Second in Command, page 10
part #1 of Fairview Station Series
“Of course.” The door opened, and a fiftyish looking woman followed Shea into the coffee shop. She rose and greeted Shea first. “How’s it going?”
“Whatever.”
Jazz shook hands with Mrs. Broadmoor and received a genuine smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Broadmoor. I appreciate you letting me see Shea. Would you mind if I talk to her alone for a few minutes?”
“You know the rules.” Mrs. Broadmoor’s voice was matter-of-fact but kind. “Anything you say to her must be said in my presence. I’m trying to establish some boundaries.”
Jazz disliked the response but couldn’t argue with the reason. “Okay. Shea, would you sit by me, please? Want something to drink? Hot chocolate?”
Shea glanced at Mrs. Broadmoor, waited for her to nod, and said, “Yeah. Thanks.”
Karen stood and grabbed her purse. “I’ll get it. Anyone else?”
Jazz turned her attention back to Shea. “So, how have you been?”
Shea wouldn’t meet her gaze for several seconds and didn’t answer.
“The woman asked you a question, Shea,” Mrs. Broadmoor said.
“I’m fine. All good.” Her clipped words were as unconvincing as her inability to make eye contact.
“Sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been trying to see you ever since we chatted on the phone, but as it turns out, getting an appointment with you isn’t as easy as you might think.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Really. There are a lot of laws and rules that prevent just anyone from spending time with children.”
Shea gave her a skeptical glance. “But you’re a cop.”
“Exactly, which means the rules apply to me twice as much. It’s not because I didn’t want to see you again.”
Karen placed Shea’s hot chocolate in front of her and said, “It’s true, Shea. She’s been nagging me for days to see you, but it required approval, and we had to find a convenient time for everyone.”
Shea didn’t reply but still looked unconvinced. Jazz wanted everyone else to leave so she could have a real conversation with Shea, but such a request would’ve ended the meeting. “Anything interesting happening at school?”
Shea shook her head.
“What are your favorite subjects?”
“Math, I guess. Numbers don’t lie.” She took a sip of her drink, but Jazz caught the sideways glare from Mrs. Broadmoor, who checked her watch.
“You playing any sports?”
“Nah, not very athletic.”
Jazz laughed and nudged her shoulder. “Seriously? I’ve seen you run, remember? You could totally make the track team. You might like it, make friends, and be part of a team.”
For the first time, Shea cracked a smile before her eyes shifted toward Mrs. Broadmoor. “Nah, it wouldn’t work out.” She fidgeted with her cup lid.
Mrs. Broadmoor stood and made a show of examining her watch again. “We should probably get going. Shea is due in school, and I have other responsibilities.”
“I could take her if—”
“Thank you, but no.” Mrs. Broadmoor shook Jazz’s hand and nodded toward Karen. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” Karen said.
“I appreciate your time,” Jazz said and then knelt in front of Shea as Mrs. Broadmoor moved toward the door. She slid another business card into her hand. “In case you lost the last one. Call if you need anything. Really, Shea. I care.”
Shea threw her arms around Jazz’s neck and squeezed. “Thanks.” When she let go, tears pooled in her eyes and she ran to the door, and Jazz’s heart broke a little more.
Mrs. Broadmoor placed her arm around Shea’s shoulder and escorted her across the parking lot.
“Glad she could spare the time,” Jazz said sarcastically.
Karen settled across from Jazz with a cup of coffee caged between her hands. “At least Shea has a roof over her head and food on the table.”
“Yeah, at least.”
“As I said earlier, Shea came with issues, and the vanishing act with her father didn’t help her case. She has to do her part.”
“More like her father’s vanishing act. What kind of parent lets his eleven-year-old run around loose at night? He should be in jail, have his parental rights taken away, and Shea should be in a permanent home with decent people. Look at her, Karen. She’s not happy.”
“She will be, but it takes time.” She took a sip of coffee. “In other business, you asked about the Robinsons’ foster application.”
