The Baby Cop

“Nice guy. Is that why he’s your former fiancé?”

Realizing she’d let something private slip, Regan dropped her affable manner. “I believe we came here to discuss Jeremy Smith’s situation and that of other children stalled in the foster-care system.”

The glimmer of interest aimed at Regan stayed in Odella’s warm brown eyes for another moment. “Before we get down to business, let me extend an invitation to meet me anytime to jog, hike or bike. My kids are grown. They’re all too busy with their own lives to join me anymore. Roger, my husband, said he had to punish his body every day of the twenty-five years he served Uncle Sam. Now that he’s retired, he prefers getting his exercise pruning our cactus. I guess you know how slowly cacti grow.”

“I don’t enjoy hiking alone,” Regan murmured. “In Phoenix I had friends who regularly hiked Squaw Peak. Or sometimes we’d drive to Prescott on the weekend to climb Thumb Butte. I haven’t inquired about trails here.”

“There are some nice ones in the Catalina Foothills. Mount Lemmon offers more strenuous routes.” Odella pulled a business card out of her suit pocket and shoved it across Regan’s desk. “I won’t bug you. But here’s my home phone number if you’re ever in the mood. And, Regan, for the record, I leave work at the office.”

Regan turned the business card over in her fingers several times before relaxing enough to tuck it into her pocket. “I’ve missed hiking. The weather lately has been perfect for it. There’s something about mountain air—it refreshes the mind and rejuvenates the soul. We’ll have to set something up for a weekend soon. I’ve been spending far too much time inside since I moved to Desert City.”

“Good.” Odella leaned forward. “Now, about Jeremy’s current status—” She was interrupted by a heavy footfall outside the door, followed by feminine giggles and deeper male laughter.

“Let me shut my door so we’ll have more privacy, Odella.” Regan rose and circled her desk. She’d gripped the knob, starting to pull the door inward when pointed black ears, a dark muzzle and lolling pink tongue appeared in front of her. Regan felt the floor shift and spin. Her legs refused to carry her backward as her mind screamed at her to do it and do it quickly.

Odella, who’d rotated in her chair, clucked happily. “Well, if it isn’t the Tasmanian Devil himself.” Climbing to her feet, she hastened across the room to rub the dog’s head and pat his wriggling hindquarters. “Is that your handsome master causing a ruckus in the hall? Where Taz is, Ethan’s not far behind,” she said, aiming a broad smile at Regan. Her eyes encountered a blank stare and a body so stiff it could have been carved from marble.

“Regan?” The question fell on deaf ears.

Ethan had paused across the hall at the open lounge door to chat with Nicky Mason, who was on her way out with a full cup of coffee. He spun when he heard his name. Realizing Regan’s door stood open, he excused himself from Nicole and called Taz sharply to heel.

The dog appeared on cue and sat. But rather than a furious Regan Grant flying out of the supervisory office, Odella Price emerged wearing a panicked expression. Ethan knew what had caused the look, and he suffered a stab of guilt. He’d intended to leave Taz in the SUV. He’d forgotten and had let the dog follow him inside the building out of habit.

“Nicky, could you keep Taz at the reception desk while I complete my business with Regan? I won’t be long.” In truth, Ethan couldn’t remember why he’d come. He’d been visiting schools today…. Oh, yes, the recipe she wanted. Yet he certainly hadn’t planned to make a special trip to CHC for that. He could, he supposed, blame it on a slow morning. Mitch had an early-morning court appointment to testify in the case of a local car salesman who’d been jailed for being drunk and disorderly. The guy had smacked his girlfriend around a bar parking lot. It was the joker’s third arrest in six months for the same thing. Different girlfriend, same charge. Mitch hoped to accomplish more than put the jerk on probation this time.

“Sure, Ethan. I love Taz. Hey—I heard you and Taz are participating in another endurance test.” Her red-slicked mouth formed a pretty pout. “If it’s this weekend, I’m free to be your cheering section.”

“Uh…it’s not that soon.” Ethan stumbled over his tongue. By now he’d reached the doorway where Odella stood. Behind her, Ethan saw the white-faced woman he’d considered inviting to go with him to Taz’s Schutzhund. Ever since Regan had refused to get out of her car until he’d restrained Taz, Ethan entertained a crazy notion that watching the dogs work might shake Regan Grant out of her nutty fear.

Observing her statuelike pose and her sightless eyes, Ethan quickly dismissed his plan. Nutty her fear might be to someone like him, but Regan’s terror was certainly real to her.

Ethan moved in close to her rigid body. Not positive she’d heard Taz’s receding pad-pad as the dog followed Nicole around the corner, Ethan felt a need to reassure Regan. “It’s okay. He’s gone. The dog left.” Ethan spoke softly and touched her chin, bringing the glassy blue eyes level with his own.

Regan identified Ethan Knight through a haze of fear. Her right hand curved tightly around her neck, hiding the thin scar she knew tended to stand out more when color flooded her face. She knew because Jack said people wouldn’t notice her disfigurement if she didn’t draw attention to it. It wasn’t until after their split that Regan realized Jack Diamond surrounded himself with perfection. She did owe him something. If not for his constant badgering, she’d never have had the last plastic surgery. Thanks to new laser techniques, what had once been ugly red welts were now faint white lines. But not even lasers were effective against unseen damage.

Her feelings surrounding the long-ago incident left her weak and vulnerable in areas she didn’t wish exposed to co-workers. Or to the likes of Ethan Knight. Wearing his uniform today, he looked especially imposing and very male. Too male.

Collecting her wits, Regan released her grip on the doorknob. She stepped back in an attempt to gather her tattered nerves. “Who’s gone?” she queried coolly. “Odella and I were trying to have a private conversation. Your dilly-dallying in the hall with Nicole disturbed us. If you’ll excuse us, we’d like to get on with our business.” Edging him into the hall, Regan began closing Ethan out.

He and Odella exchanged questioning glances. “I, uh, thought you might be concerned about seeing Taz close-up again.”

“I don’t like to be sniffed and licked, that’s all.”

Ethan donned a reckless seductive grin. Ignoring Odella, who watched his antics with interest, Ethan propped a broad shoulder against the door casing, crowding Regan in a way that was masculine and intimate. “Now if that was a true statement,” he said pleasantly, letting a lethally hot gaze follow the tip of his forefinger as he dusted the top three pearl buttons of Regan’s white blouse, “you wouldn’t buy perfume designed to turn a man’s insides out. Or man-tailored blouses that leave a guy itching to know what’s underneath.”

Despite the tight rein Regan had clamped on her nerves, she wasn’t able to prevent a surge of heat from racing to her stomach. For all that she didn’t miss about her former fiancé, she’d enjoyed the sex. Or she had until the extent of Jack’s infidelities came to light, forcing her to undertake the humiliating experience of explaining to her doctor why she needed HIV testing. If seeing her name on the vials of blood wasn’t sobering enough, the weeks of waiting for the tests to come back clear should have made her swear off men. Especially men whose egos seemed to need proof that they could conquer every woman they met. And policemen headed the list. Hadn’t Ethan Knight just been in the hall putting moves on Nicole Mason?

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.”