Not Quite Crazy (Not Quite Series Book 6)

by Catherine Bybee

  Clive thumbed through a few papers, pulled out one, and started to read from it.

  “It says here that you have exposed Owen to harsh chemicals resulting in illness.”

  Rachel’s jaw was going to have to be surgically removed from her chest at this rate. “What?”

  “You’ve been remodeling an old house with lead paint, containing possible asbestos, and not taking the necessary safety precautions.”

  “What a crock of garbage that is. Owen has had a few colds, most likely due to the change in weather neither of us are used to.”

  “Does your house have lead paint?”

  “I don’t know. It’s an old house.”

  “Asbestos?”

  “I would think the home inspector would have said something if there was.”

  Clive folded his hands on his notepad. “All of this will have to be determined.”

  “So let me get this straight. The Colemans are claiming I’m a danger to Owen, unfit as his guardian, and the court is willing to take him away based on an unsubstantiated claim?”

  “The court has taken him away. The emergency injunction was filed two days ago because it was discovered that Owen was out of the country.”

  “So what were they doing? Watching the airport for our return?”

  “I doubt they had to do that. Does Owen have an Instagram account?”

  “He’s fifteen, he has all that stuff.”

  “Then chances are he posted when he came home, which is why you’re here today.”

  “So where is Owen now?”

  “I don’t have that answer. Right now I’m working on getting you out of here.”

  She sat taller in her seat. Once she was out of there, she’d find Owen herself. “I didn’t kidnap Owen. If I did, then I’m the most unintelligent criminal on the planet, since I returned home with him. And if the court has taken him away, I can’t possibly leave with him again, now can I?”

  “All sound arguments I will use.”

  “Then use them, please. The thought of sleeping here makes me ill.”

  Clive looked around the small room. “I believe that is the point, Miss Price.”

  He stood to leave. “I have to caution you . . .”

  “I’m listening.”

  “When I do get you out of here, don’t contact Owen. Let others talk for you. Don’t meet him without a social worker present and with permission.”

  “I’ve already asked a friend to check on him.”

  “Which shows concern, but from this moment on, do not speak to the boy alone.”

  She wanted to cry. “He’s going to be scared.”

  “He will be cared for.”

  She shook her head. “No one cares more for that child than I do.”

  This time, when they led her back to the holding cell, Rachel didn’t care that she sat on a sticky bench that could result in an unnamed disease. She leaned her head back against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes until her name was called again.

  She’d aged five years in six hours.

  Jason pulled his jacket from his shoulders and folded her into it as he shuffled her out of the station.

  “How is he?” she asked before they made it to the waiting car.

  “Angry.”

  “Please tell me he isn’t at the Colemans’. He’ll run away the first chance he gets.”

  “They placed him in foster care.” He shuffled her into the back of the waiting car, and the driver pulled away from the curb.

  “Strangers.”

  “He has my number and is texting constantly.”

  Rachel blinked several times. “The lawyer told me not to contact him.”

  His lawyer had told him the same thing. Not that Jason was listening. “I told him not to tell me where he is unless he feels threatened. That way no one can accuse us of plotting to take him away.”

  She made a grabby motion with her hands. “Tell him I’m out and that I love him.”

  Jason’s heart bucked a little with the conviction of her words. He removed his phone and typed in her request word for word.

  Within seconds, his phone rang.

  “We can’t answer it. The police can subpoena the phone records and see we talked to him. We’re better off texting.”

  Can’t talk on the phone.

  This is bullshit.

  “I told you he’s angry.”

  Our attorney is demanding immediate action on releasing you to Rachel.

  Tonight?

  Jason glanced at Rachel. “Clive said thirty-six hours at the earliest.”

  “If you tell him that, he’s gonna bolt.” She glanced out the window. “It’s cold outside.”

  He hated skirting around the truth. Probably tomorrow. Jason showed Rachel the text before he hit “Send.” With her nod, he did.

  School starts tomorrow.

  Then go and get your mind off all this. With any luck you’ll be home tomorrow night.

  It took Owen a few seconds to reply. This is screwed up. We came here to the battle ax and her wimpy husband to avoid this crap.

  “He needs to vent,” Rachel said. “He gets chatty when he’s nervous. Talking calms him down.”

  “How about Nathan?”

  “Good idea.”

  Jason switched contacts and called. After a few seconds, Nathan let him know he was chatting with Owen and letting him bitch.

  Only once Rachel was convinced that Owen was taken care of did she collapse into Jason’s side.

  “What’s going through your mind?” he asked, his arm holding her close as the driver maneuvered the car out of Manhattan and onto the freeway.

  “I don’t think I’ve skipped one emotion today. Fear, anger, disbelief. Part of me wished we’d stayed in Central America.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I thought that more than once today.”

  She shifted in her seat to look at him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “You would have found a lawyer.”