“Yeah.” Changing the subject wouldn’t solve Shea’s problem or take Jazz’s mind off it for long, but if it worked out, the Robinsons might be able to help.
“The application has been on a desk for the past two weeks under a stack of more important papers. The good news is, it’s been approved, and I think I can get them assigned a child very soon, at least on a trial basis.” Karen leaned toward her. “How’s that for results, Lieutenant?”
Jazz inhaled her exotic fragrance and was again surprised by how much she liked it. “I think they’d be a great match with Shea.”
“Not so fast, Jazz. I’ll see what I can do, but no promises. Anything else you need?” She casually touched Jazz’s arm and pulled back. “I’m at your service.”
Karen was sexy as fuck, and maybe Jazz was reading too much into her overly friendly behavior, but it felt like she was flirting. She swallowed hard and said, “I’m still interested in your agency.”
Karen grinned as if sensing Jazz’s discomfort and the reason for it. “Basically, the US Adoption Agency is a private company contracted by the state to manage nationwide placement of newborns with special emphasis on assigning older children permanent homes. Babies are easy to place because most parents want to raise a child from infancy. My focus has become finding homes for older children. They’re often circulated between foster homes and group homes until they age out of the system. I find that egregious, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“I believe every child deserves a happy, healthy upbringing. And I admit, I enjoy the challenge of placing hard-to-match children with deserving families. I thrive on any type of contest.” She pointed at herself with her thumbs. “Classic overachiever.”
“Speaking of parents, how do parents become part of your agency’s database?”
“After we receive the application, we have an extensive vetting process. As a nationwide organization, we’ve repeatedly tested our guidelines and revised them to meet the highest standards. Our parents are usually financially viable, well-adjusted, and emotionally stable.”
“Does that mean rich?” Jazz had found out the hard way that rich didn’t necessarily equate with good parenting.
“Not necessarily, but money opens doors. Why such interest?” Karen cupped Jazz’s hand and gave her a look that said she really wanted to know. “Is it just this girl or something else?”
“Well, I—” Before she could answer, the door opened and Emory stood framed by sunlight streaming in around her. Jazz had an immediate sense of joy followed by panic.
Emory paused in the doorway, her eyes drawn to the manicured hand resting on Jazz’s and the svelte body attached to it. She started to turn around, but it was too late.
“Join us, Emory.” Jazz rose to pull out a chair, but Karen Patrick didn’t move. Their connection was palpable, and Emory felt sick. “Emory, you know Karen, counselor with USAA? Karen, Emory Blake, CPS.”
Karen fixed Emory with an appraising gaze before offering a handshake. The same hand she’d just removed from Jazz. “Pleasure to meet you, Emory. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Really?” Emory reluctantly eased into the chair on the opposite side of Jazz.
“Sheri McGuire and I work closely on older children adoptions. She mentions you from time to time.”
“Yes, of course.” Emory shifted her attention to Jazz, who was staring at Karen’s mouth, again. “I don’t want to interrupt, so I’ll just get my drink to go.”
“Please, stay. Let me. What would you like?”
“Hot chai tea.” She waited until Karen walked away before finally making eye contact with Jazz. Her eyes were dark with emotion. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure. Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
“I offered to leave.” After pulling away from Jazz Friday night, Emory shouldn’t be surprised if she turned to another woman, but so soon.
Jazz shook her head. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m happy to see you.”
Emory forced down nausea every time the image of Karen touching Jazz reemerged. “You didn’t waste any time.” Why did she say that? Jealous much? “Getting in touch with Ms. Patrick, I mean.”
“She arranged for me to see Shea.”
“And…”
“Shea is obviously not happy.”
“It’s a group home, Jazz. They aren’t always happy places.” Emory considered trying to explain about Friday night, but what could she say? That she’d freaked out, been torn between just kissing Jazz and asking her to spend the night? She couldn’t put herself out there after the way their date ended and what she’d just seen. Jazz and Karen shared an obvious attraction, and Jazz deserved the freedom to explore it without complications from her. “We’ll do our best to find Shea suitable placement soon.” She glanced toward the counter to make sure Karen was still waiting. “Have you discussed the privatization issue yet?”
