Jill Elizabeth - Duty To Defend

Ava chuckled. “Our mamasis, the adventurer. I suppose you couldn’t bear any sort of mundane career after the supreme challenge of raising us.”

They all laughed.

“Which of you sent me the ‘welcome to your new life’ basket I found outside my door this morning?”

For a beat, stone silence answered.

“Must have been the neighborhood welcoming committee,” Amalie said.

“Yeah, neither of us thought of doing anything that nice. Wish we had.”

“What was in it?” Amalie was ever practical.

“Small stuff. Pretty much useless for my current lifestyle.” If her sisters weren’t in on the joke, no way was she going to freak them out by detailing the basket’s contents.

“Wasn’t there a card?” Am asked.

“Nothing that identified the sender.”

“Weird,” Ava said.

The conversation veered off into other topics, like Amalie’s upcoming graduation with a major in archeology, followed by a summer internship at an ancient civilization site in New Mexico. Ava lamented the impending absence of her sister as she stayed behind at school, slaving toward her undergrad degree in Film and Media Studies. Daci alternately congratulated and commiserated. Twenty minutes passed quickly, and they ended the call.

If the gift basket was not an off-the-wall inside joke from her often-wacky nearest and dearest, then who had left it for her and why? In light of the seriousness of the attempted hit-and-run, should she report the incident to her boss? To the local police? Unfortunately, she no longer possessed the physical evidence that might yield forensic clues. She’d chucked the gross object into a Dumpster at the nearest gas station.

That night, such dilemmas, as well as flashbacks of the SUV bearing down on her and Jax, invaded her dreams. Her alarm clock’s blare rolled her out of bed, groaning and mumbling under her breath. It was a harsher joke than spoiled baby food that she had to dress civilian casual and leave her badge in her dresser drawer on just her second day of work.

Her sidearm she put into a cloth bag to be taken into the day care director’s office and kept under lock and key. Not the best scenario if Liggett Naylor showed up, because she’d have to run to retrieve it. There had been a brief discussion with DC Reynolds about her wearing a small pistol strapped to her ankle, but they’d discarded the notion. Packing a gun while she cared for small children was unacceptable.

Well before the seven o’clock opening time, Daci approached a squat brick building with a sign over the door that read Little Blessings Day Care. Judging by the name, this was a faith-based care center. Unusual choice for placement of a ward of the government, but Jax had said that, while not all pint-size clients here had special needs, this day care offered programs for those who did. Perhaps Chase’s mental and physical challenges were the deciding factor in placing him in this one.

Daci paused inside the front door. The interior was brightly lit, revealing a foyer with a currently unmanned check-in desk standing outside a wall of glass that separated the foyer from a large open play area. Child-sized tables dotted a carpeted interior that featured separate sections for reading, crafts, toys and games. Doorways at the far end of the large room were labeled by age group.

A few adult workers moved around the play area. Children wouldn’t start arriving for another twenty minutes. Daci had thought the environment would assail her with desperation to escape back into the adult world. Instead, the scents of wet wipes, spilled juice and small-child sweat drew a deep calm from her core. There was something to be said for familiarity. And nostalgia. It hadn’t always been easy caring for her siblings, but she had some great memories of them from when they were this small.

A door to her left opened, and a petite, middle-aged woman with graying hair emerged, several file folders in the crook of one arm. According to the label on the door, this person was the director.

“You must be Daci Marlowe,” the woman said, stretching out her free hand. “I’m Naomi Minch, and my staff graciously allows me to believe I run this joyful madhouse.”

Daci smiled as she shook the director’s hand. She was well on her way to liking her temporary boss. This day was actually getting off to a good start.

“Here,” she said, and handed Naomi the sack holding her gun. “You know where to put this. I’ll collect it after hours.”

The director grimaced and accepted the bag gingerly. She hustled into her office and returned in a few moments, minus the bag.

A whoosh and rush of fresh air behind Daci announced someone coming in the front door. Jax? A little early for legal aid to arrive, but... Daci turned to face the newcomer, and her welcoming smile faded into openmouthed amazement. Dismay might be a better term. Somebody please tell her this person was not her assignment.

The garishly made-up woman’s anxious gaze darted from Naomi to Daci and back again. “I’m on time somewhere for once, aren’t I?”

“Of course, Serena,” Naomi answered kindly.

The woman wriggled her whole curvy body like a puppy who’d been praised. “Wow! Cool!”

Naomi stepped forward. “I’d like you to meet another new employee. Serena, this is Daci. Daci, this is Serena. You’ll both be working with our infants.”

“Hi.” Serena’s purple-painted lips curved into a smile, and she waggled a set of fingers at Daci.

The sharply filed nails were painted a brilliant shade of magenta sprinkled with glittery spangles. Those would have to go. As Daci lifted a hand in return greeting, she resisted glancing at her own neatly trimmed fingernails.

Surely, it wouldn’t be her responsibility to instruct the young woman in grooming details, as well as the nitty-gritty of childcare. The task would challenge a professional makeover expert. Short, stiffly spiked hair sported streaks of hot pink between puffs of artificial yellow, sticking out like sheaves of wheat straw. Distressed jeans and the multicolored blouse that hung off one shoulder screamed wannabe teenager rather than twenty-three-year-old mother.

Daci stifled a deep groan. Classic! Addiction stunted the natural maturing process. She understood that concept better than most people on the planet, but bitter experience had left her cold toward the addict caught up in the phenomenon.

“Come on, ladies.” Naomi motioned them deeper into the building. “Let me show you the infant rooms, and I’ll introduce you to the lead teacher for that age group. Then we can issue your staff polo shirts we want you to wear every day at work.”

Daci resisted the urge to wipe imaginary sweat from her brow. One fashion change would be taken care of without her having to add it to her already brimming plateful. She followed the day care director, dragging heavy chains of doubt about her ability to pull off the assignment of chumming with a recovering addict.

* * *

Jax leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched Daci interact with a one-year-old on the nursery floor. Since her back was to him, and she was engaged with the little girl, Daci hadn’t noticed his entrance. Her inattention to him suited Jax fine—it gave him an opportunity to observe this fascinating woman when she had no reason to be self-conscious.

He’d spent longer than he’d be willing to confess researching her online last night. He gave himself the excuse that he needed a solid sense of the background and experiences of his colleague, which was only part of the reason for his interest—maybe the smaller part. His discoveries had astonished him. Daci, more than most, had a web presence that had nothing to do with social media. In fact, as far as he could tell, she didn’t participate in social media at all, and he didn’t blame her. The professional media had already hurt her enough.