Second in Command, page 12
part #1 of Fairview Station Series
The doorbell rang, and she ran to answer. “Did you forget—”
“Surprise.” Diane raised two bottles of wine. “Oh, snap. Did you just have sex?”
“What? Of course not.”
“You so did. You’re flushed. Your lips are puffy. And your eyes have that glazed over look. Deets immediately.” She pushed past Emory and looked around the room, craning her neck toward the bedroom. “I assume she’s not still here.”
“No, she’s not…I mean, I haven’t had sex.” Emory looked everywhere but at her.
“But you’ve totes had something.”
“Not now, Di.”
“Oh, yes, most definitely now. I’m not leaving until we’ve finished these two bottles and you’ve told me every minute detail.” She plopped down on the sofa.
Giving in to the inevitable, Emory filled their glasses and joined her on the sofa. After a summary, Diane stared open mouthed. “What? That’s everything. I swear.”
“Let’s recap. Jazz kissed you first. You kissed her back and then let her leave?”
“I didn’t exactly let her leave. She got a phone call and ran out.”
“Who called?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask, but I’m thinking Karen Patrick.”
“The skank you were telling me about the other day at spin class?”
Emory nodded.
“So…this woman calls, and Jazz just leaves you all hot and bothered. Not a good sign, Em. Sorry.”
Emory covered her face with her hands. “Believe me, I know. But she asked me to be patient, after I told her I wasn’t going to compete for her.”
“Patient as in give me time to sleep with this other woman so I can decide which one of you I want kind of patience, or time to work through our mutual work thing and get away from her kind of patience?”
“I’m not exactly sure what you just said, but I’m thinking the latter.”
Diane scooted closer and wrapped her arm over Emory’s shoulder. “Are you sorry you kissed her?”
“Never, and if that’s all I ever get—”
“Don’t tell me you’ll be fine with it because I totally won’t. It’ll suck so hard. I’ve never seen you so excited and glowy.”
“Glowy? Is that even a word?”
“Who cares? You know what I mean. She’s good for you, and you adore her. Don’t just roll over and let Karen Patrick have her without a fight.”
“I don’t fight.” Emory took another sip of wine before topping up their glasses. “Like I’d have a chance against all that anyway. Can we please talk about something else? What’s happening with you?” Diane filled her in on her progress with Jane, but Emory’s mind wandered. Was Jazz with Karen? What was the emergency?
* * *
Jazz pounded the steering wheel with her fist as she drove. “Damn it.” She tugged the seam of her jeans away from her tender flesh. “Our first real kiss. What a kiss. And I had to leave. Damn.” Any fleeting concerns she had about not being sexually compatible with Emory vanished the minute their lips met. Their connection had been immediate and intense, and pulling away had caused a physical ache. Karen had been right about Emory’s interest, and Jazz could work with that.
But Shea needed her, and Jazz couldn’t refuse. She considered telling Emory, but didn’t want to admit she was going to violate another CPS rule and put Em in a bad position. She parked at the athletic field behind the school and scoured the area for Shea. If Mrs. Broadmoor was here, Jazz would observe from a distance or make up a plausible excuse for her presence that didn’t involve Shea. Jazz skirted the field toward the bleachers and took a seat near the edge.
She relaxed in the late afternoon sun and watched while the coaches set up and gave instructions for the track trials. A group of kids divided into two teams had taken their places on the field when she finally spotted Shea and waved.
Shea grinned and bent over to tie her shoelaces. She looked so small compared to the rest of the children, but she appeared excited as she jumped around warming up for the contest. At the coach’s instruction, all the kids crouched in place and waited for the start. The whistle sounded, and Shea sprinted forward but behind the rest of the group.
Jazz sprang to her feet. “Go, Shea. Show them what you’ve got.”
Shea hung back until halfway through the race and then sprinted to the front, easily defeating the others by a wide margin. She picked up her backpack and kept running across the track toward Jazz and pumped both fists in the air. “Did you see that?”
“You dusted them.” She high-fived Shea and clapped her on the back.
“Yep.” Shea sat with her on the bleachers. “Just wanted to know if I could do it.”
“So, you’re going for the team, right?”
Shea shook her head. “Mrs. B doesn’t have time to come get me after practices. I asked after I saw you at the coffee shop.”
Jazz started to volunteer, but that would be another violation of CPS rules. She was staring at one already by visiting Shea unsupervised and about to commit a second. “Could your coach drop you off after practices?”
“I don’t know.” Shea kicked the bleacher in front of them. “Practice starts right after classes and he’s volunteered rides before, so maybe.”
Jazz wasn’t about to let Shea’s temporary living situation ruin what could be a great experience for her. “Why don’t I talk to the coach and see if we can work something out?”
Shea smiled up at her. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I’ll check with him, but you should ask Mrs. Broadmoor. Promise?” Shea nodded, and Jazz added, “I’ll call as soon as I know something.”
“How can you call me?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Jazz pulled the prepaid cell phone she’d picked up yesterday out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Shea. “I added my number. You should tell Mrs. B as soon as you get back. If she has a problem with you having a cell, tell her to call me. I’ll make it right.”
