Roz Denny Fox - The Baby Cop

Commanding her own racing blood by issuing a dismissive gesture, Regan marched to her desk and sat in her swivel chair. “It may come as a shock to you, Detective, but not all women buy perfume and clothing to tempt men. I buy what pleases me. If you can check your juvenile hormones at the door, you might find what Odella and I were discussing to be of interest.”

“Yes, ma’am. But don’t forget that I grew up in a household of six women. Seven, counting my mom. I’d say I have a fair insight into what motivates a woman’s purchases.” Finding Regan’s prim speech amusing, Ethan winked at Odella as he shut the door behind them and pulled out her chair.

“Six sisters?” Regan wore a surprised, almost wistful expression.

“Yep. And two brothers.” Ethan dragged his own chair closer to Regan, spun it around and straddled it. “Never a dull moment in the Knight household. I miss it sometimes,” he said reflectively. “All except the part about taking a number to get your turn in the bathroom.”

Odella chuckled. “That also happens when you only have four kids. And whoever said boys take less time primping for dates than girls was dead wrong. When my oldest boy hit puberty and started taking forty-minute showers every morning, Roger called a builder and added a master bath off our bedroom. Smartest thing the man ever did, outside of marrying me.”

Regan smiled, finding pleasure in listening to them talk about their families—until suddenly Ethan pinned her with a searching look. “Feel free to jump in here and complain about your siblings, Regan.”

Wiping the smile from her lips, Regan fiddled with the ruby ring her father had sent her the Christmas she turned eighteen—one of the many holidays she’d spent alone at boarding school. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, but after the split with her mother, he needed to keep busy in order to forget the divorce. After five years of burying himself in the consulting firm he owned, Gerald Grant found a new love. Dee Dee was closer to Regan’s age than Gerald’s. At the beginning, she didn’t want any reminder of her older husband’s first marriage. Once they had Blair, Dee Dee started inviting Regan home to baby-sit.

“Well, are you an only child or what?” Ethan prodded.

“I have a stepsister. She just turned sixteen. I’d left home long before she began dating or primping in the bathroom. Anyway, the house my dad bought when he and Dee Dee got married has five bathrooms.”

“Five,” Odella breathed in awe, at the same time as Ethan exclaimed, “My house is big and I only have two bathrooms. You must have grown up in a damned hotel, Grant.”

Regan flushed. “I didn’t grow up there. Anyway, it isn’t a house that’s important, but the people living in it.” Nevertheless she made a mental note to phone Blair after work—just to see how she was getting along. Straightening, Regan swung her gaze from Ethan’s frankly curious look to Odella. “Inform Detective Knight of what you told me about Jeremy Smith’s mom.”

“It’s Ethan,” he reminded her. Then, turning to face Odella, he frowned. “Don’t tell me Shontelle’s back in town. Jeremy’s only started to relax in the last few months—since she quit showing up at his school, high, soused or hitting him up for money.”

Odella explained about the fax the department had received. She asked what Ethan thought their chances were of freeing Jeremy up for adoption in a plea bargain.

“The folks are still eager to adopt Jeremy. But you know my dad had a mild heart attack five or six months ago. He’s only just gone back to work full-time, so I’d hate to cause him stress if the adoption didn’t pan out—again”

“I’d heard,” Odella murmured sympathetically. “Roger and I were so surprised. We thought Joe was about as fit as any man we’ve met.”

Regan flipped open Jeremy’s file. “There’s no notation here about Jeremy’s foster dad suffering a heart ailment.”

“Is that something you usually log in a foster kid’s record?”

“Yes. Especially something that major. An effective caseworker is on top of any situation that may force a change in a client’s living conditions.”

“Change, how?” Ethan stretched out one leg and began to drum his fingers on his knee. “Even if, God forbid, my father had died, Jeremy would still have a roof over his head, food in his belly and a loving mother to listen to his woes.”

Regan reacted to the agitation she heard in his voice. “You can’t guarantee that. If your mother became suddenly widowed, or if your dad had a series of heart attacks leaving him in need of nursing care and unable to work, Elaine might not have time for Jeremy.”

“Bullshit.” Ethan scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned belligerently forward, bracing one hand on a tense thigh. “You have some funny ideas about a person’s commitment to family. If something had happened to either Mom or Dad while any of us nine kids still lived at home, do you think the surviving parent would have thrown us out?”

“That’s hardly the point. Jeremy isn’t of their blood.”

“Gosh, you’d better tell them that. I don’t think they’ve noticed. He’s been there five years, after all.”

“You may find this something to joke about, Detective. I don’t. Odella, please hold off talking to the attorneys about the possibility of Jeremy’s adoption until after I’ve had a chance to run this by Nathaniel. Serious illness of a foster parent throws a different slant on this case. I’ll ask you to keep news of the fax to yourself for the time being, Detective Knight. I’d hate to needlessly raise Jeremy’s hopes.”

“Ethan. Call me Ethan.” He uncurled his long frame from the chair. His badge caught a shaft of sunlight streaming in the window, causing Regan to wince. “I’d cringe too,” Ethan snapped, “at the prospect of sitting down across from Piggot while he rides the fence on an issue that means everything to a kid. You disappoint me, Regan. I’d pegged you for a woman like Anna. One with the confidence to make her own decisions and the guts to advocate for kids who have damned few champions.”

“With this position come certain difficult responsibilities,” Regan pointed out. “There are proper channels to navigate. Established rules to follow.”

Ethan sent her a pitying look from the door where he stood, tugging on the hat he’d removed on entering her office.

He looked imposing in his khaki uniform. Regan glanced away to avoid the censure she knew lurked in his expressive eyes. Why was she always trying to please men who didn’t think she quite measured up to their expectations? Among them, her father, Jack Diamond and now Ethan Knight. But that was silly! She barely knew Ethan Knight. What did it matter whether he approved of anything she chose to do?

Odella seemed torn between staying to talk further with Regan and walking out with Ethan. In the end she got to her feet and trailed after him. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow, Regan,” she said. “Need I remind you that timing is critical here? If Shontelle’s attorney is going to offer a plea bargain in hopes of getting her sentence reduced, he’ll do it soon after the arraignment. That’s Monday, according to the fax.”

“Save your breath, Odella,” Ethan advised loudly enough for Regan to hear. “Crossing all the t’s and dotting every i takes time. If you miss the boat while Regan’s dithering, no one’ll fault you. I mean, you were just following the rules.” He shut the door with such force the glass panel shuddered.

So did Regan. Damn, but that man rubbed her wrong. He had some nerve implying that taking the proper steps meant Jeremy might lose out on his chance to be adopted by the Knights. Who would suffer the repercussions if she circumvented the red tape, only to have Joe Knight keel over from a bad heart? Ethan couldn’t guarantee that his mother wouldn’t see it as an opportunity to break free of domestic obligations. Think of the damage to Jeremy then. And it could happen. Ethan might believe that because Elaine was a devoted mother, that she would never put her freedom first. Regan knew better. Victoria, her own mother, had done exactly that.