  “No, not that. I mean, yes, I need someone like Clive, but I mean talking with Owen. I’m all he has. Knowing you’ve been talking to him makes it a whole lot easier that I was stuck in that dirty holding cell . . .” She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out faster.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong and yet my freedom was taken away, Owen is spending the night with strangers. I have a burning desire to drive over to the Colemans’ and scream at them. They’re trying to say I’m unfit because of lead paint in the walls of my house. How is any of that possible? How many people live in homes with old paint?” Her shoulders started to shake and her eyes swelled. “Worse, I didn’t keep my promise to Emily. I said I’d never let Owen feel alone after she died.”

  Jason pulled her into his chest. “Come here.”

  “This isn’t fair.”

  “I know, hon. We’re going to make this right.”

  She cried in his arms until her tears ran out. They drove directly to his home, and he led her to his room. The bathtub in the master suite hadn’t been used in years. He drew her a bath and left her alone.

  “How is she?” Nathan asked when he found Jason in the kitchen.

  “A mess.”

  “Poor lass.”

  “Is Owen settled for the night?”

  “He is. But I don’t think the lad will stay where he is long, Jason. He’s strong willed, that one.”

  “He’s fifteen, confused, and angry.”

  “I’ll keep talkin’ to him. Let him know to call me before doing anything stupid.” Nathan turned to leave the room. “Oh, and Mary stopped by, left a casserole. Said to call if you needed her.”

  Glen’s wife had quickly become a rock in the foundation of their family. “Thanks.”

  Nathan nodded and left out the back door and across the yard to his home on the property.

  After following Mary’s instructions and heating up dinner, Jason brought a large plate and
two forks up to his bedroom. Two steps into the room and he found Rachel in his bed, curled up into a ball and sound asleep.

  As much as he wanted to marvel at the image of her in his space, he couldn’t help but mourn the reason why she was there.

  He set the plate of food down, took a bite, and walked into his closet to shed his clothes. After a quick shower, he dimmed the lights of the room and crawled into bed beside Rachel.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Owen wasn’t in a shelter, but the accommodations were uncomfortably close. The room he was given had four beds, two of which were taken, outside of his. And that was for the boys . . . another room housed three beds, with one girl curled up and talking to herself.

  “Dude, you gonna eat that?” The kid asking was named Chris. The sixteen-year-old had made it clear he was in charge the second Owen was shown his bed.

  Owen glanced at the cold burrito and decided it wasn’t worth fighting for . . . even if he thought he’d probably eat it later. The “family” he’d been placed with ate at five thirty whether you were hungry or not. The woman, Mrs. Sims, hadn’t missed a meal since birth, her husband was the polar opposite. They both smiled at him when the social worker dropped Owen off. While they didn’t completely drop the act when the door shut, it was apparent the couple who took in temporary foster children didn’t do it for the love of kids.

  “Have it.” Owen pushed his plate Chris’s way.

  The older kid didn’t have to be told twice. “Why are you here?” he asked with a mouth full of food.

  Owen wasn’t even sure how to answer that. “Why are you here?” he asked instead.

  “My dad got tossed back in . . . beat up some chick stealing from him.”

  “Oh, man . . . I’m sorry.”

  Chris shrugged, took another bite. “Whatever. Better her than me.”

  Owen swallowed. “What about your mom?”

  “No clue. But if I ever find her, I’ll beat her myself. Fucking leave me with that asshole.”

  Owen looked around the barren walls. “Have you been here long?”

  “They don’t keep you here more than a few days. Gotta find you a couple willing to put up with your drama.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done this a lot.”

  Chris dropped half the burrito on the plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not much longer. I’ve got some friends hooking me up with a job.”

  Owen glanced at Chris’s drawn eyes and pale skin and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of job he thought he’d actually be able to get.

  “Yep, get a job . . . make some serious money and get the hell out of dives like this.”

  “It’s not that bad.” They both turned to Alex, the other kid in the room. He couldn’t have been older than eleven.

  “What do you know?” Chris demanded, his shoulders tensed.

  “Better than the streets.”

  Owen’s jaw dropped. “You were on the street?”

  “Last summer.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  He didn’t look twelve.

  “So what’s your story?” Owen’s fascination with these kids’ lives started to take away some of his own anxiety about the situation.

  “My mom is sick.”

  “Your mom’s crazy.”

  “Shut up! She’s sick.” For a twelve-year-old, Alex had some bite in him.

  Chris decided he was the authority on Alex’s life. “I heard old man Sims talkin’, said your mom is bouncing around a rubber room with white coats keeping her from jumpin’ off a bridge.”

  Alex was on his feet and across the room in a heartbeat.

  Owen stood up and found himself between the two boys. “Knock it off,” he yelled at Chris.

  Chris looked around Owen and poked his words even deeper. “Crazy and rockin’ in a corner, talkin’ to herself.”

  Alex pulled back his small fist and lunged. Unfortunately Owen didn’t move fast enough and caught the misguided punch with his lip.

  Chris doubled over, laughing, which just made Alex try harder.

