Chapter One

The rhythmic shush-shush of the new plush glider played in sync with Hannah Blackwood’s shallow breaths as she enjoyed a quiet afternoon. Splayed across her bulging belly was the book she hoped to finish reading today.

Lunch an hour ago had been all the things she’d been craving. Five spicy pickles, Greek yogurt, a handful of dried apricots, and two big slabs of meatloaf slathered in mustard. Setting the unfinished book aside, she smiled contentedly and gently rubbed her swollen belly.

Her pregnancy cravings had mostly died off, but with only a few days left until her due date, they’d come rushing back with a vengeance. So much so that Michael, the best husband she could ever wish for, had run out to get more yogurt and pickles after lunch.

Now the house was quiet, and she was tucked into her new chair with a super fluffy yellow blanket wrapped around her middle. The glider was situated in the corner of the front room, giving her a view out the side windows to the yard and the beach in the distance beyond that. Sunny days in early December were rare on Shadow Island, and she’d been luxuriating in the simple pleasure of doing nothing.

Hannah shifted, the baby within reminding her of its presence, and she contemplated the effort it would take to ascend the staircase to her bedroom, where she could stretch out with her body pillow and take a nap. It would be easier with Michael there to steady her. She craned her neck to look at the driveway, wondering how much longer he’d be gone.

As she sipped her hot tea, the delicate aroma mingled with the musty scent of yellowing pages from the novel she was determined to read. Her doctor’s advice echoed in her mind, urging her to cherish these dwindling moments of solitude. Soon, her world would pivot on a new axis to the cries and coos of her child. Motherhood was a 24-7 job, and in a few days, her life would not be her own.

“Soon, little one. Soon. I’ll be rocking you just like this. Even when you’re fussing in the middle of the night, I promise to never get mad.” Hannah ran her hands over her bulbous belly. During her last checkup, the doctors assured them that the baby was in the proper position for delivery and could come any day now.

“Are you a little girl?” she crooned. “A little boy? No matter what, I already love you more than you’ll ever comprehend.” Hannah and Michael had chosen not to find out, wanting to keep the sex a surprise until the baby’s birth.

Michael had been her rock through the swirling tides of the past nine months. He wanted to be with her every moment of these last few days and had only gone out because he’d seen the empty pickle jar in the recycling bin. She’d had to promise him she wouldn’t do anything stupid before he left.

Just because I got stuck in the recliner one lousy time, he’s now certain I’m helpless without him to protect me.

Hannah didn’t really mind her husband’s protectiveness, though. His full-time job had gone remote, allowing them to move nearer to her family on Shadow Island, where she’d grown up. With him working from home, he was around to give her foot massages any time her ankles swelled. Pregnancy hadn’t been a walk in the park but spending it with him had been magical.

They’d grown closer since learning about the new addition to their family.

“And now we’ll get to spend so much time with you. Once you’re ready to join us.”

She thought she heard a soft click and felt a slight shift in the air pressure in the home. Hannah listened for a moment, then shook her head. Her hypersensitive Mama Bear instincts must be playing tricks on her.

Settling back in the chair, her thoughts turned to Michael’s willingness to uproot their lives and replant them here, on this small speck of land cradled by the sea. He was so committed to her, to their burgeoning family. Confidence swelled within her. Michael would indeed be a remarkable father, just as he was a loving husband.

Friends had told her that fanatically preparing for the baby’s imminent arrival was a real thing. “Nesting,” they’d called it. She’d laughed at them until a few weeks back, when Michael pointed out the numerous preparations she’d been making. Waiting near the front door was the car seat they’d gotten at the baby shower. Michael still needed to secure its base in the back seat of their car. She didn’t want to mess with that once she went into labor.

Resting next to the car seat was their fully stocked—too stocked?—blue denim diaper bag. Neatly folded on top of the bag was a sage-green baby blanket. Michael had joked that he would need to install wheels on the bag if she kept adding things. She had been meticulous in her preparations.

