A Matter of Trust (The Boston Five Series #5)

by Poppy J. Anderson

  With a sigh, Morgan opened the file and scanned the notes her boss had taken.

  Kyle Rhys Fitzpatrick

  The first name sent a thrill through her as she remembered the way her Kyle had made her feel, but she quickly squashed it. She was back at work. She needed to be professional. She continued reading:

  Born 1985 in Boston

  Address 3217 Massachusetts Lane

  In a relationship

  Degree in Medicine from Boston University

  Pediatrician

  Works at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Boston

  Volunteer work in a welfare center

  No criminal record

  Flawless character reference

  Involved in community work

  Etc.

  Morgan understood why her superior thought this potential foster father was a suitable candidate and expected her to write a recommendation within the week. When you looked at the file, there was no aspect that suggested the pediatrician wasn’t fit to be an optimal foster father.

  Still, Morgan didn’t want to make a snap judgment before she had even met the man. And she would be thorough. Her last case had taught her that you could never be too thorough or concerned when the welfare of a child was at stake. She would thoroughly vet Dr. Fitzpatrick before she’d agree to put a child into his care.

  She reread his file in detail before her lunch break, taking notes and writing down questions she would ask the pediatrician. Then she went into the lunchroom, where she sat with a few female colleagues and talked about some new regulations while eating a Caesar salad. Before she went back to her desk to get her keys and head out to meet the pediatrician, she pulled out her phone to send her Kyle a text. A few days had passed since their last date, and they’d both been too busy to meet up, resorting to lots of texting back and forth instead.

  She smiled when she found another message from him, hoping that none of her colleagues would notice the stupid grin on her face.

  I’m busy again, but could you maybe send me a voice mail? I want to hear your voice.

  Jesus, the man was sappy!

  And awfully cute.

  She smiled, put her phone back in her bag, said goodbye to her colleagues, and put away her empty tray.

  On the way to 3217 Massachusetts Lane, which was only a few blocks from her own apartment, Morgan had to force herself to focus on the case and keep her thoughts about Kyle at bay. Unfortunately, that was only partly possible, because the man she had fallen for—head over heels—was just so cute. If he hadn’t been so damned empathetic and funny, she would have had much less of a problem focusing on her job. But as it stood, all she could think about while looking for a parking spot was what exactly she should say in the voice mail he’d requested. She got out of her car and walked over to the pretty, three-story building that lay on a residential street with a safe 25-mile-per-hour speed limit.

  She smiled as she watched some children in a playground on the other side of the street, side-stepped a young woman with a stroller, and then rang the doorbell. The answer was a buzz, and she pushed the door open. When she saw the bike in the corridor, she paused for a brief moment, but her thoughts were derailed by the file that slipped from her open bag. She swore under her breath as she caught the file, snapped her bag close, and then climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  Maybe she could send Kyle an erotic message, asking him what day he didn’t have an early shift and inviting him to stay the night?

  She reached the top of the stairs with a private smile on her face, shaking off any thought of a sex date with Kyle before knocking on the apartment door.

  ***

  “Dammit, Pam! Mr. Simpson from DCF is here! You said you would be here …”

  “We got a ruptured aneurysm, Kyle, and Dr. Matthews put me on post-op. I can’t leave right now. I’m sorry.”

  Kyle clenched his teeth and tried not to panic—not now anyway, when the DCF agent who would decide whether Cody could come live with him or not was climbing the stairs. He’d be there in a few seconds. He couldn’t panic now. But he was already sweating like a pig with anxiety. He was irrationally frightened he would embarrass himself or blow his chances.

  For two days, he’d been getting the apartment into shipshape, cleaning each and every corner and even wiping down the insides of the lower kitchen cabinets. He’d thrown out the old shower gel tubes that had been sitting in his bathroom for eons and hung up pictures that had been lying on his desk for months. He’d organized his closet, thrown away canned food whose shelf life had expired, and, with the help of his brothers, had emptied out the small guest room that was destined to become Cody’s.

  Jesus, he’d even made his own lemonade from scratch, all to convince the man of his qualities as a father—and what did Pam do? She blew it all to pieces by attending one of her precious surgeries!

  If Cody had to go to an orphanage because of her, he’d never forgive her.

  What would the inspector think if she wasn’t here for this crucial visit?

  Goddammit, he’d even bought a new shirt for this occasion and had his mother cut his hair the evening before, doing everything he could think of to leave a good impression.

  “I’m sorry, Kyle …”

  “You know how important this appointment is,” he hissed as he stepped away from the door, just in case the DCF agent had raced up the stairs in record time. This was one conversation the man should not overhear.

  “Yes, I do,” Pam said, “but my job is also important.”

  “Thanks a lot, Pam, thanks a lot,” he muttered angrily. And then he hung up on her.

  Taking a few deep breaths, he rubbed his face with his hands, hoping he hadn’t gone all red-faced with anger. He put his phone on silent, just in case Pam tried to call him back, and put it in a drawer in the dresser he’d carried here with Aidan and Ryan last night in order to make the hallway look less stark and empty. His apartment had looked like a typical student den until a few days ago, but now one could reasonably assume that it was inhabited by adults. He hoped the agent from DCF would see that as well.