  Alex pushed past Owen and tried to tackle Chris. He wasn’t a match. Chris outweighed Alex by a good fifty pounds and two feet.

  “You wanna piece of me, little shit?”

  “Knock it off!”

  All three of them stilled when the door to the room swung open.

  “What’s going on in here?” Mr. Sims filled the height of the doorway, his dark stare keeping them silent.

  Owen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tasted his own blood.

  “We were wrestling,” Chris announced.

  Owen stood speechless.

  “Wrestling?”

  Alex blinked a few times, then nodded.

  Mr. Sims turned his stare toward Owen. “Is that right?”

  Not trusting his voice, he nodded.

  Sims didn’t buy it, but he wasn’t concerned enough about their welfare to question further. Sims pointed to Owen’s mouth. “Keep it off the face.” He closed the door, and Chris shoved Alex one last time.

  Jason woke with his heart in his throat. His hand reached out to find Rachel gone from his side. His eyes shot open and the room came into focus. Fog shaded the windows, casting gray light into the room.

  Noise from the shower in the master bathroom was music to his ears.

  Rachel.

  She hadn’t left in the middle of the night. The dream he had right before opening his eyes floated in his memory. He was walking around Rachel’s home to find all of her personal belongings gone . . . no clothes or pictures on the wall, Owen’s room was bare except his bed and a schoolbook on his desk. They simply vanished, and even though Jason was vaguely aware he was in the center of a dream, panic rose in his heart.

  The water in the shower turned off, and the sound of the shower door opening and closing had him envisioning the woman inside. Jason’s body responded to the image. He closed his eyes and told himself to calm down. Exploring new positions would be the last thing Rachel would be interested in doing now.

  “You’re up.”

  Just when his dick started to calm, he caught sight of her. She was in one of his dress shirts, the buttons not completely done all the way up. It stopped at the tops of her smooth thighs and swished around her legs as she walked toward him. Rachel was drying her hair with a towel, her face fresh from the shower.

  Jason squirmed on the bed and hoped she didn’t notice his discomfort or reaction. They had other things to do. “You look rested.”

  “I am, surprisingly.” She planted herself on the edge of the bed and smiled down at him. “I hope you don’t mind about the shirt. It’s all you have in there.”

  “Mind? I’ll never wear that shirt again without thinking of you in it.”

  She was smiling brighter now.

  He liked having that effect on her.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she started.

  “Owen?”

  “Of course.” She tossed the towel aside and leaned over him on the bed. “I need to find a contractor. One who can determine if there is lead in the walls of the house, or any other dangers the Colemans are accusing me of.”

  Jason rested his hands behind his head. “If he finds something, it will substantiate their claim.”

  “If they find something, then I need to know that and address it like any concerned parent would once something has been brought to their attention. I’m not a licensed environmental health professional, or a contractor. I’m a new homeowner without a reason to question the health of my house. If they don’t find anything, we’re good.”

  “Do you think there is an issue?”

  “I think the Colemans accused me of neglect and the court jumped first and asked questions later.” She rested a hand on his chest. “If there is an issue with lead, then I would guess it would come up in my bloodwork. Which brings me to my next question . . .”

  “Who is my doctor?”

  Rachel leaned
forward, kissed his chest. “You’re so smart.”

  He reached for her when she pulled back. “You’re sexy.”

  She moved into his kiss and let her lips linger. Jason was the one who kept the good morning kiss from becoming more. “I’m happy to see you smiling.”

  “Yesterday I was stuck in a cell. Today I’m free and have the ability to do something about this situation. Until Clive calls with a time for the emergency hearing he is requesting, we can’t do a legal thing to get Owen back.”

  “Legal being the key word.”

  She searched his eyes. “I would never ask you to do something illegal.”

  “But . . .”

  After a deep breath, she said, “That doesn’t mean I won’t. I’ll play by the rules as long as there is hope that this is all going to go away. But if they try and take Owen against his will, I’m keeping my promise to him and Emily.”

  And his dream will have been a premonition. “Then we’ll just have to keep that from happening.”

  They started with Jason’s doctor, who brought her in for a physical and the requested blood test. They would have the results by late afternoon, which gave them the rest of the morning to find and hire a contractor.

  Rachel walked into her cold, dark house and went directly to Owen’s room, even though she knew he wasn’t there.

  Jason stood silently behind her. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “He’s at school. Or should be, in any case . . . not that I’m allowed to text him to find out.”

  “This can’t last.”

  She wasn’t so sure of that. “And I shouldn’t have met a half a dozen hookers from the streets of New York, but I have.” Rachel turned toward her bedroom and Jason followed. “If there is one lesson I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that anything can happen. And with my luck lately, I would go on to say that if that anything is something bad, it will happen.”

  “Hey, what about me?” Jason smiled as he asked the question.

  “Not you . . . although it might have been better if you worked in the pizza joint across the street from the office.”

  “You wouldn’t have noticed me if I made pizzas for a living.”

  She paused. “I like pizza.”

  “Hmmm, pizza. Now I’m hungry.”