Every few days, Hannah thought of something else to stuff in the bag. Jammed inside were diapers, burp cloths, no fewer than three brand-new outfits that she had washed in hypoallergenic detergent, and sterile bottles with cans of formula in case their addition to the family struggled with breastfeeding.

The stillness of the house was abruptly ruptured by the faint creak of a floorboard. Hannah readjusted in her rocking chair, glancing toward the hallway.

“Michael?” But he wouldn’t be home this quickly unless the stores didn’t have her pickles and yogurt.

No reply came. Only her own shallow breathing filled the emptiness of the house, which now felt uncomfortable.

She listened again, her heart drumming a quicker cadence against her ribs. Another sound brushed against her consciousness—the soft but distinct shuffle of footsteps, deliberate and out of place. Hannah’s maternal instincts kicked into overdrive, anxiety threading ice through her veins.

Gripping the arms of the chair, she leaned forward. A veil of unease had settled over the entirety of Shadow Island lately. Gossip flowed like the tides about break-ins and disturbances. She’d heard that even the new sheriff had a break-in and fought off the intruder on her own.

And the phone calls—those unsettling, “anonymous” murmurs that slithered through the receiver and coiled around her mind, leaving her sanity frayed at the edges. Her ex-husband Jared had been glad enough to be rid of her until he found out she’d moved on. Now he wouldn’t leave her alone. Which was why she and Michael had been so rigorous with the security precautions in their home.

“Who’s there? Jared?” She called louder this time, despite the tremor weakening her voice. If her ex was foolish enough to trespass in her home, maybe calling out his name would scare him off.

The air remained stubbornly mute, heaving with unspoken secrets. She scanned the room for a weapon. She was probably overreacting to phantom noises, but nothing was going to threaten the safety of her unborn child. Unfortunately, nothing nearby could serve as a makeshift weapon if her suspicions were correct.

Her thoughts flickered to her old friend Vivianne Darby, whose laughter could disarm the tightest tension. After moving back to the island, Hannah had run into Vivianne and learned she was a deputy. It had been in the back of her mind to talk with Vivianne about Jared’s recent stalking, but when she and her old friend chatted, they’d focused on catching up, and Hannah hadn’t wanted to ruin the mood of their first encounter in years with painful revelations.

Besides, she’d been certain that the extra locks on the upgraded windows and doors would be enough to make her feel safe again. And they had. Until now.

A firmer step now, a weight that pressed a warning into the old floors.

Michael would have announced himself, called out to let her know what he’d purchased or why he was back so soon. His voice should have been a beacon cutting through this fog of uncertainty. This was someone else. Someone who didn’t belong.

Still, her pregnancy brain was likely just playing tricks on her. As he was leaving, Michael mentioned that the whole house was locked tight as a button. After he gave her a kiss and headed out the door, she’d checked the deadbolt to make sure it was locked.

But the noise a few moments ago, the one that suggested footsteps…maybe she hadn’t imagined it.

Adrenaline surged within her, fueled by the maternal instinct that roared to life. She searched for her phone but couldn’t remember where she’d left it. Dammit! Michael had made her promise to keep her phone nearby in case she needed him or thought of something else to pick up from the store.

Hannah’s pregnant belly was like an anchor fastening her down in the chair’s grasp. She rocked forward, using the momentum to pitch her upward as she pushed off the smooth wooden arms to a standing position.

That noise came again. Not just the creaks and groans of a house. A footstep. She was almost sure of it.

After only a few steps, she reached the bottom of the stairs to the second floor and checked the entryway to her left. The front door came into view, still securely closed, the deadbolt firmly in place. No one could have come in that way without her spotting them.

The back of Hannah’s neck prickled. Someone was here, in her home, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Turning toward the opposite end of the house, she peered down the hallway that split the front of her home from the back half with its more scenic views. At the end of the hallway to the right was the laundry room and the back door. Michael wouldn’t enter through there when he returned from his errands. He’d use the front door, since it was closer to the driveway.

Whatever, or whoever, had made the noise in the laundry room wasn’t Michael.

