The Cradle Conspiracy. Robin Perini

eighteen-month-old baby. So healthy when...

      No. Pamela wouldn’t think that way. Everything would be fine. She’d done what she had to do.

      The television filtered through the room. Another game show, one she’d watched nightly for twenty-five years. The recliner near the fireplace mocked her with its emptiness.

      This wasn’t the home it was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to be alone. She was supposed to be here with her husband, with their new daughter. A perfect, happy family. A second chance. A do-over after the horrific way their first attempt at parenthood had turned out. She’d believed her husband had changed. He’d certainly been quieter toward the end. He hadn’t used his fists or his threats as much after Christopher left.

      Until earlier that day before her husband died.

      Pamela hummed a lullaby and touched the rosy cheek of the beautiful baby in her arms. A perfect daughter. Unlike Christopher, the child from hell. A child with no conscience who, even when he grew up, never felt the need for one.

      Thank God his father had finally found an alternative. After yet another stupid stunt, he’d told Christopher to choose the army or jail. Christopher had picked the army, so now he was trained to kill, with no conscience to stop him. Pamela shivered, even though the temperature hadn’t turned cold. Every day she prayed she’d get a telegram, or a knock at the door, along with a military chaplain saying her son was dead, and the world was a safer place for it.

      What a blessing that would be.

      A key sounded in the lock. She tensed. Her husband was dead. Her son was gone.

      No one should have a key.

      “I’m home.”

      Oh, my God. Christopher.

      Pamela vaulted out of her chair, clutching the infant in her arms. What was he doing here? Her son wasn’t due for leave from deployment for another six months.

      She couldn’t deal with his horrible temper, his manic and depressive rages. Not now. What was she going to do? He’d kill her if he found out the truth about what she’d done. She settled the baby in the nearby cradle and rose from the rocker.

      He could never find out.

      Heavy steps clunked across the hardwood floor. She bit her lip.

      The tall, strapping man, as handsome and dangerous as his father, strode across the room, the once long, shaggy hair now cut military short. He dropped his duffel in the marble-covered foyer.

      “No hug for your baby boy?”

      He gave her a smile. A smile she hadn’t seen since he’d become a teenager.

      She allowed herself a smidgen of hope. Was the good Christopher back? She embraced him carefully like one would a cobra. He could be that lethal.

      Her son stared at her. “Is the baby sleeping?”

      She nodded, her throat closed off in fear. Would he be able to tell?

      With a grin, he crossed to the cradle and stared at the infant. “She’s even more beautiful than her pictures. Chubby, rosy cheeks. You’ve been plumping her up. I’m glad. She was so pale in the last set of photos.” He kissed the top of the baby’s head. “I’m home now, kiddo. Anyone messes with you, and they’re dead.”

      Pamela turned so he wouldn’t see the tears trailing down her cheeks, tears that were an all-too-common occurrence these days. Her arms felt empty again. She picked up the baby and then faced her son. Forcing a false smile into place, she reached a trembling hand to Christopher. “I’m glad you’re home,” she lied. “Safe with us. Safe and sound.”

      “I opted out early. I’m back for good.”

      She tried to swallow down the terror that clutched at her heart. This wouldn’t work. She couldn’t keep the truth from him forever. Someone would tell him, or he would guess.

      Why was this happening?

      Pamela hadn’t thought he could leave the service before his five-year enlistment was up. Nothing had worked out like she’d planned.

      Everything was so hard now. So wrong.

      The baby squirmed in Pamela’s arms and opened her striking green eyes.

      “Hello, beautiful,” he said, scooping up the baby from his mother’s arms.

      He walked across the room, past the darkened hearth, then sat in his father’s chair, an obvious act of defiance to the man he’d hated.

      Christopher examined the infant in his arms. “She reminds me of someone. Who do you think?”

      Pamela swallowed, unwilling to answer. She had to get him out of here, away from the baby. She would have to come up with some way to hide the truth.

      The television volume rose as a news banner flashed across the screen.

      Breaking news. Trouble, Texas.

      The picture of a battered and bloody woman took up the entire screen.

      Pamela almost cried out in shock at the sight. With a trembling hand, she grabbed the remote and pressed the volume control so she could hear.

      “The sheriff’s office revealed the woman was found in an abandoned mine west of Trouble. Referred to as Jane Doe, she cannot identify herself due to a head injury. They’re asking anyone who knows or has seen this woman to contact them immediately.”

      Pamela dropped the remote. She glanced at her son, then swayed. “This can’t be happening. That woman is supposed to be dead. She tried to steal my baby.”