After reading the first paragraph, he went to the door and called, “Beth, Anne emailed us.”
Her feet thudded on the stairs as she ran up. “What did she say?”
“We’ll read it together.” He pulled her down on his lap in front of the monitor.
Anne’s initial summary stated she hadn’t found anything interesting in the grandmother’s background check. However, she had analyzed everyone’s data together and written another summary.
Drusilla reported running away from home due to her mother’s “religious fanaticism.” Ada Brun has no life other than her church, no interests other than religion. Glimpses obtained of the subject’s home reveal an altar in the living room with lit candles. Religious artwork covers the walls. Although a small television is present, the only other entertainment is a Bible and religious tracts. No other magazines or books were noted. Her life appears unbalanced to an unhealthy degree.
“Yet it would be difficult to indict someone for being religious,” Beth said glumly.
“True. But being overly controlling and strict is a problem when it comes to children. Read this.” He pointed to the next paragraph.
Follow-up interviews with the neighbors reveal all squabbles were outgrowths of the subject’s complaints about various children who cut across her lawn, played too loudly in their own yards (or on a Sunday), used “foul” language—again in their own yards or on the street. She places high value on observation of “the Sabbath.” The subject often criticizes various neighbors’ child-raising skills, using Bible references. Although the neighbors mangled the subject’s quotes, enough was remembered to find the proper references. See below:
“Whoever spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him.” Proverbs 13:24
“Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline drives it far from him.” Proverbs 22:15
“Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a rod, he will not die. If you strike him with the rod, you will save his soul from Sheol.” Proverbs 23:13-14
“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6
“The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.” Proverbs 29:15
Beth stared at Nolan as dismay filled her heart. “And she has our boys?”
“I’m calling Price.” He set her on her feet and picked up his cell phone.
Beth curled up on his office chair to listen.
Pacing around the office, Nolan eventually managed to get through to the social worker. “Listen, Price, according to information we received, Connor and Grant’s grandmother is a fucking fanatic. She’s all about corporal punishment as set down by the Bible.”
Beth held her breath. Just once, let Price be reasonable.
Nolan listened to the phone and responded, “Yeah, she believes in that spare the rod and spoil the child shit. Seems like y’all told us corporal punishment isn’t allowed.”
Price’s voice was too muted to hear.
Nolan’s jaw turned to granite. “Relatives aren’t under the same strict guidelines as foster parents? An action is either wrong or it isn’t. For fuck’s sake, Price, those boys have suffered enough.”
After listening for a minute, he simply hung up.
When Beth wrapped her arms around his waist, she could sense the rage emanating from him. “What did he say?”
“He was heading out to pick them up in a few minutes anyway. He’ll ask the children how it went when they’re in the car—it’s part of the protocol. If they complain they’ve been abused, he’ll check into things with the grandmother.”
“All right,” Beth said carefully. “That’s a start.”
“He also reminded me we’re merely foster parents providing a temporary place for the boys until placement. Any interference with a placement will result in the children being removed to a different foster home.”
“A threat.”
Nolan nodded.
“What can we do?” Beth rubbed her cheek over his worn-smooth work shirt and listened to the slow thud of his heart.
“Wait and see how it went.” He sighed. “We have to consider the possibility Anne’s conclusions are wrong. Maybe the old lady will adore her grandchildren.”
“Maybe.”
His jaw turned hard. “However, if the grandmother is abusive, we’ll rip their placement system right apart.”
Beth felt old fears surfacing. Back when she was the one suffering abuse, she’d dealt with social service systems. Nothing moved quickly, and some people like Price preferred not to rock the boat. Because they just didn’t care.
“Beth?” Sir pulled her close and rested his chin on her head.
Even with her arms filled with Nolan, they still felt empty. “It’ll be all right.”
She knew she lied.
* * * * *
In the starkly lit dining room, Grant pushed at the food on his plate with his fork. It was a hamburger, but not in a bun, and he’d taken a bite and chewed and chewed. He didn’t want any more.
His stomach was all twisty, even though they hadn’t had breakfast. He’d been hungry for lunch until Grandmother had read out of that Bible book for…forever…and had glared at him every time his stomach growled.
“Do we go home today?” Connor asked Grandmother.
The lady’s mouth pinched together, and her eyes went nasty so she looked almost like Mama when she was crazy-mad. Grant felt sick; he should have told Connor not to talk at all.
Grandmother slapped the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. “This is your home.”
Connor shrank in his chair, and tears filled his eyes.
“Eat your food,” she said.
Connor shook his head, his chin quivering.
When she started to stand, Grant said really fast, “He’ll throw up if he eats when he’s crying.”
“If you two think tears will get you your own way, you have another think coming.” She picked Connor’s food up although the plate was still full. “Maybe he’ll be hungry again at supper.”
Supper? “But…” Weren’t they supposed to go home today? Grant didn’t ask. Please let the Price man come back and get them. Please.
A few minutes later, when Grant couldn’t force anything down, Grandmother took his plate away, too and finished her food while they silently watched. After wiping her mouth, she checked the clock hanging on the wall and frowned.