Warily inching away from the front door, she scanned the dining room to her left and back to the laundry room door. Only a few steps behind her by the front entry were the stairs leading to her bedroom with its solid lock on the door. But fear of turning her back on the source of her panic made her dismiss that safer option.

Her breath caught as he emerged from the laundry room, and she froze.

He wasn’t trying to hide. Wasn’t attempting to sneak around. He had just walked in and now stood there as if he was completely comfortable being in her home without invitation or declaration of arrival. It made her skin crawl.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Hannah’s voice quivered despite her attempt to sound strong and self-assured.

He stepped forward, his face half in shadow. He wore a backpack, and she could tell it was stuffed full, as the zipper wasn’t completely closed. While finding him here had momentarily shocked her, it was his expression that told her she was in serious trouble.

A mixture of longing and resolve played upon his features, turning her trickles of fear into a river of primal terror. The pickles from lunch threatened to hurl up from the depths of her stomach, and she pressed a hand against her belly. His eyes followed her movement, and he licked his lips.

“Hannah.” His voice was low and eerily calm, like this was an ordinary, casual conversation. “Be with me. We can leave this place…just you, me, and the baby.”

Hannah stared at him, her jaw dropping in confusion. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

His proposal hung in the air like a fog refusing to lift, choking the room with its implications. The idea of running away, abandoning the life she had built with Michael, was ludicrous. Repulsive, even.

“Yes. We can leave here. And never look back. I would do that for you. Forget your past and everything else. Forget Michael.” He stepped closer. “I love you more than he ever could. I deserve your love, not him.”

Horrified by his words, Hannah recoiled, her shoulders snapping back at this insult to her husband. And to her and her morals. What kind of man would say such odious things so casually?

“Absolutely not.” The fire of her resolve burned through her fear and evaporated the fog of uncertainty. The love and dedication she and Michael shared was above reproach. “Get out! Get out of my house and never come back. I’m calling Michael.”

Where did I leave my damn phone?

His face twisted, morphing into something darker, more possessive. “I had to try. All I’ve ever wanted was to be with you. But you leave me with little choice.” The bag slid down to the crook of his arm, and he retrieved a loop of cloth she recognized as a bandanna tied at the ends. With his other hand, he pulled out two loops of rope that were somehow joined in the middle. “If I can’t have you, then I’ll take the next best thing. The baby.”

Take my baby? How the hell would he do that?

“Never!” Hannah hugged her arms around her belly, cradling the child within. She spun on her heel, intent on escaping, but her movements were clumsy, hindered by the massive change to her center of gravity. She waddled as fast as she could toward the living room, where she hoped her phone was resting by the glider.

A hand tangled in her hair, yanking her back. The force knocked her off-balance as her weight shifted toward the strong hand holding her. Several hairs ripped loose, but not enough for her to get free. She yelped, her scalp burning with pain from his grip. She tried to regain her footing and pull away from him at the same time. The heat of his arm along her back made her want to vomit.

“I didn’t want to do this. But I can’t let you screw it up either.”

“Michael!” Her husband’s name slipped out, reflexively screamed through gritted teeth. “Help me!”

No hero burst through the door. This was her battle. Just like the new sheriff had done in her own home against an intruder she knew, it was Hannah’s turn to fight, for herself and her unborn child, in a home where she should be safe.

Kicking her feet against the floor, she shoved back, slamming into the man and knocking them both off balance. She was a tempest, a mother bear cornered, fighting with a ferocity that belied her condition. Her life and that of her child depended on her, and she would not stop fighting while she could still move.

He stumbled and twisted, fighting to keep his feet under him as she thrashed back and forth. A picture fell off the wall as they banged into it, the frame breaking into pieces on the floor. The hold on her hair was right at her skin, not leaving her much room to move, and her thickened torso prevented her from twisting far enough to reach him. But she could still swing her arms, desperately trying to land an elbow that would force him to loosen his grip.

Hannah’s breath hitched in her throat as the intruder forced a cloth between her teeth, silencing her cries. Her fingers clawed at the bandanna, nails scraping futilely against the fabric as he pulled the makeshift gag over her head. It wasn’t even all the way on, and it already bit into her cheeks.