“I was about to bring it up when you came in…and distracted me. You look great, by the way. We probably need to talk later.”
Was Jazz referring to Karen and what she’d seen pass between them, the privatization issue, or what happened Friday night? “Whenever you have time. You know where to find me.” She kept her voice even, belying the tumble of emotions inside. She could pretend Jazz wasn’t interested in Karen, but she’d been devastated by pretense before. Not again.
“Maybe you should ask Karen the questions,” Jazz said. “You have a better understanding of what you need to know.”
“She can’t know I’m involved. Her agency is probably one of the top contenders for the contract, so I can’t be seen to interfere in any way.”
“Okay.” Jazz grinned and winked at Emory. “I’ll be your James Bond, if you’ll be my Moneypenny.”
Being relegated to the role of confidante and sidekick but never leading lady, Emory nodded toward Karen as she approached the table. “You’ve obviously found your Bond girl.”
Karen placed Emory’s tea in front of her and rejoined them. “Hope this is okay.”
Emory grabbed the cup and stood. “It’s fine. Thank you. I’ll leave you to it. I have a lot of work piling up at the office.” She left before either of them could object, but neither tried. On the way to her car, Emory dropped the cup in the trash bin. Unlike Jazz, she didn’t want anything from Karen Patrick.
Jazz watched Emory until she disappeared around the corner, confused about their exchange and Emory’s cool demeanor.
“Something I said?” Karen asked.
“More likely something I did.”
“Like I said before, complicated. Are you and Ms. Blake enjoying your dance?”
“What are you talking about?”
Karen quirked her lips into a teasing grin. “She wants you.” When Jazz gave her a quizzical look, Karen continued, “You’re not used to being the pursuer, are you?”
Jazz shook her head.
“If you want the demure Ms. Blake, you might have to up your game.”
“She’s not interested.”
Karen shook her head as if Jazz were totally missing the obvious. “Seriously, Lieutenant? I know women, and Ms. Blake is beyond interested, she’s besotted.” Jazz started to object again, but Karen raised her hand. “But that works for me. As I’ve said, I love competition and I’m not afraid of an invigorating chase, if you’re interested.” She winked. “Now, where were we?”
Jazz stared at Karen a few seconds longer, trying to decipher what she’d heard. Karen was interested in her and thought Emory was as well. That explained the mixed feelings she got from both, but it didn’t clarify how she felt about either. She shelved her feelings and returned to the familiarity of work. “Your agency?”
“Why don’t we go for a site visit, if you have time? You can ask questions and get a firsthand demonstration of how we operate. What do you say?”
“Why not? I’m off today.” Jazz allowed Karen to tuck her hand into the crook of her arm as they walked across the parking lot. As she got into her car, she saw Emory pulling out of the lot and made eye contact briefly before she gunned the motor and pulled onto the street.
What was going on with Emory? She was running hot and cold, encouraging her to get information about the privatization contract while giving her the cold shoulder anytime she was around Karen. Maybe Karen’s observation was right. Women. Would she ever understand how they operated and what they really wanted?
While Jazz followed the Mercedes coupe down Elm Street, she searched again for the reason, beyond obvious sex appeal, for her interest in Karen. She wanted to know everything about the foster care and adoption systems, and she was particularly interested in which organization provided the better option for children—Karen’s or Emory’s. And, if she was honest, getting the information Emory wanted played a big part as well. They stopped at a multi-story building that resembled any other business office and then proceeded to the fifth floor. Plush furniture and luxurious accent pieces that exceeded the usual government requisition populated the office and gave it a lavish feel.
While explaining the layout and operation, Karen occasionally touched Jazz’s arm, nothing overt but more physical contact than a regular work associate. Karen’s nearness made it hard to pretend she wasn’t flirting, and Jazz’s body warmed at the familiarity of being pursued.
