His First Choice. Tara Taylor Quinn

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      “May I see him?”

      Frowning, the man studied her. “I need to see some picture identification. Anyone can have cards printed up.”

      Reaching into her black strapped leather satchel, she pulled out her badge and handed it to him.

      Apparently he was cautious by nature, too.

      Or stalling while he tried to figure out what to do?

      Nodding, he handed the card back to her. “You said you had a phone call.”

      Someone was tapping a rhythm—thump, thump, thump.

      She nodded, taking a step toward the sound. “May I see your son?”

      “Of course you can. But I’d like to know why first.”

      “Clap along...nah nah nah nah das what you wanna do...” The faint sound of the childish voice interrupted them from the distance and Lacey stared in the direction her feet wanted her to go.

      “Pharrell Williams,” she said. The song “Happy” was one she played full blast in her car on those days when her job seemed heavier than she was.

      The tapping continued, not at all in rhythm with the words. The tune wasn’t bad, though.

      “He’s a little off beat,” Jeremiah Bridges said. “And he’s supposed to be eating, so I need to get back to him before I have spaghetti sauce splattered on the walls in line with those beats.”

      The sounds continued. And Lacey’s suspicious mind wondered if Mr. Bridges had somehow triggered his son’s impromptu performance for her benefit. Except that he’d have had no way to do so. He hadn’t known she was coming. No one outside the logbook in the office had.

      Of course, the boy could be programmed to begin the performance anytime the doorbell rang...

      A far-fetched thought even for her.

      “Don’t let me stop you from getting back to him,” Lacey said. “I’m here to check on his well-being.”

      “His being will be well until I return to him,” the man said with a confidence that could have been endearing if it didn’t make her wonder just what made a grown man so certain that a little boy would stay at the table. “It’s the walls I’m worried about.”

      “He’s confined, then?” she asked. Strapped in a booster? Or...heaven forbid, did the man keep a four-year-old in a high chair?

      She’d seen it before. A mother who’d lost a toddler, not letting her second baby grow up. One of the saddest situations she’d had to oversee. Because in the end, she’d had to take the woman’s second baby from her, too.

      “No.”

      “Then how do you know he’ll be okay?” She was being difficult. She knew it even before she said the words. But the man was...bothering her.

      “Because he gave me his word he wouldn’t get down from the table.”

      Impressive? Or oppressive?

      “Now.” Mr. Bridges’s arms were crossed again. “I want to know why child protective services is in my home checking up on my son. What’s this phone call you mentioned?”

      “Someone is concerned about Levi’s welfare.”

      “Nuh nuh nuh...” came from the distance.

      “Someone.”

      “Yes.”

      “Who?”

      “I’m not at liberty to tell you that, Mr. Bridges.”

      “I’m his father. I have a right to know if someone thinks that another person is hurting my son.”

      “Not while the investigation is ongoing.”

      “The investigation...” His eyes narrowed and then widened. “Wait a minute. You think I hurt my son? I’m the one being investigated?” He sounded as shocked as any parent she’d ever heard.

      And she’d heard some doozies—from the innocent and the guilty.

      “Everyone in Levi’s life is being investigated,” Lacey said, softening her tone in spite of how much the man was knocking her off her mark.

      It was as though she’d known him before...in another life, or something as absurd.

      “Well, I can tell you right now, no one is hurting my son. I’m with him every day. I’d know if he was being mistreated. Wouldn’t I?”

      The catch in the deep voice struck her as he uttered those last two words, lodging someplace in her chest.

      “It’s still my duty to check.” Her visit wasn’t personal. Had nothing to do with her at all—other than as an agent for the state.

      “By all means.” He stepped back. And then, when she made to move forward, stood in her way again. “If someone is hurting him, I want them stopped,” he said, his gaze flint sharp.

      Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lacey nodded.

      “That’s what I’m here for,” she told him.

      And hoped to God the call was a false alarm.

      * * *

      HE WANTED TO grab his son out of his chair with both arms, shield him against his chest and run. But instead Jem led the drably dressed woman slowly down a hall to the old kitchen he’d remodeled himself in his spare time when Tressa had been pregnant with Levi.

      He couldn’t panic. Not yet.

      Not if someone was hurting his boy. Possible suspects ran through his mind. The only people he knew who had access to Levi besides himself were preschool workers and his mother. No one who would hurt him.

      And who’d called?

      Tressa sprang to mind again. But would she really go that far? She’d pulled some questionable shit a time or two, but only to lash out at him.

      As far as he knew, she didn’t have any reason to be pissed with him right then. Things had been good. Better than they’d been in years...

      And then something else dawned on him. Social services, child protective services, could take his son away from him if they felt the choice was warranted.

      Surely Ms. Hamilton wasn’t there with that thought in mind. Levi was his son. His life. No one was going to take better care of the boy than he did.

      Or love him like he did.

      She had to have some kind of real proof...

      Didn’t she?

      Ready to grab the woman back, to haul her ass through his house and put her firmly but kindly outside his front door and then lock СКАЧАТЬ