Her familiar foe kept himself pressed tight along her back, out of her reach, as she tried to gain enough clearance to swing at him.

Somehow they’d ended up in the space between the living room and dining area. Everything spun into chaos. Her desperate struggle knocked over a chair and sent a vase crashing, water and shattered glass spraying across the floor, soaking into the carpet.

When he grabbed her arm, something slipped over her wrist—the two joined ropes. She didn’t know what they were. Makeshift handcuffs? His preparedness was terrifying.

She tried to scream, but the gag muffled her pleas. If he restricted her movements further, she’d never get away. She was already tiring. Her arms burned, and her neck throbbed with tension as he yanked her head around. He stayed pressed against her back, holding her tight as a lover. She inhaled but couldn’t get a big enough breath.

“Help!” she gurgled into the gag. “Someone! Anyone!” But the only sound that came through was muffled gibberish.

“No one will hear you.” His tone was maddeningly patient, gentle even.

He let go of her hair, and she slipped down. She’d unconsciously been relying on him to hold her steady while she fought. Now she was toppling over.

My baby!

It was a relief when he caught her other arm, stopping her fall. Before she could fight further, he wrapped her wrist and yanked on the binds, cinching her arms tight. The nylon ropes bit into her skin like the cold embrace of death, immobilizing her arms behind her in an unyielding grip.

As she attempted to wrap her mind around what to do next, he yanked both her arms, dragging her backward.

Hannah dug her heels into the carpet. Every muscle tensed in resistance, but she couldn’t stop him. Her screams were relentless, muffled cries that died behind the gag.

No!

Angry tears burning behind her eyes, she whipped her head back, hoping to smash into his nose. Instead, she tumbled down as he dropped her without warning.

She started to scream into her gag again, but she lost her breath as she crashed onto the couch. Her butt barely caught the edge of it, the hard wood frame biting into her hamstrings as she toppled onto her back on the seat cushions. Landing on her hands secured behind her, she feared her shoulders might pop out of their sockets. Were her fingers broken?

Her upper body sunk into the soft seat cushions, but her legs still dangled off the front. She flailed her legs, but her attacker wrapped his hands around her bare feet, crunching her bones against each other.

She watched in horror as he secured another set of those homemade handcuffs around her ankles, binding them together so tight the rope burned into her skin. Then he grabbed her feet and used them to position her body so she was lying across the couch cushions.

Deep within, her little one was kicking just as hard as their mother now.

“Just calm down. If you keep fighting, I might mess this up. And I don’t want to hurt my baby.”

What does he mean, “my baby”? It’s not his baby! It’s Michael’s!

Despite her awkward position stretched across the couch, Hannah tried to use her large body mass to buck him away from her. Make him stop. Knee him in the face. Anything she could do to hurt him. To make this all end. Positioned by her feet, he ignored her, flipping the skirt of her dress up to expose her body halfway up her belly.

She snapped her knees closed, not sure what he would try next. He dug through his bag again.

Rocking her shoulders, she tried to roll over. But he casually shifted so his knees crushed down on the tops of her feet, keeping her pinned and unable to move. The sharp smell of alcohol pierced the air, a clinical scent that had no place amid the battlefield her living room had become. He held up a bottle and poured it over her stomach.

The realization of what he wanted to do struck her with a sudden and horrifying jolt. Her heart beat a frenzied rhythm, each pulse a silent plea for the safety of the life inside her. Hannah’s world narrowed to the raw fear for her child, the instinctive need to protect her baby from the madness that loomed over them.

She tried to scramble backward, but his weight on her legs made that impossible. Barring escape, Hannah froze.

What happens if I move, and he slips?

“Hold still. You might feel a bit of pressure.”

The cold knife bit into her flesh, splitting her belly with a pain so overwhelming it blurred her vision. Her scream choked against the gag, muffled and raw, her body convulsing against her restraints.

She clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms, grounding herself in the sensation, forcing herself not to move so her baby wouldn’t be harmed. The agony was unrelenting, her body a battlefield of fire and ice, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—give in.

