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Her body’s dead weight pulled Larry off balance. He lunged, tripped over her and fell. When he hit the floor, he rolled to his back and aimed for Cliff.
Fighting back the panic, Cliff lifted his arm, aimed at Larry and fired.
Two shots rang out.
Larry’s bullet missed Cliff.
Cliff’s bullet struck home, hitting Larry in the chest. The man’s eyes widened. He clutched his chest, his breaths gurgling in his lungs.
Jenna straightened and moved toward Trudy and Baby Blakely. “Hey, Trudy, sweetie,” she said softly. “Who’ve you got there?” She smiled and moved closer. “Can I see?”
Trudy half-turned away, a frown creasing her brown. “My baby.”
“Yes, she is, and she’s beautiful. I love holding babies. Don’t you?”
Trudy’s frown eased a little, and she turned back to Jenna. “She’s so soft.”
“Really? I love holding soft babies. Would you let me hold her for just a moment? It would make me so happy. You know, I lost a baby once. I miscarried. I cried so much I couldn’t breathe. I would so love to hold a baby just once.”
“Trudy, honey,” David gently called out from the doorway. “Let your friend hold your baby for just a moment. She’s really nice and thinks your baby is beautiful.”
Trudy’s brow wrinkled as she studied Jenna. “Okay, but only for a moment.”
Jenna held out her arms and let Trudy lay the baby in them. Once she had her, she studied what she could see of the baby’s face and hands. Her breathing was steady, and she wasn’t fussing.
A more thorough exam would have to be made by a pediatrician. For now, Jenna had to get her out of the room and away from Trudy.
David crossed to his wife’s side and slid his arm around her. “Miss Jenna is going to take the baby back to her mother, where she belongs. Her real mother. She’s been very worried about her baby.”
Trudy shook her head from side to side, the motion getting more frenetic the more she shook. “No. That’s my baby!” she wailed. “Please, don’t take her away. I’ll kill her,” she yelled. “I’ll kill her if she takes my baby away.”
Cliff wrapped his arm around Jenna’s shoulders and guided her toward the door, ever conscious of the woman growing more agitated by the minute.
“I’ll kill her like I killed that old nurse who stole her out of the laundry cart when I went to get the truck. It was her, the only person I passed in the hall that night.” Trudy’s lips pulled back in a feral snarl. “She hid her in her own home. When I went to take her back, the old bat wanted to take my baby back to where she was born. I couldn’t let that happen. No. She’s mine.”
Trudy looked up into her husband’s eyes. “I couldn’t let her take her back. She’s your baby, too,” she said, her voice softening. “I know you had an affair with that woman who gave birth to her. I hated her. But the baby is part of you. So, it’s part of me. I love her. I want to hold her. To love her. I knew the baby was ours after you gave that whore your money. I planned to take her, stole the truck, the uniform, the ID card. I got our baby and then she was stolen from me!” Trudy clutched her husband’s shirt. “Please, don’t let them take her away. I can’t lose another child. I can’t.”
Cliff and Jenna stopped short of the door, wanting to go but needing to know what drove this woman to do what she’d done,
“Sweetheart, she’s not my baby. I didn’t have an affair with her mother. I was trying to adopt her baby to provide her with a nice home. But she decided to keep her. Can you blame her? She’s been so sad since her baby was taken.”
“I can’t do this again,” she said, her eyes tearing and her mouth trembling.
Her husband pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.
She fought to get loose, pounding his chest. “Let me go,” she cried. “They’re taking my baby.”
She broke free and staggered backward. When she tried to go to where Jenna stood, holding the baby, her husband stepped in front of her. “She’s not your baby.”
“She is!” Trudy screamed. “She has to be.” She pounded his chest again.
David held her hands to keep her from hurting herself.
This time when she broke free, she flung herself away from him, crossed to the crib and yanked out a blanket. She tore it in half and flung it to the ground. Her hand swung at the little lamb lamp on the dresser, knocking it across the room and shattering the bulb.
“Trudy,” her husband called out. “Please, sweetheart. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Nothing matters anymore.” She ran to the French doors, flung them open and ran out onto the balcony.
