Prologue
The wind whipped off the lake, its chilly tentacles snaking into his thin black jacket, which he gathered at the neck with one raw hand, stiff with the cold. His other hand dipped into his pocket, his fingers curling around the handle of the gun.
His eyes darted toward the dark, glassy water and the rowboat bobbing against the shore before he stepped onto the road...and behind his prey.
She hobbled ahead of him, her shoes crunching the gravel, her body tilted to one side as she gripped her heavy cargo, which swung back and forth, occasionally banging against her leg.
A baby. Nobody said nothing about a baby.
He took a few steps after her and the sound of his boots grinding into the gravel seemed to echo through the still night. He froze.
When her footsteps faltered, he veered back into the reeds and sand bordering the lake. He couldn’t have her spotting him and running off. What would she do with the baby? She couldn’t run carrying a car seat. He’d hauled one of those things before with his niece inside and it wasn’t no picnic, even though Mindy was just a little thing.
He crept on silent feet, covering three or four steps to her one until he was almost parallel with her. Close enough to hear her singing some Christmas lullaby. Close enough to hear that baby gurgle a response.
The chill in the air stung his nose and he wiped the back of his hand across it. He licked his chapped lips.
Nobody said nothing about a baby.
The girl stopped, her pretty voice dying out, the car seat swinging next to her, the toys hooked onto the handle swaying and clacking. She turned on the toes of her low-heeled boots and peered at the road behind her, the whites of her eyes visible in the dark.
But he wasn’t on the road no more.
He stepped onto the gravel from the brush that had been concealing him. Her head jerked in his direction. Her mouth formed a surprised O, but her eyes knew.
When he leveled his weapon at her, she didn’t even try to run. Her knees dipped as she placed the car seat on the ground next to her feet.
She huffed out a sigh that carried two words. “My baby.”
He growled. “I ain’t gonna hurt the baby.”
Then he shot her through the chest.
The sound of the shot buffeted his eardrums, and a few birds screeched and took flight, but there was nobody here to help her or her baby...just him.
The girl had crumpled to the ground, her knees drawn up, her hand flung out to the side, inches from the car seat. If her lullaby had put the baby to sleep, the gunshot had awakened him and he wailed as if he knew his momma was gone.
He shuffled forward and hovered over the body. Brushing aside the brown hair that had swept across her neck, he placed a finger at her throat. Her pulse had stopped. Her song had ended.
With the sound of the gunshot dead in the night, the baby’s howls faded into squishy, blubbery sobs.
“Shh. Don’t cry, little buddy.” All babies looked the same to him, but this one had a blue beanie on his head and a blue blanket dotted with panda bears tucked around his body. His sister always dressed her daughter in pink just so everyone would know she was a girl.
The baby hiccupped and put a knuckle in his mouth, his blue watery eyes wide.
“That’s it, little buddy. I ain’t gonna leave you out here for long.” He retrieved a crumpled tissue from the front pocket of his jeans and dabbed the baby’s damp cheeks and runny nose. He didn’t bother to blot the blood spots on the blanket.
Then he shoved his hand into his cheap jacket and withdrew a plastic bag, whispery smooth between his fingers. He wiped off his fingerprints with the edge of his shirt and, still pinching the bag with fingers poked into his shirt, leaned over the dead girl and tucked the bag of Dance Fever in her purse. The bullet hadn’t touched the strap. It remained crossed over her body, soaked with the blood still oozing from her chest.
“Just a few more minutes, little buddy.” He dipped into his pocket once more and pulled out the burner phone they’d given him. They should’ve said something about the baby at the same time.
He flipped up the phone and called 9-1-1. When the operator answered, he pitched his voice low and scratchy. “Yeah, there’s a baby in a car seat down by the lake all by himself. Looks abandoned.”
“Where are you sir? Is the baby hurt?”
He gave the operator directions to the gravel road snaking beside the lake, flipped the phone shut and walked back to his boat, whistling the lullaby.