“Nice setup. Are you publicly funded?” Jazz asked, forcing her attention back to work.
“We’re required to be licensed by the state and receive a small stipend, but we’re a private organization so most of our funding comes from service fees.”
“So, prospective parents pay to adopt children.”
“Of course. We provide a service, and customers pay, like any other company.”
“Except you deal in children.” Jazz felt her insides churn from the memory of her time in the system, and neither Karen’s soothing tone nor her touch could calm her.
“I’d never describe our agency in that way. We’re very professional, thorough, and discreet. We have counselors for every aspect of our process, specialists if you will, in the areas of newborn and older adoptions, national and international services, home evaluations, and even an onsite therapist for children or prospective parents who need a little extra care.”
Karen directed Jazz into an expansive office overlooking a large church. She closed the door behind them and motioned to a leather chair in front of a sleek glass and metal desk. “Would you like coffee?”
“No thanks, I’m good.” Jazz enjoyed the view of Karen’s jeans-clad ass as she fixed herself a cup and then settled in the chair beside her, placing her coffee on the desk. Karen moved with the assertiveness and self-confidence of a woman used to getting her way.
She crossed her legs and edged toward Jazz, the neck of her sweater easing farther down. “I want you to be completely satisfied when you leave here today, Jazz.”
“What?”
“About the agency.” She knew exactly where Jazz’s mind had wandered. “You have other questions?”
Jazz swallowed hard and looked away from the creamy swell of Karen’s breasts. “Yes. How do you decide who gets to adopt a child?”
“We thoroughly vet everyone who applies to adopt. The process is quite grueling, with several home visits, a trial period with additional evaluations, and a couple of surprise visits after final approval. We leave nothing to chance.” Karen raked her fingers through her hair and brought it forward toward her face, framing her cheekbones and eyes.
“Sounds very comprehensive. And does money factor into the final decision?” She’d raised the question before, but still wasn’t satisfied with Karen’s pat answer. None of Jazz’s foster parents had been rich or even upper-middle class, until she landed with the Carlyles.
“Financial stability is certainly a consideration. A child has a much greater chance of succeeding in the world if she’s given certain advantages. Why shouldn’t we try to make that happen?”
“Because money isn’t everything. A cliché, but also the truth. What a child needs most is attention and love. The material things are secondary.”
Karen placed her hand over Jazz’s forearm where it rested on the chair, squeezed lightly, and withdrew. “I couldn’t agree more. I assure you, Jazz, we’re not some moneymaking machine with no interest in the children we serve. I stake my professional integrity on each match, which is why I plan to pitch a proposal to the state to oversee all adoptions and basically replace CPS.”
Jazz’s arm tingled from Karen’s touch, and when she looked up, Karen licked her lips. Was she trying to distract Jazz or misdirect her? Wait. Karen said something important, something Jazz needed to follow up. “Aren’t you already contracted with the state?”
“Very good, Lieutenant. I thought I’d lost you for a second. We have an agreement for limited services, but I believe we could improve efficiency and cut costs if we took over the entire operation. I’m hopeful the powers-that-be agree.”
The rumors were true, but the bids weren’t open because Karen hadn’t presented her proposal yet. What else would Emory want her to ask? Jazz didn’t know enough about politics or how contracts within state agencies worked to venture much further. She’d get with Emory later and figure out a plan. Karen’s eagerness to have Jazz on her side would come in handy.
“Well, guess I better get going. You have children to place, and I have to sleep.” Karen offered her hand, but Jazz just waved, careful not to touch her again. Was she simply attracted to Karen? The physical sensations were familiar, but the energy felt different, like Karen was trying too hard to act like she wasn’t trying. And Jazz was holding back. Maybe she’d just never questioned or resisted when a beautiful woman came on to her. Maybe it was Emory’s influence in her life. Or maybe it was something entirely different she couldn’t figure out.
