Raising her head, she met his gaze once more. “Caleb, last chance. Tell me the truth. Who caused those bruises?”
His glare was fierce. “He did. Grayson. The shrink.”
She sighed heavily. “Get your shirt and shoes on.”
“Why?”
“I have to take you to the hospital and report this to the police.”
“But—”
“And then I have to find a new home for you and the children until we can schedule a hearing.”
He studied her. “You’ll move us out tonight?”
She nodded.
“All four of us? Together?”
She nodded again. “When you’re ready, come on out. I’m going to tell Bud.” As he climbed down from the bed, she let herself out of the room. God help her, she didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to walk down the hall and tell that kindly old man that the boy he was worrying about had accused the son he was worrying about of abusing him.
The only thing she wanted less was to give J.D. the same news.
Bud had just poured himself a cup of coffee when she walked into the room. With a smile he offered it to her, but the sickness she felt inside must have shown on her face, because his smile slipped away.
“Bud, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take Caleb with me. He’s bruised pretty badly, and he says—” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then looked at him once more. “He says J.D. did it.”
Bud simply stared at her, then his hand began to tremble, sloshing coffee over the rim before the cup slipped to the floor. It shattered there, and the milky brew seeped out in an ever-widening circle.
From down the hall came the children’s voices. “Caleb, you’re gonna get in trouble! You’re not s’posed to be out of our room! Grandpa Bud! Caleb’s outta the room!”
Caleb came to stand beside her, and Bud’s stunned gaze moved to him. “How can you do that, son?” he asked, his voice as unsteady as his hands. “How can you lie like that?”
Caleb stared mutely at the floor.
Kelsey looked from him to Bud. “When J.D. comes back, tell him we’re at Bethlehem Memorial. I’ll have to come back for the other kids. Could you have them ready?”
“But, Kelsey, you can’t—”
“I have to, Bud. It’s policy.” She gestured for Caleb to leave, then turned back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The drive to the hospital passed in silence. Kelsey parked near the emergency room entrance, then went inside to the admissions desk. By the time she finished filling out the forms, a nurse was waiting to escort them to an exam room. She left Caleb in the doctor’s care, then returned to the desk to make two phone calls, one to Mary Therese, one to the Bethlehem Police Department.
She requested to see an officer and got the chief of police. It wasn’t ten minutes before Mitch Walker came through the sliding doors, and J.D. wasn’t more than a minute behind him. His hair stood on end, and he looked frantic.
So much for worrying how to greet him. There were no hellos, no smiles, no kisses. Just J.D.’s worried demand. “Is Caleb all right? Dad said you brought him here. Is he hurt? What—”
“He’s okay. He’s with the doctor now.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, paced a few steps away, then came back. “Kelsey, what the hell’s going on?”
She drew an unsteady breath. “Caleb has bruises on both arms, his stomach, and his ribs. He says … J.D., he says you caused them.”
He stared at her. “No. No, he wouldn’t— I would never— You can’t possibly believe—”
“Of course, I don’t.”
“Then why are we here? Why is Dad home packing the kids’ clothes? Why the hell did you call Mitch?”
Mitch laid his hand on J.D.’s arm. “J.D., come on. The kid’s been hurt, and he’s pointing his finger at you. We’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”
“He’s lying, Mitch.”
“I know, buddy.”
“He’s lying. I never laid a—” J.D. broke off and rubbed his eyes. Kelsey recognized the guilt stealing over his face and felt the sickness return.
“I did grab him,” he said, appalled by his own admission, by the implications. “I was talking to him, he started to walk away, and I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. But I didn’t grab him hard enough to bruise.” An anxious note entered his voice. “I know how much force it takes to leave a bruise, and there’s no way, I swear, there’s no way I grabbed him that hard.”
Kelsey wrapped her fingers tightly around his. “The marks on his arms were made by hands smaller than mine. If you’d caused them, they’d be twice that size. He’s obviously lying, J.D., to get back at you because you grounded him, because the kids like you, because he sees you taking his father’s place with them, because he wants to remove you from their lives.”
“And you’re going to do that, aren’t you?” Accusation was as dark in his eyes as in his voice. “You’re going to take them. You know he’s lying, and yet you’re going to give him what he’s lying to get.”
She swallowed hard. “I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice, Kelsey. You’re just making the wrong one.” Slowly the emotion faded from his eyes, leaving them flat and dull, and he pulled his hand from hers as if he could no longer bear the contact. “Apparently so did I.”
The words hurt more than any blow could have. In spite of his concern that she would regret last night, instead, he did. He was sorry he’d made love to her, sorry he’d kissed her, trusted her, told her that he was falling in love with her. He regretted it all, and that was enough to break her heart.
He turned to Mitch, effectively dismissing her. “Can I see him? With you or the doctor or whoever?”
Mitch looked to Kelsey, and she nodded numbly.
“Sure, come on.”