Shea turned the small phone over in her hands. “I’ve never had my own phone. Thanks, Jazz. You’re the best.”
Jazz took a deep breath before asking her next question, unsure she was ready for the answer. “So, how’s it going? Truth time, Shea.”
“Okay, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“You know how it is in group homes. I don’t know anybody, don’t have friends to talk to, none of my things are there, don’t know where anything is in the house, and I have to hoard food if I want a snack.”
“Yeah, I remember those days too well. Some of those things will get better, but honestly, Shea, some of them never will. I’m hoping you won’t be there long enough to get used to them. CPS and USAA are trying to locate your dad. Any word from him?”
She glanced up at Jazz, possibly gauging how much she really wanted to know. “They won’t find him unless he wants to be found. He owes some people money I think. He called the home yesterday and said he was coming to get me, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“Not great on follow-through?”
Shea shook her head. “Depends on how much he’s had to drink, smoke, or snort. He used to say having me around paid the rent, but I’m not sure what he meant.”
Jazz’s insides seized. This was the first time Shea had mentioned her father and drugs. And knowing he used Shea as a source of government income made her sick. “Sorry, pal.” Shea shrugged, and Jazz asked, “What’s your dad’s name?” She’d do a complete rundown on him when she returned to work. She wanted this guy located and all his parental rights revoked.
“Joshua Spencer, Josh.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “What happened to your real family?”
She tried not to think about that time of her life, but Shea deserved honesty and someone who understood what she was going through. “My mom died too young.” She’d woken to her mother’s lifeless body beside her in bed and remained there for a day and a half before anyone checked on them. Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. “Didn’t know my dad, so I ended up in foster care at four.”
“My mom died of a drug overdose,” Shea said.
“Stroke.”
“I thought old people had strokes.”
“She was taking some medicine that wasn’t right for her.”
Shea leaned against her on the bleachers. “Sorry. Was it hard when you finally got a forever family?”
“Really hard.” Jazz paused, the memory of those first months of trying the Carlyles’ patience as fresh as if they’d happened yesterday. She’d run away several times, defied every rule, picked fights with the other kids, and basically been a nightmare. Later, she figured out she’d been testing them to see if they really wanted her and intended to keep her, even if she was a total pain. “My foster parents already had three children of their own. I didn’t understand why they wanted me, but in your case, it’s obvious.” She stared across the athletic field letting her statement register with Shea.
“What do you mean?”
“The family who adopts you will search the entire adoption database, hundreds of kids, looking for the best possible child for them. When they choose you, it will be because they see how unique you are. Your forever family will be special, like you.”
Shea’s face brightened and a grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Never thought of it like that.” She nodded toward the line of buses pulling into the parking lot. “Guess I better go.” She gathered her book bag and turned back to Jazz. “Thanks for coming today.”
“You bet. Great job on the track. Keep it up.”
Jazz waited until Shea was on the bus before approaching the coach and explaining the situation to him. He’d apparently seen Shea’s potential as well and eagerly added her to the list of students who needed rides. She dialed Shea’s mobile and gave her the news. She shrieked so loudly Jazz had to pull the phone away from her ear.
As she walked back to her car, Jazz texted Karen. Ask Mrs. Broadmoor to bring Shea to the charity baseball game tomorrow. See you there?
The reply was almost immediate. I have a surprise for you. Until tomorrow.
Jazz drove home, her earlier frustrated mood lifted. She was helping Shea get something she wanted, possibly for the first time in her life, which made leaving an eager and excited Emory almost worth it.
Chapter Ten
The enthusiastic crowd lined up in both directions on Bellemeade Street at the main entrance of the Greensboro Grasshoppers stadium where Emory stood with an oversized baseball cap soliciting donations for the Cone Hospital children’s Christmas party. She’d been smiling nonstop for two hours and already emptied her cap three times.
“What do we have here?” Jazz whispered in Emory’s ear, her hot breath brushing the side of Emory’s neck and sending delicious warmth skittering through her body.
“W—what?” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before turning around. Jazz was so close and looked so butch in her baseball cap that Emory forced down the urge to kiss her in front of everyone. She’d thought of nothing else since last night, except going further. She licked her lips and grinned.
“Nice.” Jazz waved her hand toward Emory’s bright orange Hoppers T-shirt and matching green tights. “Very nice.”
“Take a good look, Perry, because this is as close as I’ll get to anything that requires a ball.” She play-shoved Jazz. “You’re distracting me and disrupting my soliciting mojo.”
Jazz grabbed her chest in mock pain. “Are you shooing me away, Ms. Blake?”
“Not really. Just flirting a bit.” After their kiss, Emory was surprised how much more confident she felt around Jazz, how easy it was to tease her, and how good she felt about both.
Jazz stepped even closer, and Emory felt herself pulled into her sizzling stare. “You look so hot in that outfit. The only thing that would be better is you out of it and me—”
“Jazz, you’re incorrigible.” She ducked her head to hide a blush and thanked a man for his donation. If Jazz never stopped teasing and complimenting how hot she looked, it would be fine with her.
