A man lay facedown near the wall, wrists cinched behind him with white zip ties, uniform jacket torn. The patch on his shoulder read Park County Sheriff. Bruises darkened his jawline. Snow had blown through cracks in the door and gathered near his boots.
And beside him—
A newborn.
Wrapped in a hospital-issue blanket stiff with frost.
The baby’s skin had turned pale blue at the lips, tiny chest trembling with the weakest rhythm I’d ever seen.
My body moved before my mind finished forming the thought.
“Baby first,” I whispered.
I stripped off my outer jacket and unzipped my thermal layer, pressing the infant against bare skin, sealing my coat around both of us. Skin-to-skin contact. Warmth transfer. Basic survival.
Atlas stood over the deputy, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.
Someone had done this deliberately.
