Chapter 3
THREE
Grace Elizabeth Morrison.
Peyton stared at the name on the birth certificate that’d been tucked underneath the cover of the baby carrier.
The scents of antiseptic and stale coffee soured her stomach.
Or maybe it was the painkillers the emergency room doctor had given her.
The lump on her scalp throbbed even through the painkillers, promising a migraine later.
A cart rattled as someone pushed it past the room.
“You didn’t know Lilia had a baby?”
Peyton looked up from the birth certificate to Dawson.
He stood at the foot of the bed, his expression a careful mask of indifference.
Built like an ox, with broad shoulders that strained the fabric of his jacket, he cut an intimidating figure.
The badge hooked to his belt, along with his holstered weapon and quiet confidence, radiated authority.
Dark curls—trimmed short and neat—drew attention to his strong jaw, shadowed now with stubble.
The past five years had added a few crow's feet to the corners of his rich brown eyes, but they only made him more attractive.
Her heart skipped a beat, an unconscious reaction that cut through her shock. Peyton forced herself to focus, turning her attention to the baby nestled in a clear bassinet. Like Peyton, little Grace had been examined by the emergency room doctor. He’d declared the one-month-old in perfect health.
Peyton, on the other hand, had a concussion. They were waiting for the results of her MRI to determine if she could leave tonight, or if she’d have to stay in the hospital for observation.
“No, I didn’t know Lilia had a baby.” Regret and guilt pinched her, threatening to unmoor the careful hold she kept on her emotions. “We had a falling out three years ago. Tonight was the first time I’ve seen or heard from Lilia since.”
“What was the falling out about?” Detective Liam Miller asked from his perch on a chair near the window.
Like Dawson, his expression was flat and nonjudgmental.
Peyton vaguely remembered Liam from high school.
He’d been a senior when she was a freshman.
The intervening years had been kind. Muscular and clean-shaven, he’d ditched the thick glasses for contacts, revealing a set of stunning baby blues.
But Peyton saw past his even tone and good looks.
She recognized the way he surreptitiously studied her.
Liam hadn’t decided if she could be trusted, and she wondered how much Dawson had told his colleague about their past. Neither of them had lived in Knoxville when they got divorced.
Both had been working in Dallas back then.
Dawson would never speak badly of her, but Peyton was smart enough to realize Liam’s loyalty would be to her ex-husband. Rightfully so.
“Money. Lilia showed up at my house high, looking for a place to stay and cash. We argued.” She winced, remembering the harsh words her cousin had hurled at her.
Peyton hadn’t been in a good place herself, still mired in grief and working herself to the bone.
Her temper had gotten the best of her. The fight had devolved quickly.
“She refused to check into rehab, and I threw her out. She disappeared after that. I tried to contact her last year, hoping to make amends, but her cell number was no longer working.”
“So you were surprised when she called asking for help?”
“Yes and no. This is the longest Lilia and I have gone without talking, but we’ve had periods of estrangement before.
Mostly when she was using. It used to be, when she needed help, she’d call our grandmother.
After Nana Grace died, Lilia turned to me.
” She smoothed out a wrinkle in the sheet.
“I guess…I figured one day she’d pop back into my life. ”
“And Lilia didn’t tell you why she wanted to meet you at the train depot?” Liam asked.
“No. She only said she was in trouble and needed my help. Lilia promised to explain everything in person.” Worry plagued her.
Knoxville police officers and state troopers were currently combing the train depot, searching for any sign of her cousin.
Peyton fiddled with the edge of her sheet.
“Maybe I should’ve insisted on more information, especially given her prior history with addiction, but she sounded so scared…
and I knew she had to be desperate if she was calling me after all this time. ”
Liam asked a few more questions, but Peyton couldn’t provide any helpful information.
The man who attacked her at the train depot had been wearing a ski mask.
She only had a vague description to give him—roughly six-feet tall and fit.
“There was a homeless man nearby though. Caucasian, with a thick beard, wearing sweatpants and a tan wool jacket. He disappeared into the shipping container when he saw me. Maybe he spotted Lilia earlier. Or witnessed the attack on her. I’m certain the scream I heard was my cousin. ”
“The responding officers will interview everyone they find at the train depot, but I’ll make sure they keep an eye out for the man you’ve described.” Liam shifted his weight and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this. Be right back.”
The door swung softly shut behind him. An awkward silence followed.
Peyton felt small and vulnerable in the hospital bed, but didn’t quite have the wherewithal to stand.
She also couldn’t bring herself to look at Dawson.
Instead, she focused on baby Grace’s birth certificate.
Lilia’s name was typed out in all caps on the official document under mother, but the space for father was left blank.
“There’s no father listed. That’s weird, right? ”
Dawson shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t want to be involved.”
“Probably so. Lilia never had good taste in men.” The letters on the birth certificate swam as sudden tears filled her eyes, catching Peyton off-guard.
She was scared to death for her cousin. Despite their years of estrangement, she loved Lilia deeply.
Had longed for the return of the sisterly bond they’d shared as children.
Would they have a chance to reconcile? The sound of Lilia’s screams kept replaying in her head, and Peyton didn’t need a decade of law enforcement training to know her cousin was in danger. Mortal danger.
A tear escaped, trailing down her cheek before she could hide it.
Dawson's footsteps were soft against the tile as he approached.
