Ivory’s Addiction
Copyright © August 2009, Jacqueline Paige
Cover art by Valerie Tibbs © August 2009
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
ISBN: 978-1-935348-60-3
Amira Press, LLC
Baltimore, MD 21216
www.amirapress.com
Dedication
To my wonderful husband, Sean, my critique partners, and Mrs. April Serock who made me believe in myself. Without all of them, I would have given up on my dream.
Chapter One
“Get that gun out of my face.”
Ivory Black pushed a strand of her shoulder-length, ebony hair off her sweaty forehead. Her own concealed weapon remained holstered at her hip beneath the no-nonsense black blazer she wore over a plain white shirt.
“Shit. We’re going to have to call in back up,” the rookie cop said. “Are all your assignments like this?”
Ivory shot him a deadly glare, her sunglasses hiding her eyes from the freckled-face, red hair Collins. “No. Usually they’re happy-go-lucky kind of occasions.”
Collins winced at her sarcastic tone. “Sorry, ma’am. Just wondering.”
Ivory looked at her simple black wristwatch. The two of them stood outside a falling down two-story duplex on the south side of Boston. It was a dangerous part of town, and Ivory didn’t like the feel of it. She followed up on cases of child abuse almost daily. Sometimes, she came up against resistance, depending on the person, but never before had the perp threatened her. Not when she had police backup.
This case went to hell in a handbasket fast. She looked at her watch again. Collins disappeared inside his squad car to radio for more experienced backup, and Ivory cooled her heels just on the outside of the gated property. Liza Green, four years old. Reported by a neighbor. Heard childlike wailing, crying. Ivory got called in when the police responded to the call.
The perp, the stepfather, had barricaded himself and the girl inside when Ivory knocked on the door and had threatened harm to Ivory and the toddler if she dared set foot across the threshold.
Ivory planted her hands on her hips and muttered to herself. The slobbery bastard with his beer belly and mottled face didn’t scare her, but she did not want to cause the baby any further harm. Ivory got a glimpse of a smaller than average girl, with stringy blonde hair and pale blue eyes, much like her own. The pain she saw written there gripped her heart, stole her breath.
“Miss Black? Backup is a few minutes away,” Collins called out.
She nodded. She let out a heavy breath. Nine a.m. and her day had only just begun. Thank God she didn’t have a workload the size of Texas on her desk. It was only as big as Boston itself. She let her eyelids shutter closed for a brief second, while she listened for the sirens of arriving Boston Police Department.
* * * *
“Everything go all right with the Green case?”
Ivory turned at the sound of her superior’s voice, Claire Simmons. “After the rookie brandished his weapon, so damn nervous he nearly shot me, and BPD backup arrived, it did. Liza Green is with the Smiths.” She rubbed her neck and sank into the creaky chair behind her cluttered desk. She searched through the drawer of the pea-green desk for her Icy Hot and tension headache medicine.
Claire positioned herself just outside the door to Ivory’s rinky-dink office, her short blonde hair styled to perfection. She produced a folder. “High priority,” Claire said, handing the folder over.
Ivory took it. They were all high priority. She flipped open the manila folder and scanned the contents. “Child is six months old. Mother overdosed on heroine. She doesn’t have a name?”
Claire crossed her arms over the breast of her coral suit jacket. “No. There is only one living relative. You’re the best I’ve got, Ivory. If you can get this half brother to take the child in, then Baby A, as we’re calling her, will get a better life than her mother could have given her.”
Ivory sighed. Heroin overdose. She saw too many cases where children were abused or abandoned due to a drug habit. “Liza Green’s maternal grandparents are driving up from West Virginia to take temporary custody of her. Haven’t been able to track down the mother.”
Claire nodded. “Good. Get started on Baby A. There is an address for a town house in Manchester. Check it out.”
Ivory saluted her friend and boss. Claire gave her a weak smile, and Ivory went back to studying the sheet. Not much information on the half brother. Jax Morgan. Soldier. Lived in Manchester. Not married. Adoptive parents killed ten years before in Boston. Ivory glanced at the clock on her desk. After three p.m. It would be another long day for the social worker. She’d have to call her nana and let her know not to wait on dinner.
* * * *
Jax Morgan dropped his army-green, standard issue duffle on the floor of his townhouse. He hadn’t been home in nearly a year. He rubbed his eyes, then stared at the covered furniture. His neighbors, Mrs. Grady and her husband, took care of the house while he was away on a mission, making sure no one broke in, etcetera. His other-than-normal life left him homeless nearly half the year. When he finally did get to take leave, he wanted to relax, do a little fishing, and have a beer with a few of his buddies.
Never had he been forced to take leave because of familial issues. Jax swore a string of curses, his throat hurting from inhaling the dust and grime of the abandoned home. He flipped on the lights. At least Mrs. Grady had been able to get the power and heater back on. Winter in Massachusetts could get brutal.