Through the haze of agony, she watched this man—this monster—as he focused on his mission. A spray of blood arced into the air, and the coward turned his head away.

Stay awake. Don’t let him win.

Her mind screamed at her body, demanding it obey. Her baby needed her. Even bound, even gagged, she had to fight. She wouldn’t abandon her child to the hands of a monster.

When the first inch of her baby’s body came into view, Hannah sobbed, tears streaking her face. She fought against the pull of unconsciousness with a desperation that burned through the pain. Even covered in blood and vernix, her child was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Boy or girl? She couldn’t tell, and knowing stopped mattering as she waited long seconds to hear a cry.

Nothing.

She strained to lift her head, her body trembling violently, and she could only watch as he held the tiny form aloft. Her heart twisted into knots, panic cutting through her haze of anguish. Why wasn’t her baby crying? Why—

The sharp crack of his palm against her baby’s bare skin penetrated the screams in her head. Once. Twice. The sound reverberated through the room, and with it came a shattering, fragile wail.

Relief surged through her, tangled with despair. She sagged against her binds, her tears nearly drowning her. Every fiber of her being screamed for her child. Her legs twitched, her arms strained, her body inching forward in a pitiful, agonizing crawl.

She couldn’t reach her baby—he was too fast, too methodical—but she had to try. She had to.

A melody drifted through her mind, a lullaby she’d made up to sing to her child in quiet moments when the world seemed kind. Her lips, cracked and bloodied behind the gag, tried to hum the tune as she inched forward. It was barely audible, a ghost of a song meant only for her baby.

“Close your eyes, and dream so free,
You’re my hope, my destiny.”

She fought to roll from the couch, but her body refused to follow her mind’s direction. She did the only thing she could do. She sang, hoping the infant knew its mommy was near.

“No storm can break, no shadow stay.”

Her vision darkened, stealing her view of the crying infant she already loved more than herself. The lullaby grew weaker, each hum fractured and trembling, until it dissolved into the last few words she knew she’d ever say to her baby.

“I’ll love you more each passing day.”

Chapter Two

Sherriff Rebecca West steered the SUV to a sliding halt in front of the modest two-story island home with two cars parked in the driveway. The door was standing open, and what looked like a couple of shopping bags lay near the entryway with their contents spilled out on the ground. Bloody footprints marked a trail on the concrete front patio and driveway.

“Dear god.” They’d need to wade through that blood to reach the victim.

Deputy Vivianne Darby was out before she could say another word, her face etched with fear. A man with scarlet-slathered hands frantically gestured for them to follow him into the home.

“Darby! Get the first aid kit.” Rebecca popped the trunk and scrambled out. The deputy was already hauling out the kit. Vivianne slammed the trunk closed and looked at Rebecca, her dark eyes wide, reflecting the emergency lights.

“This is Hannah Walker’s house. That’s Michael, her husband.” She indicated the blood-soaked man flailing his arms desperately at them. Vivianne shook her head at herself. “No, it’s Hannah…dammit, I don’t remember her new last name. Her maiden name was Walker. Old friend of mine. She just moved back to town.”

Rebecca started recording with her spy pen, her stopgap measure until they could get body cameras. It wasn’t ideal, but the footage could prove useful later.

But right now she had to focus on keeping the victim alive. If she still was. With that much blood on Michael’s hands, Rebecca worried they would find a corpse once they got inside.

Michael raced over to join them. His sobs sliced through the still air like the sharp edge of a knife. He spun in tight circles, seeming lost. “Please! My wife needs help. Someone took our baby.”

“Sir, what’s your name?” Rebecca tried to remain calm amid the chaos. “How long ago did you find her?” She spoke as she ran for the house, Vivianne racing after her.

“Michael Blackwood.” Tears trailed down his face. “Ten minutes…I was only gone half an hour. She was out of pickles and yogurt, and I needed to get more corner guards for the tables from the hardware store.”