In the next second, she was enveloped in his embrace.
The scent of his aftershave—cedar and citrus—filled her senses.
Peyton's head found the curve of his shoulder instantly, muscle memory taking over.
Comforting. Warm. Anchoring. She sank into his touch as memories rose unbidden in her mind.
Long walks in the park, dancing under the shade of an old oak tree to soft country music, tender kisses full of promises and love.
“We'll find her, Peyton.” His voice was low, rumbling through his chest and vibrating gently against her ear. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“I hope so.” She pulled away to reach for some tissues, wiping her face, before crumpling them in her hand.
“Thank you, Dawson. For coming tonight. It means a lot, especially given how things ended between us.” She forced herself to meet his gaze and drew in a breath.
“I owe you a long-overdue apology. I was angry after Samuel died, and…” Shame heated her cheeks.
“I couldn’t see a way forward. I lost my faith in God.
It took me a long time to find my way back. ”
His jaw tightened. “Neither of us handled it well. I made my own mistakes.” Dawson shifted from the bed to a chair. His expression was neutral, but she heard the warning note buried in his voice. “Why don’t we leave the past in the past? There are bigger issues to deal with at the moment.”
He didn’t want to talk about this. Typical. He’d never handled tough conversations well, and this time, she couldn’t blame him. What good would rehashing the past do? It couldn’t be changed. Dawson was right to focus their attention on Lilia’s disappearance.
A knock on the door preceded the emergency room doctor.
His white coat flapped as he approached her bedside.
“Good news, Ms. Hughes. Your MRI shows only a mild concussion. We’re going to send you home, but I want you to get plenty of rest and hydrate.
If you experience any dizziness, severe headache, vomiting, vision changes, or confusion, I want you to come right back.
” He continued rapid-fire, with a list of instructions while checking her pupil reaction.
“The nurse will be in shortly with the discharge paperwork.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
He left the room, closing the door hard enough that it jolted baby Grace. She gave a hearty cry. Peyton struggled to detangle herself from the bedsheets. Her muscles screamed in protest.
“I’ve got her.” Dawson rose and effortlessly slipped a hand underneath Grace’s head before gently lifting her into his arms. The baby immediately quieted. Dawson’s head dipped, his focus on the little girl, and in an instant, Peyton was transported back in time.
Her, in a hospital bed. Dawson standing nearby, his face etched in anguish as he held their son.
Samuel. Sweet Samuel.
A grief so painful it was physical swept through Peyton.
All at once, she felt hot and cold. Her fingers found the necklace at her throat—Nana Grace’s cross—and held on.
She forced a shallow breath. Then another one.
The heartache subsided. Not completely. It was there, always.
There were times, like now, when something would trigger a forceful reaction, but more often than not, it was a dull ache.
But it didn’t consume her anymore. She'd learned to let it pass through without pulling her under.
Still, her hands trembled, and the room felt too small. She pushed back the sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Dawson looked up, concern flickering in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She managed a small smile. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
She didn't wait for his response. The bathroom was only a few steps away, but her legs felt unsteady—whether from the concussion or the weight of her grief, she couldn't tell.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection.
Her complexion was pale, dried blood still crusted in her hair.
You're stronger than you know, baby girl. The Lord didn't give you a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and a sound mind. Remember that.
Nana Grace had said those words before they entered the church for her mother’s funeral. Peyton clung to them now. God was with her, and He would see her through.
She splashed water on her face and then washed as much of the blood out of her hair as possible, while being careful of the tender knot on her scalp. Feeling centered and more like herself, she stepped back into the hospital room.
Dawson was sitting in the chair next to the bed, still holding Grace. He glanced up, that concern still riding his brow. “Feeling better?”
She nodded. Peyton braced for a pang of grief, but this time, it didn’t come.
She drifted closer. The baby had fallen back to sleep, long lashes resting on chubby cheeks.
Her tiny rosebud mouth worked softly, as if she were dreaming of a bottle.
Peyton could see the echo of Lilia in the curve of the baby’s forehead and the line of her jaw.
She also shared their chestnut-colored waves.
“She’s beautiful.” Peyton paused. “Lilia named her for our grandmother. Grace Elizabeth.”
Dawson nodded. “Nana Grace would be proud.”
“She would be.”
Their gazes met, and an understanding passed between them.
One that could only come from having known each other since they were sixteen years old.
Dawson had spent hours and at her house with Nana Grace.
She’d been like a grandmother to him too.
He’d loved her nearly as much as Peyton and Lilia had.
Dawson tilted his head toward the baby. “Would you like to hold her?”
“Yes, but I’m not steady enough yet.” Her muscles felt weak, and she didn’t want to drop Grace. Peyton smiled down at the little girl. “And she’s so peaceful in your arms. I don’t want to disturb her.”
He was quiet for a beat. “Peyton, there’s something you should know. We found something else tucked in the baby carrier along with the birth certificate.”
Her stomach tightened. “What?”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
Peyton gave permission for the person to enter, expecting the nurse with her discharge paperwork.
Instead, an older man wearing a Knoxville Police Department uniform came in.
His salt-and-pepper hair was trimmed short, and his expression was no-nonsense.
He stepped forward. “Ms. Hughes, I’m Sam Garcia, Chief of Police.”
Her muscles stiffened. The chief of police hadn’t shown up in her hospital room to deliver good news.
She braced for what would come next.