No sooner had he stepped inside his own door than the bell sounded through the house. Jax ground his back teeth. Who the hell would be visiting him now? No one knew he was in town. Unless it was the damn social worker. He hoped to hell whoever it was didn’t have the child in tow. What did he know about babies? He had barely known his half sister, Mary.
He spun around and yanked open the door. He glared at the petite, black-haired woman standing in front of him. Her head tilted back slightly to get a good look at him, her blue eyes narrowing the moment they made eye contact. Her full lips were poised to say something, but Jax beat her to it.
“You’re the social worker?”
She held out her hand, a small smile transforming her lips. “Ivory Black.”
He ignored her hand, crossed his arms over his chest, and clenched his fists. “I don’t know how I can help you, Miss Black.”
Her smile faltered, and he watched her small, high breasts rise as she took a deep breath. He hadn’t had a woman in a long time, and he felt his groin twitch. Jax glowered at her. There was no time for this shit. His team was in Africa running a mission, and here he was, in Manchester-fucking-Massachusetts, staring down an imp of a woman with aqua blue eyes.
“May I come in?” Her voice turned chilly.
Gone was the sweet demeanor, the façade of innocence. She transformed before his very eyes. She held her chin higher, her sharp cheekbones cut against the soft blue of her eyes. Jax stepped back, allowed her to pass. When she brushed by, a frisson of awareness skated up his arm and tackled his gut. He could smell the enticing aroma of woman and soap. No perfume.
She surveyed his living quarters and frowned at the sheets collecting dust. “I haven’t had a chance to meet the child yet, but I wanted to come out here and collect you first. Find out what your plans are.”
Jax straightened from the open door, the chilly air from outside rushing into the dank room. “I don’t have any plans. I’m a soldier, Miss Black. I don’t intend to quit being a soldier to take care of a child.”
Ivory rounded on him, her eyes
twin lasers of disapproval. “You’re her only living relative.”
“And I don’t care.”
She mirrored his pose, a Smith and Wesson 1911 peeking out from her coat. Reluctantly, he felt a fissure of approval move through his mind. So, Miss Ivory Black carried. He studied her. The paleness of her skin made her seem fragile, as did her height and small build. He would bet his entire career as a Special Forces Sniper she could take down men twice her size.
She sucked her full, lower lip into her mouth, which created a jolt of desire so keen that Jax backed up a step, wondering if his black combat pants concealed the sudden hard-on he sported. He ran a hand back through his closely cropped, brown hair.
She raised a thin black brow at him. “Then we’re at an impasse, Mr. Morgan. I’ve got to find a home for this little girl, and you’re her only living relative.”
“What about the father?”
Ivory strolled around the foyer, touching on several small pieces of furniture, then rubbed the dust off her fingers. “It would help if I knew who the father was, but since I don’t, legally, the child is to be turned over to you. Unless you decide to give her up for adoption, in which case, she will either be put in a group home such as Heron House or in a foster home.”
Jax stared at his latest scar. A close call, the scar running up between his knuckles, over his wrist, coiling around his forearm. He’d turned his hand to protect the ligaments in his trigger finger. He flexed. One shot. One kill. No remorse. “I’m not the right person to take care of anyone under the age of twenty, and then, I’m only good with trained soldiers. I can’t help you.”
* * * *
Ivory stared at the brute before her. If she’d ever met a more imposing man in her life, she couldn’t remember. He stood well above her five-two height, his green eyes flat, cold. She shivered despite herself. His arms were covered in wicked-looking tattoos with snakes and demons riding his forearms. She noticed none of them came past his mid-forearm. She wondered if they were any more. Something told her the man had riddled himself with ink.
His hard jaw flexed when he clamped down on his teeth, and a muscle jumped in his cheek. A shadow of a beard covered the lower half of his face and made his sensual lips all the more enticing.
What am I thinking? she scolded herself. The man had no compassion for a baby. He looked like a killer. Soldiering probably ensured he did take lives for a living, especially with the wars going on. Ivory wrapped her arms around her midsection.
When she brushed past him, the electric jolt she felt stunned her for a brief moment before she gathered her wits. The space around him seemed heated to the point of overload, and she needed to separate herself from him by distance. This man was dangerous. It bled from every pore, and her instincts screamed for her to run, out of self-preservation. On top of it all, he looked at her as though she were his worst enemy.
“Mr. Morgan, I need you to work with me on this, at least to put the baby up for adoption. She’s only six months old, and she needs a home. A good home.”
The predator before her seemed to grow, staring down at her over his slightly crooked nose, his cheekbones so sharp she could cleave meat on them. Ivory refused to give any ground. The child deserved a home. She needed to make him understand it would be in the best interest of the child to be with family.