  A knock on the apartment door made his pulse race.

  He took one last deep breath, slapped a smile on his face, and opened the door.

  But it wasn’t Mr. Simpson from DCF standing in the corridor. It was Morgan, and she looked just as shocked as he felt.

  He ran a hand through his hair in confusion. “Morgan? What … what are you doing here?”

  She stared at him, her wide eyes showing her absolute shock.

  He didn’t understand what had brought her to his door. “When did I give you my address?” he asked casually.

  “Kyle … I … I …” She paused. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes,” he said, confused. “For several years now.”

  And then she seemed to have some sort of epiphany. Opening her bag hastily, she rummaged through it.

  Kyle didn’t understand what was going on, until she looked into his face again, her eyes now narrowed in righteous anger. Then, it dawned on him, too. He gasped in horror.

  Shit.

  “Morgan …”

  “You are Dr. Kyle Fitzpatrick? Pediatrician at St. Vincent’s?” Her voice all but crackled with fury. “You want to foster your ten-year-old patient?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. But—”

  “And where’s the girlfriend you’re living with?” she interrupted his lame explanation. “The one you neglected to mention to me?”

  For a brief moment, he wasn’t able to reply at all. He felt paralyzed, his brain racing in panic through the mess he’d gotten himself into. But he came up empty. There was no way to get out of it. When he finally managed to utter words again, his voice was frighteningly calm. “You work for DCF.”

  “Bingo!”

  Of all the stupid things he could have said, he chose the stupidest. “You could have told me that.”

  One didn’t have to be clairvoyant to expect Morgan to hit the roof at that sugge
stion.

  And that was what the red-haired woman did—have a full-blown fit of rage, right in the corridor of his apartment building. “WHAT? I should have done what, Dr. Fitzpatrick?” She was shaking with anger. “Do you hear yourself? You’re blaming me for not telling you where I work? At least I told you nothing but the truth, Mr. ‘Paramedic’!”

  His shoulders sagged. “Before I went to college, I actually was a paramedic, Morgan.”

  “Oh, well, that changes everything then,” she spat. “I can’t believe I wanted to sleep with you!”

  At least his neighbors were getting a spectacular show, Kyle told himself. He also registered that what they said about redheads was true: they sure did have a fiery, explosive temper. This particular redhead seemed close to boiling over as she stuffed papers back into her bag without looking.

  “Morgan, I can explain—”

  “EXPLAIN?” She threw back her hair, seemingly ready to physically attack him. “How the hell are you going to explain to me that you have a girlfriend, with whom you are planning to adopt a child, while going on dates with me at the same time?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh? What else is new?” she hissed. “And why the hell do you go around telling strangers in pubs that you’re a paramedic? Why would you do that, if not to hide your identity because you have a girlfriend waiting for you at home?”

  Kyle made a face. “I’m not hiding my identity! This isn’t a CIA hearing.”

  “Why have you been lying to me this entire time?”

  He raised his hands, getting surly now, too. “I started to tell you when I was over at your place, but then you kissed me and—”

  “Now it’s my fault?” she thundered.

  “No!” he shouted back. Sighing, he smoothed back his hair and tried to remain calm. “I was tired and frustrated the evening we first met. At the hospital, some of the nurses were annoying me, because I’m an unmarried doctor and all that. So I—”

  “Do you think I’m not doing my job?” she cut him off, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “Your girlfriend is a surgeon at the same hospital, Dr. Fitzpatrick! So why would nurses chase you when they know your partner? You must really think I’m stupid!”

  He could see a shadow moving under the door on the other side of the hall—which suggested that Mr. Burns was listening—but he couldn’t let Morgan walk away without explaining. “Pam is not my girlfriend, Morgan.”

  “Are you really trying to take me for a fool?” she hissed.

  “No,” he said with the sincerity of despair. Shaking his head, he realized the only thing that would get him out of this was the full truth. “Pam is my roommate and my best friend. That’s all there is between us.”

  He could see in her face that she was confused, angry, and hurt, all at the same time. He wanted to take her in his arms and pull her close, but she would probably attack him with her bag if he tried.

  “Do I look stupid enough to believe this shit?” she muttered.

  Kyle shifted his weight and licked his dry lips. “I want to take Cody in, and I talked about it with a colleague who has foster children, too. When he told me that I’ll have to prove my environment is stable, I was worried …” He shrugged.

  “And you thought you’d lie to DCF,” Morgan finished for him.

  What a stupid mess. He had screwed up beyond belief.

  “Would you please come inside so we can talk?” he tried helplessly.

  She stood there, motionless, staring at him, her eyes and face unreadable.

  Kyle felt a rising panic in his gut. “Morgan … the kid means a lot to me, you know?”

  “If he’s that important to you, why didn’t you mention him to me?”

  He took a nervous breath. “I didn’t want to frighten you away by telling you I wanted to foster a ten-year-old kid. You and I, we only just met.”

