Roz Fox - The Baby Cop

Though more men than women opted out of parenting and simply walked away, Regan had handled caseloads that dealt with both. When it came to ensuring that kids didn’t get the raw end of the deal, no set of rules was too involved or too tedious, in her estimation. That cop could sneer all he liked; Regan had unwritten promises to uphold. Promises she’d made long ago on behalf of kids who had no other advocate.

ETHAN HAD BEEN so irritated with Regan Grant when he left her office, he’d completely forgotten the reason he’d dropped by in the first place. He didn’t recall until he’d put Taz in his patrol car and driven off. As he braked for the first stoplight, the crinkle of the recipe card in his pocket reminded him he hadn’t delivered it.

He’d parted from Odella in the hallway. He’d been so hot under the collar because of Regan that he’d flirted shamelessly with Nicole when he stopped to collect Taz at the reception desk. Though he found her immature, he’d actually let her wiggle out of him the date of the next Schutzhund competition. Ethan’s initial plan had been to invite Regan Grant to attend. Well, forget that!

It was beyond Ethan how a woman he barely knew could alternately stir his pulse and push so many of his buttons. Before they parted, Odella had casually mentioned that Regan jogged every morning at 6 a.m. She even dropped the name of the high school where Regan used the track. Perhaps he ought to try to connect with her on some level other than work. It was obvious they were miles apart on that.

Jogging was good.

Healthy. Fresh air worked up a sweat and an appetite—for a lot of things. Ethan abandoned himself to a vision of what it would be like to take the cool CHC supervisor back to his house after a sweaty run, where they’d add to the sheen of sweat by tumbling across the sheets. He practically drooled on the steering wheel picturing the steam they could create if the lady wrapped her long legs around his naked hips. He sizzled thinking about it.

Taz barked in his ear, and Ethan realized he’d been sitting at a light well after it had turned green. People around him, heeding his marked car, hesitated nervously, as if expecting some calamity to unfold in the vicinity. Gritting his teeth, he looked neither right nor left, gunned the engine and took off.

“Sheesh, Taz, I’m some kind of cop. Here I am daydreaming about Regan Grant like some high-schooler.” He had been so busy categorizing the lady’s attributes, he’d have missed a bank robbery if it’d been going down on that very corner.

The dog placed a paw on Ethan’s shoulder and licked his cheek. While Ethan dipped his head to the side and rubbed his chin across the soft fur, Taz uttered a throaty whine of sympathy.

“Yeah, pal, not only do I strike sparks off her, she’s not too crazy about you, either. I think it’s plain fright, even if she tries to gloss over it.”

Ethan pulled up behind the courthouse at a site where he’d arranged to meet Mitch. “Maybe I should give her up as a lost cause, Taz.” He and Taz came as a pair. “Yeah,” he said, ruffling the dog’s fur. “It’s a case of love me, love my dog.”

Mitch opened the passenger door in time to hear the last of Ethan’s comment. “What, or maybe I should say who, has you talking to yourself, buddy?”

“Nobody.” Ethan fought a flush. “You know I always talk to Taz.”

“Right. Except this time you sounded like a lovesick moose. ‘Love me, love my dog,’” Mitch chirped in falsetto.

“Buckle up and shut up,” Ethan growled. “Since I know you won’t quit until you worm it out of me, I’m thinking about setting up an accidental meeting with Supervisor Grant tomorrow morning.” Ethan proceeded to tell his friend how, on a couple of occasions, Regan Grant had reacted oddly to Taz.

Mitch whistled. “If you want my advice—which you never take but which I’ll give you, anyway—write her off. She sounds phobic. You have about as much chance of a zebra losing its stripes as you do of unscrambling someone’s phobia.”

“You may be right,” Ethan mumbled. But he knew there was something about Regan that made him want to try.

IN THE QUIET following Ethan’s departure, Regan sorted out the files of clients she planned to visit that afternoon. She couldn’t shake Jeremy’s case from her mind. Experience had taught her that no matter how inadequate—or destructive—a child’s biological parents, they often exerted enduring ties broke only by death. Sometimes not then. Frequently the guilt attached to hating what a parent was or did followed children into adulthood.

Deciding Odella’d had time to return to her office, Regan picked up the phone. “Odella, it’s Regan. After you left, I started to wonder who in the agency will inform Jeremy Smith of his mother’s arrest.” Regan listened to Odella explain that the boy’s regular counselor was on vacation. Since Jeremy had a good relationship with the Knights, she went on to say, perhaps the chore should fall to them.

“It’s our responsibility,” Regan argued. “He’s under our jurisdiction. How he accepts the news may have a bearing on whether we should proceed with adoption or name-change requests.”

“I doubt it,” Odella said. “If you’re concerned, I don’t mind asking Ethan to tell Jeremy about Shontelle. Ethan has a way with kids, and Jeremy idolizes him.”

Regan rubbed at a furrow that had apparently taken up permanent residence between her eyebrows since Ethan Knight had burst into her life. “I ought to run this by Nathaniel. If he’s in favor of contacting Shontelle’s attorney, I’ll visit Jeremy at school. We’ve met, and he’s aware that I planned to look into his petition for a name change. Adoption, though, is so final. He needs to know it’ll likely end any further association with his birth mother. I’ll call you. Do you have a cell phone?”

Jotting down the number, Regan signed off. She collected Jeremy’s file and walked slowly toward their director’s office, rehearsing what she’d say as she went.

Piggot was alone, just shrugging into his suit jacket. It was evident from the bulging briefcase and car keys lying on his desk that he was heading out.

“I only need a moment,” Regan said. “Something’s come up with one of our kids, and it needs immediate attention before we can progress.”

Piggot beckoned her past his administrative assistant’s empty desk. “I’m on my way to Phoenix to a state budget meeting. If your question involves money, the answer is no. I warned you about the staff here, did I not? With them, everything’s an emergency.”

Regan quickly explained what she’d learned from Odella about Jeremy Smith’s mother.

“Odella Price is always pushy.” Pacing the room, Nathaniel tugged at his lower lip. “However, pushy or not, she’s been instrumental in reducing our welfare rolls. The governor’s finance team likes to see dwindling numbers. So I’m glad the Smith woman, or whatever her name is now, has become Utah’s financial burden. If Odella can get the kid adopted so we can quit shelling out bucks to foster him, I say go for it.” Hefting his briefcase, the director herded Regan into his reception area. “Otherwise, how are you doing?” he asked as they proceeded down the hall together. “My assistant tells me you’re probing into Anna M.’s shortcuts. I’m pleased. My predecessor appointed Anna, you know. She was too well entrenched in the civil-service grade system to get rid of by the time I took over. Believe me, I wanted to fire her.”

Regan frowned. “Her methods may be questionable, but so far the foster homes she set up—the ones I’ve visited, anyway—are excellent. Far above average.”

“I don’t doubt it. Under Anna, our welfare rolls exploded. She and that damned cop, the one our esteemed commissioner calls the Baby Cop, set about placing every kid who showed even minor neglect into foster care. That overran our budget, and I don’t mind telling you my tenure’s under scrutiny because of it. I trust you’ll reverse the damage they’ve done.”