town . . . he was still trying to figure out.
Even now. After four years back home, he wasn’t sure he’d gotten the hang of it.
He jogged up the metal steps and walked into the apartment.
Willow was sitting in the old recliner, the baby in her arms, wrapped snuggly in a white blanket. His jacket hung over the arm of the chair, the baby’s soft curls brushing against it. He could see the little bow dangling from a few strands of downy hair. For some reason, that bothered him. It was as if someone had been trying to say, I love her. I want her to be okay. I want her to have all the things a little girl should.
Anyone who’d wanted to say that, wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave the kid out in the elements. That was Jax’s opinion, but he couldn’t discount the bow or the blanket that had been tossed over the crate. Not much by way of protection, but the gesture itself spoke of concern.
“How’s she doing?” he asked, and Willow looked up, her eyes a deep midnight blue in her pale face.
“Still a little purple in the fingers and lips. The paramedic thinks she has a heart condition.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. Not strawberry-blonde like her sister Brenna or orange-red like Adeline’s, Willow’s hair was a deep true red that reminded him of fall leaves and quiet autumn evenings.
“Actually, ma’am,” one of the EMTs said, “I said it was a possibility. That doesn’t mean she has one.” He closed the medical kit. “We’ll let the doctors make the diagnosis.”
“Of course,” Willow murmured, her gaze focused on the baby.
“The ambulance is waiting,” the EMT continued. “I’ll take her from here.”
He moved into her space, leaning down to lift the baby from her arms. Willow flinched back, the reaction so quick and subtle, Jax wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching so intently.
She must have felt his stare. She met his eyes as she handed the baby over, offering a tight smile. “Thanks for coming out so quickly, Jax. Another fifteen minutes in the cold, and who knows what would have happened to her.”
No need to thank me for doing my job, he almost said, but Willow was already up and moving away, snagging a purse from a hook near the door and following the EMT outside.
Jax grabbed his coat and followed, shutting the door and making sure it was locked.
There wasn’t a lot of crime in Benevolence. It was one of his favorite things about the place. Sometimes, though, a petty thief broke into an empty home and took a few dollars, some jewelry, or a big-screen television. Malcom Finch had managed the last one, carrying the TV out through the front door of his vacationing neighbor’s house and weaving down Main Street in a drunken stupor.
Yeah. Petty crime happened in Benevolence. Sometimes worse. And for a woman like Willow—a prosecuting attorney who was known for always winning her cases—caution was an imperative. He had no doubt she’d made enemies. He sure as hell had. Thank God none of them had followed him from Los Angeles.
He walked down the stairs, moving into step beside Willow. She was still wearing pajamas, the cuffs of the pink flannel pants dragging in puddles of melting ice and rain. She had to be cold. Hell! He was cold and he was used to the weather. She’d only been back in town for a week, and from what he’d heard, she’d spent most of her time in Chocolate Haven or in the apartment.
The blue-haired ladies at the diner were calling her a hermit. The men who’d had hopes that the oldest Lamont sister was back looking for a guy to hook up with were spending all their spare change at the chocolate shop hoping to catch a glimpse of her and maybe convince her to go for a drink. Everyone in town was whispering that she’d changed. She wasn’t the girl who’d left town nearly fifteen years ago. She was different.
Jax didn’t see it. But, then, he’d thought she was different before she’d left for college. The happy-go-lucky sixth-grader he’d met when he’d moved to Benevolence to live with his uncle and aunt had become quiet and introspective in the middle of eighth grade. Instead of letting her hair hang loose while she swung from monkey bars and jumped rope, she’d tied it back in a tight bun. She smiled less, laughed less, was silent more.
It was possible everyone else in town had been caught up in the tragedy of her father’s illness and had failed to realize just how different Willow had become. Jax had noticed, because he’d noticed everything—the shift of shadows across a window, the haunting cry of a mourning dove, the way that old man Rhodes and Jemma O’Rourke looked at each other when they thought no one could see.
They’d eloped a year after Jax went to college. He was the only one in town who hadn’t been surprised. Being hyperalert had it benefits. It also had its detriment. He’d spent the second half of his childhood sleepless, every night filled with a million potential dangers.
When he’d slept, he’d heard the first gunshot and then the second echoing through his dreams. His mother. Then his youngest sister. Killed quickly while he slept in the tent in the backyard—earning a Boy Scout badge on one of the hottest nights of the summer.
The worst night of his life.
He pulled the thought and the memories up short and shoved them all away, tucking them back in the corner of his mind where they had been since he was eleven. Even then, he’d known that if he let them, they could destroy him. One more victim of the drug-thugs who’d murdered his family.
He ducked under yellow crime-scene tape that Kane had strung up across the alley entrance. A few people in the crowd called out questions. He ignored them. Willow had already climbed into the ambulance, and he slid into his squad car.
He’d get her statement at the hospital.
Then he’d go back to his office and file it.
That might just be enough to keep him from hearing the gunshots as he drifted off to sleep.
His mother.
His sisters.
His brother.
And the high-pitched, brokenhearted keening of his father, the horrible sound that had filled his ears as he’d raced into the house.
Jax had almost saved his father.
Almost saved his baby sister, too.
Almost.
He touched the scar that bisected his cheek and then let his hand fall away.
Twenty-two years.
And he still wondered what life would have been like if he’d managed it.
He scowled, shoving the keys into the ignition and following the ambulance out of the parking lot.