I sprinted toward the front of the building. Every instinct I had shrieked for me to skid around the corner gun blazing, but charging into the open was a good way to get my head blown off. I didn’t think even that would kill me, but it would take a helluva long time to heal. By then Luther could be dead.
There was also the added concern of a possible pregnancy. I didn’t want to be pregnant, could think of little I wanted less than that, except maybe slow, torturous death by Nephilim, but what was, was. If I carried Sawyer’s child, he, she, or it was all that was left of his magic, beyond what he’d given to me. I had to protect his gift. I’d promised.
Fighting the adrenaline, I peeked around the edge of the building. Four am on a Saturday and Main Street was deserted. Friedenberg boasted its share of taverns—this was Wisconsin, after all—but they’d closed on time, and everyone had skittered home.
Not a sign of Luther. Hell.
“Kid?” I didn’t want to shout, but pretty soon I would have to.
I hurried along the front of the knickknack shop, so intent on the next corner I nearly missed what rested in the shrouded alcove of the doorway. I’d already scooted past when what I’d seen registered. I stopped and took several steps in retreat.
On the landing sat a blanket-shrouded basket. Despite the lack of light in the alcove, and the lack of color to the blanket—either black or navy blue—I still detected movement beneath.
The back of my neck prickled, and I had to fight not to slap at an imaginary mosquito. I dared not touch that area unless I meant to. Sawyer wasn’t the only one with tattoos, nor the ability to use them.
Had someone brought me a basket of poisonous snakes, tarantulas, or Gila monsters? Maybe something new like a land shark, a water-free jellyfish, a teenie-tiny vampire. Believe me, I’d seen stranger things.
The wail I’d heard before came again—from the basket. I leaned over, caught the end of the coverlet with the barrel of my Glock, and lifted. What I saw inside made my heart beat faster than any vampire ever had. I let the blanket fall into place and nearly tripped over my own feet in my haste to back away.
“Fan-damn-tastic,” I muttered.
Someone had left me a baby.
CHAPTER 2
The child started to cry in earnest; the sound could no longer be mistaken for the wind. Pretty soon someone was going to come outside and ask why I was creeping around with a gun. They’d also want to know why there was a baby in a basket on my front porch. I kind of wanted to know that myself.
I inched closer, yanked the blanket off with my hand this time. The kid blinked. Long dark lashes framed light eyes, the exact color indeterminate in the night. The round face darkened as the baby drew a deep breath and really let loose.
“Pick her up.”
I started so violently, I almost dropped the gun. Luther carefully removed the weapon from my hand.
“Her?” I asked, and he shrugged.
“Looks like a her, doesn’t it?”
The child wore only a disposable diaper, but it was pink. I guess that should have been my first clue.
“Pick her up, Liz, before my head explodes.”
“Why don’t you pick her up?” I tried to retrieve the guns, but Luther held them above his head. Though I was tall at five-ten, I still couldn’t reach them. By the time he finished growing, Luther would rival LeBron in size.
“Not a chance,” he said.
“Rats,” I muttered.
Fuck, I thought.
Leaning over the basket, I slid my hands under the baby. She was warm and wiggly, kind of like a puppy without the fur. Maybe ten pounds, a couple of feet long, I had no clue how old she might be, but she looked young—little, helpless, fragile. She scared the shit out of me.
As I lifted, she continued to cry. I couldn’t blame her. I’d been dumped on a doorstep, too. If I’d known what was going to happen to me in the next decade, I’d have screamed my head off. Hell, maybe I had.
“Any note?” I asked.
Luther peered into the depths of the basket. “Nope.”
“Fabulous.” I was having a hard time with the kid, who continued to squirm as if she wanted me to drop her.
“Sheesh,” Luther said. “Watch her head.”
He transferred both guns to a single huge paw before grabbing my hand and showing me how to cup her skull with my fingers while pressing my palm against her neck.
“Put her against your shoulder.” He pantomimed the movement then reached over and patted her back. “Sometimes they like that.”
The baby hiccuped—once, twice—took a deep breath, and I tensed, waiting for her to blow out my eardrum with the next wail. Instead she wiggled her butt and cuddled closer, then began to suck on my T-shirt.
“How do you know so much about babies?” I asked.
“I have held one before. What’s your excuse?”
“She’s my first.”
“You’ve never held a baby?” Luther’s voice was as incredulous as his face. “How’d you manage that?”
“Wasn’t easy,” I muttered.