As they walked away, she sagged against the counter. He was wrong. She didn’t have a choice, not when it came to the kids. Anytime there was an accusation of abuse, the child—in this case, children—must be removed from the home until an investigation was completed. Even if there was evidence that the accusation was a lie, she had to follow procedure, for the kids’ safety and for her own peace of mind. If Steph’s social worker had done so twenty years ago, she wouldn’t have been dead a few weeks later. That wasn’t a result Kelsey was willing to risk.
But she did have a choice when it came to him. She could protect herself from him, could avoid him at all costs and keep herself safe. Keep her heart safe.
If it wasn’t too late.
Chapter Fourteen
J.D. stood in the hallway, hands knotted in impotent fists at his sides, and watched as Mitch carried a wailing Gracie out the door, followed by Bud with Noah sobbing against his shoulder. His arms filled with bags of clothing, Jacob stopped on the porch and looked back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s not your fault, Jacob.” It was his for ever agreeing to take the kids in. For not expecting Caleb’s lies. For being so arrogant as to think that he could help Caleb.
“We ’preciate everything you done. We—we liked being here. ’Least, me and Gracie and Noah did.”
J.D. swallowed hard. “I liked having you here.”
Jacob’s eyes appeared twice their normal size and were swimming with tears. “We’re real sorry Caleb lied. It was nice bein’ a family with you. We wish—” The first tear slipped free, and he turned and raced down the stairs.
Kelsey stepped into the doorway, then looked back. “I’m sorry about this.”
How could the woman he’d made love to just last night sound so cold tonight? Surely she didn’t believe— She’d sworn she didn’t believe Caleb’s lies, but maybe she had lied. Maybe she did believe him capable of hurting a child. Maybe she knew so damned little about him, thought so damned little of him. Maybe last night had meant nothing to her … when it had meant the world to him.
He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t bear to see what was on her face, what was in her eyes.
“Don’t do this, Kelsey.” His voice came out low and choked, but it was the best he could manage. “They belong here. They belong with me. Please … please don’t take them.”
“I can’t leave them. You know that.”
No, she couldn’t. Especially not with Stephanie and the utter senselessness of her death guiding her.
“Where are you taking them?”
“I—I can’t tell you that.” At least she had the grace to sound embarrassed about it. “J.D.—” But she thought better of what she was about to say, closed her mouth, and walked out.
He heard the engines start, heard the cars drive away, followed by his father’s slow, disheartened steps on the stairs. At last he reached the top and came inside, closing the door. Bud walked straight to J.D., put his arms around him, and held him tightly. “It’ll be okay, son. Everything will be okay.”
There had been a time in his life when his father’s word was gospel. If Bud said everything would be fine, then, by God, it would be fine. But that time was long gone, and this was never going to be okay, and if he ever considered caring about someone again, he’d just shoot himself and avoid the heartache.
After a long time J.D. let his fingers relax, then lifted his arms to hug his father. “It’s been a long day, Dad,” he said wearily. “If you’re getting tired of the sofa, I’ve got four beds avail—” He couldn’t finish the word, couldn’t say anything else at all.
They stood there a long time, then Bud turned away and wiped his eyes, blew his nose. “I don’t mind the sofa. Let’s get some rest, son.”
They walked down the hall together, then separated at the living room. J.D. flipped on the hall light as he passed, got to his bedroom door, then returned and shut off the light. The kids were gone. There was no need for the night-light.
He didn’t undress. He just lay atop the covers and stared at the ceiling. The living room light went off. The sofa creaked as Bud settled in. A car passed by on the side street. His heart pounded.
He’d gotten what he wanted in the beginning—the kids were gone. Unfortunately now he knew he’d only thought that was what he wanted. Now that they were gone, he wanted them back. He needed them back. He needed to know that they were asleep in the next room, that Gracie had her stuffed animals, that Noah hadn’t put his pajamas on backward, that a light was left on for whichever one was afraid of the dark.
Damn Noelle for giving him the kids, and damn Kelsey for taking them away.
And he could damn himself for not trying harder with Caleb. For not heading off this problem before it occurred. He’d known Caleb resented his closeness to the other kids, had known he’d look for some way to get J.D. out of their lives. Any kid who watched TV, heard the news, or talked to other kids knew that an accusation of abuse was quick, easy, and effective. He should have been prepared for it.
But it still threatened to break his heart.
And Kelsey was likely to finish the job.
Turning onto his side, he picked up the phone and dialed her number. She answered on the third ring, sounding wary, suspicious.
He knew all the things he wanted to say. Tell me you’ll let the kids come home again. Promise you’ll help me get Caleb back. Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know me better than that. Show me that last night meant something to you.
But he couldn’t find the right words to give voice to one request—to one plea—and so he said nothing. He lay there, listening to the hum on the line and the soft sound of her breathing, and his fingers tightened till his knuckles turned white, and he said nothing.
She didn’t say anything either, not after that first hello. After a full minute, maybe two, she hung up. She’d known it was him, and she’d had nothing to say.
Wearily he hung up too.