There was no blood on his face, his shirt, or the upper parts of his pants. His knees and lower legs were drenched, showing he’d at least knelt in the blood, but none of it had spattered his upper body.

“EMS is en route. Where is she?”

Crossing the threshold, there was no need for directions. Rebecca immediately noticed the woman on the floor. She lay sprawled in front of the couch—a chilling centerpiece to the disarray around her. A colorful bandanna and a strap were discarded next to her head. Had she been gagged? Her dress was soaked in blood and framed around her stomach.

Her ankles were bound and, strangely, neatly crossed. Her arms were tucked behind her body, and Rebecca assumed they were bound as well.

Michael raced to his wife’s side and collapsed to his knees, his bloody hands pressing down on a knit blanket that had likely been solid yellow but was now a splotchy mess of dark red and sickly orange from the blood soaking into its fibers. “I moved her to the floor so I could put pressure on her wounds. The couch was too soft.”

Behind her, Vivianne let out a stifled cry but quickly composed herself.

“Is she…was she pregnant?” Rebecca had to ask, even though the answer was painfully obvious. She still needed everything on record. She dropped the kit and pulled on gloves.

“Yes.” Michael choked, swallowing hard, and pointed to his wife’s lower abdomen. “He took…he took our baby.”

Rebecca leaned close to the woman’s mouth to make sure she was breathing. She quickly slipped on gloves before checking for a pulse. “He? Do you know who did this?” Using a pair of safety scissors, she cut the ropes from Hannah’s ankles. With her arms pinned behind her back, Rebecca feared rotating the woman onto her side would accelerate the blood loss. The binds would have to remain for now.

Michael was silently shaking his head, staring in horror again. “She won’t stop bleeding.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Vivianne’s whispered prayer drew Rebecca’s attention away from Hannah for a moment. Despite knowing the victim, Vivianne regained her poise and professionalism quickly. Still, Rebecca wanted to minimize the horror of the scene for her friend and newest deputy.

“Darby, we need the bleed kit. Grab all the gauze and the trauma blanket. She’s already lost a lot of blood, and her body temp will drop really fast. Then come help me with her.” Rebecca’s tone brooked no refusal.

She turned to the husband, still kneeling by his wife’s side. “Michael, I need you to go outside. When the paramedics show up, let them know we’re in here and what’s going on.”

As Rebecca swept her gaze over the victim, her mind raced with the grim details that now consumed their reality. This was more than an assault—it was a theft of the most primal kind. And somewhere out there, a newborn was in the hands of a madman.

After sputtering a few attempts at words, Michael gave up and ran out the door.

Vivianne returned with the kit and thrust it at her. “I’m going to check the rest of the house.”

Rebecca’s hand shot out to snag the trauma blanket from the kit. In the process, she banged her hand against the nearby glider chair. Cursing at the dull pain, she noted a clunking noise. A cell phone had been on the chair and hit the floor.

Ignoring that, she threw the blanket over Hannah’s upper body. Keeping her warm would help stave off shock.

This wasn’t a regular wound. She didn’t smell the telltale stink of perforated bowels, but the organs near the uterus had been shifted, perhaps nicked or severely damaged as well. The uterus itself had been sliced open, a medieval Caesarian section to let the butcher retrieve his prize.

Recalling her first aid training, Rebecca knew the placenta would need to be removed. Would the suspect have known the importance of that step? It was hardly common knowledge. Perhaps the monster who’d done this had formal medical training, but the crude incision suggested otherwise.

Using her forearm to lean on the makeshift bandage, Rebecca cued the radio on her shoulder. “Dispatch, this is West. I need Frost at my location now. Get Coffey to lock down the bridge. No one leaves the island without clearance. Keep an eye out for anyone traveling with a newborn baby.”

“Copy that, Sheriff.” Melody Jenkins, the second-shift dispatcher who was covering the phones, replied immediately. “I’m on it.”

“Locke, secure the marinas. If our perp has a boat, I don’t want them slipping through.” The thought of the assailant fleeing over water added a layer of complexity, but Rebecca trusted Trent’s instincts to cover all angles. He was a lifelong resident of the island and had grown up on boats. She was happy to defer to his expertise.

