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.
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