Stepping into the room, Afton’s fingers twitched. She was ready to snatch up this baby and run like hell. She reached down, anxious, nervous, and caught herself just in time. Because, dear Lord, this was a newborn baby, not a three-month-old baby.
Was she in the wrong place? Her mind was suddenly in turmoil. She couldn’t be. She couldn’t have erred this badly. And there was the telltale pink cashmere blanket . . .
The girl under the covers stirred slightly. Then her eyes came open and she stared blankly up at Afton. Slowly, her mind seemed to process the fact that there was a woman standing by her bedside, dressed in snow gear and holding an ice ax. Her face convulsed with fear.
“Who are you?” Shake asked in a tremulous voice as she struggled to sit up. “What are you doing here?”
Afton said the first thing that popped into her head.
“I’m here for the baby.”
Shake shrank back in terror. Then she seemed to muster her courage and flung an arm out as if to protect the baby sleeping beside her. “Please,” she said, “I’m begging you, don’t take my baby. I know I signed all the papers and everything, but I changed my mind. I really did.” She hiccupped hard as tears welled in her eyes. “I made a terrible mistake.”
“This is your baby?” Afton asked. She wasn’t quite sure what this poor girl was babbling about.
Shake bobbled her head. “Me and Ronnie’s, yes.”
Afton peered into the homemade crib again, as if to make sure of what she was seeing. “This baby’s a newborn.”
“Please,” Shake begged. “I only just had her last night. But I love her.”
“You just gave birth to her? Here? Last night?”
Shake suddenly looked confused. “No, I think it might have been two nights ago.” She pressed both hands against her face and peered through her fingers. “I don’t know, you’re scaring me. You’re getting me all confused.”
Afton knew she didn’t have much time. “What’s your name?”
“Shake. My real name is Sharice but everybody calls me Shake.”
“How many people live here, Shake?”
“Um . . . three of us. Well, five if you count the babies.”
Afton felt a kind of pop deep inside her brain. “There’s another baby?”
Shake seemed to choke down her fear then. “Who are you?”
“I’m with the Minneapolis Police Department.”
Now Shake was more flustered than fearful. “Oh shit, I knew there was something bad going on. You’re here because of Marjorie, aren’t you? She’s crazy, you know. She brought that kid home and—” Shake stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute. You came here to get that baby?”
Afton’s heart leapt. “That baby’s still here?”
Shake nodded. “Yeah, sure she is. Well, I think she is. I’ve been sleeping and—”
“Where is she?” Afton knew she’d been at this too long. She was pressing her luck. “Where have they been keeping her?”
Shake curled a finger and pointed. “The room next to this one.”
“You said the woman who brought her home was Marjorie. Marjorie who?”
“Sorenson?” Shake said in a small voice.
“And this is the same woman who creates and sells reborn dolls?”
Shake nodded. “Yeah.”
“And she has a son.”
“Ronnie,” Shake said. “My boyfriend.” She hiccupped. “My baby’s father.”
The pizza guy, Afton thought. She had to grab the Darden baby and get the hell out of here. Could she manage it? Holy shit, it felt like she was trapped in a den of rattlesnakes.
“Wait here,” Afton said to Shake.
Shake pulled up the bedspread tight to her chin. “Where would I go?”
Afton tiptoed out into the hallway and paused. The TV was still blasting away downstairs, and so far nobody seemed to have heard her. Shake hadn’t raised an alert. That was good. Maybe she could grab the Darden baby and get away without anyone being the wiser. Send help back for Shake and her baby.
That was the plan anyway.
But plans have a way of not working out. Because somewhere between peering into the Darden baby’s crib and ascertaining that this was probably the missing Elizabeth Ann, Afton heard a ruckus going on downstairs.
Damn. Somebody must have heard her moving around up here on the creaky linoleum.
Afton had a split-second decision to make. Grab the baby and try to bull her way past whoever had just started screaming their head off downstairs? Or face them by herself and hope for the best?
She left the baby and dashed out into the hallway.
Downstairs, the screaming had intensified.
“We got big trouble, Ronnie!” came a woman’s shrill voice. “Get up here and bring your knives!”
That was Marjorie. Calling for Ronnie. This is so not good.
Pounding footsteps shook the stairway. Like a bull on a rampage, Marjorie barreled up the narrow stairs, her faded housecoat billowing around her. When she got to the landing and saw Afton standing there, she stopped, a look of utter shock on her face.
Afton stared at the woman with cold, barely contained anger. This was the woman who’d caused everyone so much pain. “Hello, Molly,” she said. “We’ve been looking for you.”