“Will do, Sheriff.” Trent’s response crackled with determination.

“One more thing, Dispatch.” Rebecca’s mind was racing, even as she shifted her hands to keep the pressure where the bleeding was heaviest. “Put out an Amber Alert. Every hospital, clinic, fire station, and Safe Haven needs to be on the lookout for a newborn baby, likely in need of medical attention. Call Coastal Ridge directly first. Time is critical.”

“Understood, Sheriff. Alert going out now.” Melody’s urgency was clear even through the formality of their exchange.

Vivianne hurried back into the room. “House is clear, Boss.” She sounded steadier, which was good, because Rebecca couldn’t spare her any attention.

“Darby, bag these cuffs and the makeshift gag.” Rebecca maintained pressure on the treated gauze, praying it would help clot the blood freely flowing out of Hannah.

As Vivianne gathered the evidence, the wail of sirens reached a crescendo outside.

The steady tromp of boots indicated the arrival of the paramedics as they burst through the door, clutching their kits and defibrillators like shields against death’s advance.

Rebecca spared them a look. “I’ve got a pulse and shallow breathing, but I can’t get the bleeding to stop.”

A woman in a dark-blue uniform crouched beside her, and Rebecca recognized Sandra Baker, who she’d met when working on a case over the summer. “She was pregnant?”

“Yes.” As Sandra leaned closer to take over, Rebecca stepped aside, allowing them access to the victim. “Multiple lacerations, extensive bleeding.” She briefed them quickly, her tone all business. “Location of newborn is unknown and approximate time since delivery is roughly thirty minutes.”

Baker’s partner pulled the trauma blanket away, which was quickly replaced with a swarm of hands before the wound was packed with more sterile hemostatic gauze. Rebecca caught the blanket before it could hit the floor. She’d need to seal it within an evidence bag. The DNA from the blood was a potential link to the missing infant. One they could use without bothering the victim or her family at the hospital.

Rebecca hauled herself to her feet and looked around for Vivianne, who was nowhere in sight. She pressed her lips together, worrying her deputy might not be able to handle remaining on the scene.

Instead, she faced the shocked husband, who had trailed in behind the paramedics. “Michael.” She had to repeat his name before he lifted eyes haunted with a grief so profound it clawed at her heart. “I need your number. I’m going to have more questions for you.”

Numbly, he recited the digits, his gaze never leaving his wife as the paramedics lifted her onto a gurney. Vivianne came back in, holding the camera from the glove compartment and the evidence case from the back of Rebecca’s department SUV.

Rebecca bit back a sigh of relief. Vivianne hadn’t been overcome by the scene. In fact, she’d moved on to the next logical step.

Setting the case down, Vivianne knelt, flipped it open, and held open a large evidence bag for Rebecca to slide the blanket into. Vivianne’s face was grim, but she was on the ball.

That was good enough for Rebecca. They had an infant to find, and time was slipping away with each tick of the clock.

“You might want these too.”

Glancing over, Rebecca saw the tall and wiry paramedic was holding a pair of quick cuffs. “She had them on her wrists, and we were able to remove them when we lifted her. We’re taking her to Coastal Ridge. Sir, are you riding with us?” The paramedic, whose nametag read Hayes, turned to address Michael.

They lifted the gurney, locked the legs into the upright position, and wheeled the wounded woman away while keeping pressure on her abdomen. Michael started to follow, jerked to a stop, and wordlessly beseeched Rebecca for permission. Stay and search for his missing child, or go and be with his wife while she fought to stay alive. It was a hell of a decision.

Rebecca made it for him. “Go. I have your number. One of us will check in with you later. Be with your wife. We’ll find your baby.”

Michael ran after the paramedics, his soul seemingly tethered to his wife’s by more than vows. Rebecca followed them out as well, wanting to drop the filled evidence bags in the back of the SUV.

Deputy Hoyt Frost’s cruiser rolled to a stop near Rebecca just as the ambulance disappeared down the road, its siren wailing a mournful dirge.