emergency lights. “The slain teens are believed to have been kidnapped, and each had borne a child to Pitts.”
Lila gasped, shocked—and, sadly, not so shocked—by the story unfolding in the report. She’d come to expect the worst of people based on personal experience with her ex, Carl, and the all-too-common circumstances that necessitated her second career as a foster mother for the local courts.
“The identity of the murdered girls is being withheld by authorities while their next of kin are located and notified. The girls’ infants will be placed in foster homes during the search for the babies’ families.”
Lila cut a glance to her hall closet, where she kept a stock of baby supplies so she’d be ready at a moment’s notice to receive an infant to care for. “Well, Chloe, we may be getting company soon.”
Chloe hopped up in her lap and butted her head on Lila’s hand, demanding a cheek scratch. Lila complied as she used her free hand to navigate her laptop to the local weather website. The radar showed a significant winter storm making its way toward her cabin. “If they want to bring me one of the babies, they’d better hurry. In a couple hours, the roads up here will be impassable.”
Chloe only purred and continued bumping her hand every time Lila stopped patting the cat’s head, but her landline phone, as if intentionally fulfilling her prediction, rang seconds later. She lifted Chloe from her lap and hurried to answer the call.
“Lila, it’s Miriam Webber,” the coordinator of foster services in her area said. “If you’ve been watching the news, you probably know why I’m calling.”
“Yes,” she said, brushing cat hair from her clothes. “I just saw something about an ATF and FBI raid on a cult, if that’s what you mean. Can I assume this call means you need me to take one of the babies rescued in the raid?”
“You assume correctly. Are you available? We’d like to get Eve placed before the ice and sleet get much worse.”
Lila pulled the sheer curtains back from her front window and peered out at the pale gray sky. Sleet plinked on the dead leaves covering the forest floor, and the first shimmers of icy accumulation glimmered in the muted daylight. “I’m happy to take in one of the babies. How old will my charge be? Will I need formula? What size diapers?”
“We’ll be bringing you Eve. She’s five months old. Almost six months.”
Lila smiled. All babies were precious, and every month of an infant’s first year was marked with developmental achievements and new skills, but little Eve was at Lila’s favorite age. At around five to six months, an infant begins laughing and smiling, can sit up alone and eat solid food.
“All right. I’ll be waiting. Do you have access to a vehicle with four-wheel drive or snow tires? It’s already looking icy up here.”
“I’m sure the sheriff’s department does. I’ll be riding with them. See you in about thirty minutes.”
Lila disconnected and faced her living room. She’d allowed it to get a bit cluttered. Okay, a lot cluttered, but weren’t all creative people a little messy? She started to pick up magazines and fold laundry but quit after a minute or two. While straightening clutter might spare her a little embarrassment for her poor housekeeping, a tidy living room wasn’t as important as preparing the crib for the baby—Eve, Miriam had called her—and mixing up a bottle of formula.
“Come on, Chloe. Let’s get the nursery ready for our guest.” Moving to the spare bedroom, Lila began prepping the crib for her little charge. When she shook out the sheet, Chloe hopped into the crib and pounced on the flapping bedding. “Oh, no, you don’t. We need to keep this bed kitty-hair free.”
The tabby stalked out of the room as if pouting, and Lila chuckled. “Sorry, Chloe.”
As she tucked the crib sheet around the mattress, the images she’d seen in the news report replayed in her head. The raid had been a violent and emotionally charged event. Eve’s mother had been murdered. Lila’s gut twisted with sympathy and concern. Poor little lamb, losing her mother at such a young age. Little Eve would undoubtedly need plenty of TLC, and Lila’s heart swelled with affection for the infant she’d not met yet. She had an abundance of love to share with the motherless baby girl. She understood the pain of losing someone you loved, and she’d make it her mission to smooth the transition between homes for Eve.
* * *
Wayne Pitts sat on the hard seat in the back of the police department’s transport van and kept a watchful eye on Kent. He was ready to act on Kent’s signal.
His older brother’s eyes stayed locked in a lethal glare on the US marshal who rode with them to the holding facility. From that jail cell, they’d await a preliminary hearing—or some such government crap. Assuming they got that far. Kent wouldn’t let things progress that far. He’d show them the way forward. He always had.
Wayne’s body was growing stiff and sore from sitting with his hands cuffed behind him, and he chalked up his discomfort to The Enemy. The government’s lackeys had no right to take him or any of The Sword family from their compound. No one had authority over another man, except to whom he chose to give his loyalty.
For Wayne, Kent had every bit of his loyalty. His big brother had been looking out for him since they’d been old enough to hide together in the linen closet when their father went on one of his drunken rages. Kent had taken care of Wayne after their father killed their mother, and they’d slipped out the back window while their father was passed out. They’d survived on the street thanks to Kent’s smarts and his good sense not to trust the government. After the cop had caught them living in an abandoned building, the government had tried to separate the brothers, but Kent would have none of it. He’d rescued Wayne from that horrible foster home and vowed to keep Wayne safe.
Kent had moved them to the farm outside of town, and the brothers had begun building their own family. Kent took a wife, then another, and had led them all toward a greater Truth. He’d had the vision of The Truth in a dream. He’d seen the manipulation of the government and freed his family from the tyranny of Uncle Sam. The Sword represented strength, freedom, Truth...at all costs. The Enemy would not prevail. Wayne was certain. So he waited. Watched.
Kent was working on a plan. Kent would see them freed.
“How do you live with yourself?” Kent said in a low tone.
Wayne was roused from his thoughts to follow his brother’s lead.
The marshal returned a placid, bored look. “You were read your rights. That one about remaining silent? I’d use it if I were you.”
“You have no say in my rights. I alone determine my rights.”
The marshal said nothing, only curled his lip in a dismissive sneer that sent fire through Wayne’s veins. “Don’t you dare disrespect Master Pitts!”
“Master Pitts, is it?” the marshal asked with a mocking edge to his voice.
“Wayne.” Kent’s calm, stern tone silenced Wayne, even without taking his eyes from the marshal.
“Where did you take my children?” Kent asked, his stare as icy as his voice.
“They’re safe.”
“Where? Foster homes?” For the first time, Wayne heard a note of emotion
