he owed it to his brother to help her. And if she knew something, anything, that might tell him who had killed Eric, he had to get her to talk. Swiping a hand across his face, he grabbed his leather bomber jacket off the coatrack, yanked his keys from his pocket and ran out the back door to his car. He would follow her and see where she was headed.
Maybe she’d lead him to his brother’s murderer.
Chapter Three
Someone was following her.
Like a ghost breathing down her neck, Alanna sensed them on her tail. Hovering in the distance. Watching her. Ready to pounce on her. Was it Cain Caldwell?
Or someone who wanted Simon?
Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, her heart pounding.
Rain attacked the car, the blinding whirl of water so heavy she could barely see the winding road two feet in front of her. She needed a place to stay for the night, a place to feed Simon. She had to catch her breath and think of a new plan.
Simon squirmed, his pudgy fists waging a war with the blanket she’d draped over him. The radio announcer broke into the music again with another update on the storm.
“The heavy rains are coming in off the coast of Florida, folks, a remnant of Hurricane Haley. A travel advisory is in effect for all of northern and middle Georgia.”
Great. It wouldn’t let up tonight, and she couldn’t cover any kind of distance in this weather. Simon cried and she tried to soothe him with her voice. She dared not drag her eyes from the road. A slow line of cars swerved and crawled in front of her, a thin thread of light from the cars behind her filtering through the fog. Thinking Simon might be cold, she turned up the heat, ignoring the fact that she was sweating. She couldn’t shake this fever.
The announcer continued, “If you do not have to go out, folks, we suggest you stay inside. Power shortages have been reported in the eastern parts of the state, I-75 has been closed, and we already have several fatalities reported due to the wet conditions.”
The car suddenly skidded. Alanna steered into the skid, her heart racing as she grappled for control. Simon’s cries grew louder. Ahead, blue lights flashed and an ambulance wailed. An SUV spun a circle, slammed into the side of the guard rail and bounced off, sparks flying. A Suburban flew into him, the cars behind the Suburban piling up like dominoes. Metal crunched in front of her as the cars crashed into one another. Alanna slowed and swerved, barely escaping the collision.
Thank God.
But she and Simon might be here for hours.
The police would come. They might find out about him.
She had to get away.
A faded wooden post swayed amidst the blur of rain, the sign pointing to a side road that led to an old fishing lodge. It was probably empty. She could take refuge for the night, feed Simon and get on the road in the morning when the roads cleared.
Pain stabbed at her head, splintering through her body, but she ignored it. A few minutes later, she’d maneuvered the car down the dirt road to the end of a hollow and found a group of dilapidated wooden cabins interspersed amongst the newer lake property. Bundling Simon inside the blanket, she struggled up the rocky path, hunching her shoulders in the wind, trying to protect Simon from the rain. A single light burned from the rusted front of the main building. An elderly man huddled in a ratty fleece jacket greeted her at the door.
“My baby and I are stranded,” Alanna yelled over the whistle of the wind. “Could we have one of your cabins for the night?”
The old man narrowed bushy gray eyebrows at her and nodded. “I’ll get you a key. I’ve been expecting a few people tonight.”
Alanna paid him in cash, accepted the key and hurried to the nearest cabin with Simon huddled in her arms. Headlights broke the foggy landscape, at least two other cars having followed her. Ducking her head so they couldn’t see her, she pushed open the door to the cabin and hurried inside. Simon clutched a strand of her hair with his fist, his cries quieting slightly. The room was dark, cold and smelled of dust, but was better than sleeping in the car. Or being discovered.
She quickly locked the thin wooden door, slid the curtain aside, and looked outside at the cars beating a path up to the cabins. Simon cried again and she removed a bottle from his bag and offered it to him, grateful when he latched on and ate greedily.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she crooned.
Simon stared up at her. So trusting.
He couldn’t know she was lying. That she hadn’t a clue as to whether or not they would survive.
Shivering, she glanced out the window at the other stranded tourists who’d veered off the road to seek shelter. The bare tree branches bowed with the weight of the wind, and several of them snapped and fell to the ground. But her eyes tracked the people as they climbed from their cars, searching their faces.
Were they all travelers stranded and lost in the storm?
Or could one of them be after Simon?
PHYLLIS FRENCH STOOD beneath the shaded cover of the neighboring porch and watched Alanna.
She had been following her since she’d left Savannah.
Smiling to herself, she patted the soft gray curls of her wig, pulled the hood of the ancient parka over her head and grabbed a bundle of wool blankets. Hunching her shoulders, she limped as she approached the cabin where the young nurse had just taken residence.
She had to see the baby for herself.
To make sure Alanna still had him. That he was safe and sound.
Phyllis placed one hand on her flat stomach where an ache burned through her belly. Emptiness clawed at her, gut-wrenching in its intensity. But she couldn’t give in to the agony. She could alleviate the ache, though. When she got Simon.
And she would. She just had to be patient.
Stifling the emotions clogging her throat, she knocked on the door, knowing Alanna would be scared to open it.
“Who is it?” Alanna’s thin voice barely cut through in the wind.
Phyllis masked her own voice, smiling at how well she mimicked an old lady. “It’s Mr. Dimsdale’s wife with extra blankets. Thought you might want them in case we lose power during the night.”
The metal latch squeaked as Alanna slowly slid it open from the inside. Alanna Hayes had no idea what she’d gotten herself into. Or how to deal with the situation.
Phyllis almost felt sorry for her.
Except she had been a victim herself. Bitterness welled inside, like a virus twisting her gut into pieces. She missed her baby. Wanted him. Had to hold him.
“Miss, it’s cold out here,” she said, purposely letting her voice quiver.
“I’m sorry.” The door finally opened a crack and the nurse peered through the narrow opening, her big blue-green eyes frightened. But her expression softened at the sight of Phyllis’s stooped posture.