Jazz grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll have mercy, but only because we’re in public and my parents taught me better.” She scanned the long line of people waiting to get in. “Looks like a great turnout. Have you seen Shea come through? Mrs. Broadmoor is supposed to bring her to the game.”
“Not yet.” Though she hadn’t met Shea in person, Emory had read her file when Jazz took such an interest and was sure she’d recognize her on sight.
Jazz’s phone pinged, and she pulled it from her back pocket. “Never mind. She just texted. They’re already inside.”
“She has her own cell phone, at eleven?”
“For your information, Ms. Blake, thirty-five percent of children aged eight to ten have phones already. I did my research before I got it.” Jazz nervously tugged the hair at her temple and couldn’t meet Emory’s gaze.
“Jazz?”
Norma Carlyle walked toward them. “I’m just in time. By the look on my granddaughter’s face, I’d say she’s in trouble. I’ll take over, Emory, while you sort her out.”
Jazz kissed Norma’s cheek. “I’ll see you later, G-ma. I should probably go—”
“Oh no. You’re not going anywhere just yet.” Emory caught Jazz’s arm and guided her into a small office where the volunteers checked in and stored personal items during their shifts.
“Thank God,” Jazz said, closing the distance between them. “I’ve wanted to do this since the minute I saw you in that ridiculously distracting outfit.” She wrapped her arms around Emory and pulled her in for a kiss.
Jazz’s lips were full and wet and beckoned Emory to taste. Her heart pounded in anticipation. Her skin tingled, but she backed away. If she kissed Jazz, she’d be lost and no closer to the answers she needed. “Did you buy Shea a cell phone?” Jazz stared at the floor. “When did you give her a phone?”
“This sort of reminds me of yesterday when you pinned me against the door.” Jazz eased closer, but Emory backed away again. “I know you want to kiss me. I see it in your eyes.”
“How much I want to kiss you, which by the way is quite a lot, is not the issue.” Jazz shrugged like a guilty kid, and Emory almost forgot her point. “When did you give her a phone?”
“She needs to know somebody cares. And she might need to call if she gets in trouble at the group home or runs away again.”
“When did you give it to her, Jazz?”
“All right already. Yesterday afternoon at her track tryouts.”
“So, that’s where you went when you left my place?” Emory felt a wave of relief followed by more irritation.
Jazz nodded. “Shea called and asked if I could come watch her run track.”
“A supervised visit I hope.”
“Not exactly. And that’s why I didn’t tell you. I just dropped by to give her the cell and to watch her do something she likes. What’s wrong with that? I’m a police officer for God’s sake. If you and everybody else can’t trust me with children after what I’ve been through and my years on the force, I need to find another profession.”
Emory shook her head, not sure if Jazz was being purposely obtuse, if she really didn’t understand the rules, or was blatantly ignoring them. “Tell me you at least got Mrs. Broadmoor’s approval before seeing Shea and handing over a phone.” Jazz suddenly found her boots mesmerizing. “Jasmine Perry?”
“You don’t know what it’s like, Em.” Jazz reached for her, but Emory held up her hands to ward her off.
“I’ve worked with children all my life, so I’m very aware of how hard adjusting can be.”
“But you’ve never been that child. I get her in ways you’ll never understand. Can’t you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”
“Just because something worked for you doesn’t mean it will work, or is even right, for another child. Bypassing rules and protocols, especially when children are concerned, causes side effects, most of them not good. The caregivers feel blindsided, compromised, and undermined, and they lose control of the situation and power over decisions that affect the entire family unit. The social worker is circumvented and loses track of the process. And when a child is influenced by advice and gifts from outside sources, not the family or primary caregiver, it can result in lack of proper bonding and discipline. When those types of things happen, the system eventually falls apart and everybody loses. And that’s just for starters.” Jazz stared at her but didn’t respond. “Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“I think half the stadium heard what you were saying, Ms. Blake.”
Emory turned at the scolding voice behind her and found Karen Patrick standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. The skin-hugging jeans and Hoppers game shirt looked way too sexy on her, and she glared disapprovingly at Emory. Several other people had stopped near the door watching their exchange as well.
Karen stepped around Emory and hooked her arm through Jazz’s. “I’ve been looking for you, Lieutenant. Shea sent me on a search and rescue mission, and just in time it seems. We have a surprise for you.” She tried to pull Jazz with her, but she resisted.
“Just a second,” Jazz said and then spoke to Emory. “I’m sorry if I violated some sacrosanct rule, but it made a little girl very happy. And for the record, I don’t really give a damn what her so-called caregiver thinks until she starts acting like she actually cares.”
“That’s the difference between us, Jazz. I have to care what everybody thinks and feels, the group home staff, parents, the child, the people I work for, and you. Have you given any thought to how this could affect your career?”
“Aren’t you being a little overdramatic, Emory?” Karen asked.
Emory squared off with Karen, irritated by the interruption and her possessive grip on Jazz. “I don’t believe this is any of your bus—”