He dozed fitfully through the early morning hours. After his run he showered and ate the breakfast Bud had cooked, then went to the phone. Mitch Walker had filled him in on what to expect. The police department would conduct an investigation, then make a report to the district attorney. If there was no finding of abuse, that would be the end of it for J.D. There would be no charges filed—but there would also be no children. He would be removed from the foster parents roll, which meant he wouldn’t be eligible to take the kids when their current emergency placement ended.
If there was a finding of abuse, charges would be filed and there would be a hearing. He would still lose the kids, and maybe a whole lot more.
Either way, Mitch had recommended that he hire an attorney first thing that morning, J.D. had protested that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was innocent. But sometimes, Mitch had pointed out, when a case involved kids, innocence was no defense.
There were only two lawyers in Bethlehem. Since Alex Thomas was the kids’ court-appointed lawyer, that left Jillian Freeman. He called her office, arranged to meet her at nine, then hung up to face his father’s scowl.
“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Bud said vehemently. “You tried to help that boy, and they’re punishing you for it. Any fool can see he’s lying.”
Though J.D. fervently hoped so, his shrug was casual. “He’s a kid. You can’t be too careful when a kid’s safety is at stake.”
“Anyone who knows you knows you’d never do something like that.”
Again J.D. hoped so—but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t swear that Kelsey knew.
After finishing his coffee, he drove downtown. Jillian’s office was across the street from the courthouse in a Victorian house that had been converted to a quilt shop on the first floor, offices on the second. He climbed out of his truck and glanced across the street, his gaze automatically going to the third floor windows that looked in on Kelsey’s office. Was she there at her desk, swept up in plans to tarnish his reputation and quite possibly destroy his life?
Actually, no. She was standing in front of the courthouse. Her hair was down except for a few strands on either side, gathered and pinned in back, and her frilly, feminine dress was made from fabric that resembled a Monet watercolor. She paced back and forth, clearly waiting for someone. Mitch? The D.A.? Judge McKechnie?
As if she’d felt his gaze, abruptly she turned and looked straight at him. Even with the street between them, he could see the color rise in her cheeks—could see the softness disappear and the defenses go up. When she slowly, deliberately, turned her back to him, it was apparent whose side she’d taken in this ugly mess.
He felt as if he’d been betrayed.
Jillian was waiting in her office. She was a few years older than him, divorced with three kids, and one tough lawyer. Like him, she’d come to Bethlehem from somewhere else—like him, for a reason. He didn’t know what it was and didn’t care.
She invited him to sit. He chose to pace. As he walked the length of the office, he sketched out the bare bones of the case. He finished his story and the pacing at the window, watching as Kelsey shook hands with Mary Therese, then led the way inside the courthouse.
“So you admit to grabbing the boy,” Jillian said at last.
“Once. Only once.”
“Which shoulder?”
He stopped to think. “Right.”
“And this was in the hallway. When you went into the bedroom with him, did you touch him?”
He closed his eyes. The question made him feel sick. He had asked other people questions of that nature before, but he’d never dreamed that someday he would be on the receiving end of the suspicion. “No, I didn’t. We stood on opposite sides of the room. I was never closer to him than ten feet.”
She asked a few more questions, then swiveled her chair around to face him. “You came here about a year and a half ago from Chicago, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“Is there anything in your past that might count against you if there’s a hearing? Any legal trouble, disciplinary problems with your job, personal problems?” She cleared her throat. “I’m not trying to pry, J.D., but I can guarantee you that if there’s a hearing, the state’s going to fi
nd out everything there is to know about you. I don’t like surprises in court. I want to be prepared. Is there anything?”
He stared out the window for a long time, vaguely aware of the grim reflection looking back, then finally replied, “Yeah. There is.”
He drew a deep breath, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease. It wouldn’t, not until he was finished, not until this whole mess was finished.
Maybe not even then.
Huffing from the exertion of climbing the stairs, Mary Therese followed Kelsey into the office, set her briefcase and handbag on the desk, then plopped into the orange chair before fixing her gaze on Kelsey and saying, “Run that past me again, will you? I think my heart was pounding so loud that it played tricks with my hearing.”
Kelsey sat down behind her desk, folded her hands on the desktop, then lowered them to her lap. “I want to be removed from this case.”
“That’s what I thought you said. Why?”
“I can’t take part in an investigation where I know the person being investigated is innocent.”
“Seems to me like that’s one you would most particularly like to be involved in.” Mary Therese’s gaze narrowed. “How do you know?”
“I know J.D. He wouldn’t do what Caleb’s accused him of.”
“I know J.D. too—known him a lot longer than you have. But I’m not so sure he wouldn’t do it. People surprise you, Kelsey. You learned that your first year in this business, or should have.” Mary Therese made an impatient gesture. “I’m shorthanded already. If I remove you from this case, then that means I have to take it over. Give me a reason to do that.”
Kelsey knotted her fingers together, exhaled loudly, and, with heat rushing into her face, blurted out, “I like J.D.”
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