  Morgan crossed her arms. “In other words, I wasn’t important enough to tell.”

  “No, that’s not what I said!” Kyle’s hands curled into fists. “Of course you’re important to me, Morgan.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Important enough that you play the role of a gentleman who wants more than just sex, but not important enough to tell who you really are, Dr. Fitzpatrick.”

  “That isn’t fair,” he said helplessly.

  “I agree, it isn’t.”

  “Morgan, goddammit …” He tore at his hair. “It’s not half as bad as you think. Of course you know who I am.”

  When he took a step toward her, she raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t come any closer right now, please.”

  But he ignored her request and stepped closer, looking into her eyes with a sober, earnest expression. “I didn’t lie to you. I just wanted to …”

  When he paused mid-sentence, she arched a brow in question.

  “I wanted to get to know you. It didn’t matter to me whether I was a doctor or a paramedic.” Kyle swallowed hard. “And I also wanted … I mean I want to offer this boy a good home. I started panicking, feeling like I had to be the perfect candidate. Which usually involves a stable relationship. So I faked it. Can’t you understand that?”

  She didn’t respond for such a long time that Kyle had to struggle with every fiber of his being not to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. His head was a blur of a million panicked thoughts, alternating between the horror of having blown his chance at becoming a foster father for Cody, and the horror of screwing up with Morgan. It drove him crazy to see this woman study him with such a critical, skeptical expression and keep him at a distance. After all, she was the woman who made his heart beat faster whenever he thought of her, the one he thought of first thing in the morning and right before he fell asleep.

  He couldn’t contain himself any longer. “What are you going to do?”

  When she finally replied, she was very quiet, very chilly, and very far away. “I’m going to do my job, and then I’ll drive back to the office.”

  “Morgan …”

  She stuck out her chin resolutely. “Can I come in now and take a look around your apartment? That is the reason I paid you a visit today.”

  Kyle had no choice but to let her walk past him. She began to scrutinize his apartment with an expression of utter disdain. She wandered from room to room, her shoulders drawn back and her posture stiff, ignoring his presence and taking notes. Kyle felt like the worst idiot on the planet as he followed her around, wringing his hands and completely at a loss for words.

  She was standing in his apartment looking unbearably beautiful in her white blouse and blue jeans, a strand of hair having escaped from her ponytail curling seductively around the back of her slender neck. He wanted to brush aside the strand and press his lips to the velvety skin that had smelled so amazing when he’d explored it only a few days ago.

  If heaven existed—which he hoped, because otherwise he’d spent far too many hours sitting on a hard wooden bench in church—then someone up there was having a grand old laugh at Kyle’s expense.

  When she set foot in the empty guest room, Kyle quickly explained, “I didn’t want to furnish it yet, so Cody could decide what he wants his room to look like. Once he’s told me what colors and style he likes, I’ll go get paint and furniture right away.”

  He watched nervously as she took another note but didn’t say a word.

  And on it went like that, until Morgan had inspected the last room in his apartment and put her notes back into her bag. She gave him a stoic nod. “That’s all for the moment. I’ll get back to you to set a date for an interview with you and Cody.”

  His mouth fell open. “M-Morgan, we need to talk!”

  “No, we don’t.” She shook her head with finality. “I’ve got your number.”

  Chapter 9

  Instead of drowning her despair in alcohol, Morgan was sitting on her best friend’s couch, holding Casey in her arms and inhaling the wonderful baby scent to calm herself down. While the little girl was busy playing w
ith Morgan’s necklace, she recalled Gayle calling someone a baby whisperer. But she didn’t want to be reminded of that certain someone. At least now she knew why Kyle was so good with children. As a pediatrician, it was part of the job.

  “Don’t pull your sister’s hair!” Gayle yelled through the house, before coming down the stairs as loudly as an entire herd of elephants looking for a watering hole. You wouldn’t have thought she was just a 130-pound woman.

  “You’re still looking like you need a shot,” Gayle said, apparently also thinking of wild animals and watering holes. “I’m sure Harry kept some of that moonshine his cousin made.”

  “Not right now,” Morgan mumbled, preferring to stroke the baby’s tiny back while feeling the soothing weight in her arms. “That’s the last thing I need today, going blind from your husband’s weird cousin’s liquor.”

  After she dropped into an armchair with an exhausted sigh, Gayle’s reply was typical of her. “Right, we can’t have that. Imagine—you’d show up here with a guide dog, and then the girls would pester me day and night for a dog. That’s the last thing I need.”

  Morgan didn’t reply but fixed her gaze on the chubby-cheeked baby in her arms. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock of her discovery. She’d felt paralyzed for hours. Why did nothing in her life go right anymore? She’d met the perfect guy, fallen for him like there was no tomorrow, had felt ready to go back to work, feeling better than she had in a long time—only to be thrown back to square one as soon as she thought everything was okay. She’d been knocked out cold by a right hook. She was lying on the floor in a daze, metaphorically speaking, and couldn’t imagine ever getting up again.