When she walked over to stand between their chairs, Grant felt his body trying to slide down. “Mr. Price will ask you how this visit went. You will tell him you had a wonderful time.”
Connor stared. “But we didn’t.”
Her bony hands latched onto Connor’s shoulders. She lifted him, shook him hard, and slammed him back down. “You had a wonderful time.” She shook his shoulders again. “Wonderful.”
Connor was crying so hard he probably didn’t hear anything.
“We’ll remember.” When she stepped back, Grant put his arm around Connor. His mouth set. He’d tell the Price man the truth. See if he didn’t.
“Mr. Price will let me know what you say.” Grandmother’s eyes were hard stones in her wrinkled face. “If you say anything more than you had a wonderful time to anyone—even your foster parents—I’ll know, and you’ll be sorry.”
Everything inside Grant curled up and died. After living with Jermaine, Grant knew what she meant.
She would hurt him. Hurt Connor.
* * * * *
In the great room, Nolan stood beside Price, feeling unsettled. Grant and Connor had run into the house, hugged Nolan as if they’d been gone for weeks, and hugged Beth the same way.
When she’d sat down on the couch, they piled right onto her and clung like terrified kittens.
He studied them with a frown. Hell, if they could have burrowed beneath her skin, they would have. He glanced at Price. “Connor’s obviously been
crying.”
“That’s not surprising. Change is unsettling to a child his age, and he’s been through a lot.” Price’s expression was smug. “But they’ll settle in nicely with their grandmother.”
“What did they say about their visit?”
“They had a wonderful time.” Price noted Nolan’s disbelief. “Ask them yourself.”
“I will.”
Connor was in Beth’s lap, his face against her chest. Her arm was around Grant’s shoulders, and he’d nestled against her side.
When Nolan sat down next to Grant, the boy actually crawled into Nolan’s lap in an imitation of his little brother. This wasn’t like independent Grant at all, and he sure as fuck wasn’t acting as if he’d had a wonderful time. “How did everything go with your Grandmother, Grant?”
Grant’s face was against Nolan’s shoulder, and his voice was muffled. “We had a wonderful time.” He used the exact words Price had relayed.
“Did you like your grandmother?”
The tough little boy tensed. His answer was slower in coming. “Uh-huh.”
Price clapped his hands. “There, see? What’d I tell you, Mr. King? The children enjoyed their visit.” Price walked toward the door. “I’ll start finalizing the arrangements so they can move in with their Grandmother permanently. In the interim, they’ll visit so they get to know each other. I’ll arrange another overnight with her tomorrow.”
* * * * *
“Move in with their Grandmother permanently.” The Price man’s words circled inside Grant’s mind like a train on a round track. Each time he heard it, he wanted to yell, to scream, to throw things.
But this was their after-lunch quiet time. So, at the bedroom table, he colored a truck picture with long, jagged, black and red streaks. Ripping it from the book, he crumpled it and threw it across their bedroom. “I hate the Price man. And Grandmother, too.”
Watching with wide eyes, Connor nodded. After a minute, he quietly put his two cookies inside his fridge.
When Beth had said she had macaroni and cheese if they hadn’t eaten lunch, Mr. Price said Grandmother had fed them. As soon as the man left, Connor had asked for something to eat. They’d emptied the plates of macaroni and cheese with carrot sticks, so Beth had given them more, and they ate that too, and then her forehead wrinkled, and she asked if Grandmother had forgotten to feed them. Although she’d smiled, her face didn’t look right.
When Connor told her, “We had a wonderful time,” even her smile had gone away.
But she’d given Connor two cookies. “One for you, one for Grant. For your refrigerator.”
With the cookies put away, Connor closed the fridge door and sat down in front of it. “I don’t like Grandmother. I don’t want to live with her.”
“Me, either.” Grant sat on the carpet beside him. “I want to stay here.”
“But the man said we can’t. He said Beff wants a baby girl, not big, clumsy boys.”
The Price man said almost nobody adopted big, clumsy boys. Scowling, Grant held up his hands and checked them over. Was he clumsy? Nolan said he was good at swimming and soccer. But, even if he wasn’t clumsy, he and Conner weren’t babies. Or girls.
His chin quivered. Why couldn’t Beth like them instead?
“Maybe we could make Beff like boys?” Connor said doubtfully. “If we were real nice…”
“Yeah, but fosters get money for keeping other people’s kids. So if Beth and Nolan keep us forever, they won’t be fosters no more, and they won’t get money.”
“Oh.” Connor heaved a sigh.
When the Price man had explained about the money, Grant hadn’t wanted to believe him. After all, grownups didn’t…always…tell the truth, but he remembered that Rory from school lived with fosters, and he’d said they got money to keep him. And they told Rory they didn’t get enough money to buy him Xbox games or a skateboard.
“Would Beff like us if we gave them money?” Connor asked. “I have a dollar.”
The momentary hope died. “A dollar isn’t much.”
Connor’s face fell. “Guess we gots to go back to the mean lady.” Sniffling, he pushed a suitcase over and crawled under the bed.
Grant pulled the suitcase out farther and started to join him. The darkness felt right—like home.
Home.