“I didn’t even know my sister, Miss Black. What makes you think I want to take care of her child?”
Ivory bristled at his dead tone. “Because you’re human and you should at least have some compassion for a helpless child.”
Something flashed in his eyes, something akin to pain. And then they were the dead sea-green they’d been before. “As a rule, I don’t have compassion. For anyone.”
Ivory flinched at his candid statement. What kind of man couldn’t love a child? Obviously not this one. Ivory glanced around the spartan room. She noticed his duffel, the green cylindrical tube overstuffed. A long, black case sat next to it. A keyless entry pin pad adorned the top, and Ivory suspected the case housed a weapon. “Do you always carry your weapons with you?”
“No. That’s my personal rifle.”
“Keyless lock,” she said, frowned. “What kind?”
“With all due respect, ma’am, that’s none of your business.”
Ivory glared at the hard wood floor as she regained control over her rapidly deteriorating politeness. She pulled a card out of her pocket. “This is my office number, and my cell phone number. Call me if you change your mind. I’ll be in touch if I don’t hear from you in the next few days for the paperwork to make her a ward of the state.”
Nothing. Not even a flash of sympathy from those frigid, mossy eyes when she mentioned handing the child over to the state to be put in the system. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t understand how he could not care. It was a baby, for God’s sakes.
He took her card from her, and Ivory noticed the reddened scar on the back of his hand. She flinched despite herself. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Morgan.”
“Captain.”
She stopped at the open doorway, looked back over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“It’s Captain Morgan, Miss Black.”
“Are you serious? Or is that a sick play on words?” She couldn’t help but wonder if good ole captain was his favorite drink.
“I never joke, Miss Black.”
Slamming the door behind her, he shut her out in the chilly air. She glanced around the streets of Manchester by the Sea, the clean sidewalks with trees growing every few feet. Flowerbeds must be mandatory. Every house seemed to have a bed of roses or petunias ringing the property. They were dying, as October had arrived, but she could imagine what they might look like in early spring. Glass lamplights were attached to each house, even Morgan’s. They blinked on as the sun sank over the horizon.
Nice place to live, she thought idly. Killing must pay well.
Ivory hunched against the biting wind. She headed to her car, and then she aimed it toward Heron House where the baby currently resided. The little girl didn’t even have a name. Ivory slammed her fist down on the steering wheel of her Jeep Grand Cherokee. Damn Jax Morgan.
Heron House sat on the north side of Boston just outside the city limits, and Ivory got off at the exit to take her into the heart of the city. She guided her vehicle deftly through the five-o’clock traffic while keeping her wits about her. She avoided the main streets and slipped into the parking entrance without much fanfare.
She gathered her file, locked the Jeep, and went into the residence. Outside, it looked like every other house on the block but inside, children of all ages raced about, lazed on couches, or played video games. Ivory located Jenny, the director and her best friend, in the kitchen making a batch of cookies for the young residents.
“Hey,” Ivory called out over the laughter, snickers, and general mania of the place.
Jenny, who could gave passed for Ivory’s twin save for her brown eyes, grinned. “Want to help?”
“I’m here on business.”
Clay, a sheepish eight-year-old, sat at the counter with Jenny placing batches of chocolate chip cookies on plates. The spacious kitchen boasted an eight-burner stove with a deep freezer and industrial-sized fridge. At any given time, Jenny housed up to twenty orphaned children under her protective wing.
Clay blushed furtively when Ivory ruffled his sandy blond hair. “Hey, kiddo. How are you?”
Clay glanced up at Ivory, and his doe eyes locked onto her. “All right.”
Ivory smiled at him, just to see him blush again. The kid was a tragic story of the system, bouncing from one place to another until he landed at Heron House with Jenny. Ivory knew her best friend wanted to adopt the boy, but not until she could provide a stable residence for him. Heron House and her single status impeded her aspirations and noble convictions. Ivory suspected that between she and Jenny, if they could, Heron House would be empty and their own homes full of youngsters.
“Come to see
Baby Ashley?”
Ivory drew her gaze away from the sallow child and refocused on the only other adult in the room. She stepped lightly over spilled flour to keep it from getting on her black slacks. Her shoes were already covered in the dry powder. “Ashley?”
Jenny’s dimples appeared in her heart-shaped face. “Well, I wasn’t going to keep calling her Baby A. So, I’m calling her Ashley.”
Ivory propped herself up on one of the wooden stools crowding the island in the middle of the room. She laid the file across her lap, careful to keep her arms from touching the counter. She still had to go back to her office. “It’s a pretty name,” Ivory said. “I just came from the brother’s home.”
“And?”
“It’s not looking good.”
Jenny frowned. “I don’t understand how someone can turn their back on a child.”
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