He stopped crawling and stared at Connor as hope rose within him, big and strong and sure. “Mama had money.”
* * * * *
That night in the great room, Beth held a book unopened in her hands and simply listened to the boys splash in their oversized bathtub. Their giggles mingling with Nolan’s deep laugh soothed her worries.
After the children’s quiet time in their room, they’d emerged with smiles. When Nolan said he’d teach them to paddle his old canoe, they’d even cheered. After returning, they’d helped put the toppings on the pizza, creating happy faces from the pepperoni and sausage.
Happy faces.
She’d had to force herself to be cheerful, because, when they’d changed into shorts to go on the lake, she’d seen their legs. Their poor little knees weren’t scraped or scabbed in the way a child might get from falling down. She knew—oh, she did—exactly what made those reddened bruised marks. Although she often knelt for Master Nolan, he insisted she use a cushion if the floor wasn’t carpeted. But her first husband? Oh, he’d loved to make her kneel on concrete or hardwood.
Nolan, observant Dom that he was, had seen the marks on the boys, and his face had turned dark, but he’d shaken his head at her to wait. Now she understood why. While helping them shampoo their hair, he’d also assess them quietly for other marks.
Beth glanced at her book and tossed it onto the coffee table. Nothing could keep her interest right now. Honestly, if the grandmother were nice, Beth would grieve at losing the children, but would be happy for them to have a loving relative. But this woman…
How could they let the children go to a woman who wouldn’t care for them?
Footsteps. The giggles grew louder. The boys were out of the bathroom. There were thumping noises as they got their pajamas from the dresser and bickered over which superhero print each would wear.
Her smile faded when a grim-faced Nolan entered the great room. “What?” she asked.
“Connor has bruising on his ass. They have some bruises on their shoulders and upper arms.” He sat down beside her.
Rage filled her so quickly her vision went red. “She made them kneel long enough to leave marks. And now you’re saying she hurt them?” Unable to sit, Beth stormed across the room and back. “They were so hungry she must have starved them, too, didn’t she? Didn’t she?”
“Easy, sugar.” He pulled her down in his lap. “Maybe it was her. Or could be Connor fell down. Could be the boys were wrestling and picked up bruises. They wouldn’t tell me. Not fucking anything. But we’ll figure it out and fix it.”
Her body vibrated with anger. “I’ll kill her. That’ll fix it.”
His low laugh rumbled through the room. “Best we find something else. The kids won’t want to visit you in prison.”
“You’re taking this awfully well.” She turned to regard him. As overprotective as he was, she’d have thought there would be an explosion.
“I’m a calm man.” At her skeptical snort, he sighed. “And I’m going to have to fix the bent towel rack in the kid’s bathroom.”
Now there was the Dom she knew.
“What should we do?” she asked.
“There’s not enough evidence to point fingers, but…we’re bound by law to report any suspicion of abuse, so we will conform to the letter of the law. I’ll let Price know we’re worried.”
She thought for a minute. “After you call and report the marks to Price, I’ll send a hard copy to his supervisor. Mrs. Molina seemed like a nice person.”
“Good idea.” He growled. “If the boys won’t talk, we can’t do much else right now.”
“But, Sir, the children go back to her tomorrow morning.” B
eth felt like crying. “Let’s run. Take the boys and run. We can…can go live in South America or something.”
His mouth was an unhappy line. “I hear you. But we’d have trouble getting them out of the country, especially since we’d be reported missing. We’ll stick to the rules…for now. If the system fails them, then, yes. Our job is to protect them, so that’s what we’ll do, no matter the cost.”
He was right. She hated it, but he was right. Only… “What if she hurts them?”
“Easy, darlin’. We don’t know if she did, right?” He trapped her on his lap before she could start pacing again. “But, just in case, I’ll hire Galen to put surveillance on Mrs. Brun’s house. Using one of those noise detectors, the agent will hear if she makes them cry—and someone can…conveniently…intervene.”
“Oh.” Both intervention and a witness. “I like the idea.” She considered. “I bet Gabi, Uzuri, and crew would be happy to visit the old woman and try to sell her cookie dough.”
“There you go.” He stroked her hair. “We’ll keep them safe. Somehow, we’ll keep them safe.”
Turning in his arms, she straddled his knees. “I love you so, so much, my Master.” She kissed him, gently. Sweetly.
With a huffed laugh, he squashed her against him and took control of the kiss. She could taste his fury.
A giggle broke them apart. Two well-scrubbed boys in pajama shorts stood in the doorway.
Beth wrinkled her nose at them. “So, you think it’s funny to see the Nolanman kissing me?”
Still giggling, Connor nodded.
“Okay, buster, that means war.” She picked up a soft pillow and fired it at him.
The battle was on.
Chapter Nineteen
While Grandmother was locking the front door on Saturday morning, Grant sidled over to the window and pulled back the curtain to watch the social worker driving away. Finally.
Before leaving, Mr. Price had told Grandmother she better not hit Grant and Connor ’cause Nolan had threatened with liabitterly, whatever it was. Grandmother had been really mad at Mr. Price. She was mad at him and Connor, too.
Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11) Page 19