Page 7 of Claiming His Bunny
Kayla
No ghosts haunt meduring the night, and no serial killers break through my locked doors. When I wake up, I’m disoriented until I recognize my new bedroom in my new house. Yep. Still here. Not a dream I just woke up from.
I rub my cold feet, cursing myself for not unpacking the rest of my clothes. My night socks are buried somewhere in a box and without them, my poor feet never stay warm enough when I sleep. Unless I have someone to warm my bed, of course, but that’s not happening anytime soon. Or ever.
My thoughts drift back to Ethan Bennett, but I shut them down. It’s only my second day at work, and I can’t afford to be distracted by someone who’s most definitely nowhere near as perfect as Michelle made him out to be.
I pull a knitted dress over my head and glance at myself in the mirror, frowning. I’ve put on some weight, just like Nick cruelly pointed out in his “it’s your fault I cheated” speech. The dress clings to my hips a little too tightly for comfort. I take it off and settle on simple black pants and a teal blouse.
The local CPS department seems pretty relaxed about dress codes. I’ve already seen colleagues wearing everything from suits to ripped jeans—a definite upgrade from the strict rules we had in Kansas City.
I send Amy a quick text, teasing her about the absence of home invaders in the “hillbilly” town, then jump into my car. This time, I turn the GPS on before I even start the engine. I don’t think Director Smith would tolerate me being late because I got lost in a town as small as Bluebell Springs.
Since I still can’t access my laptop or any of the department’s databases, I spend the morning discussing current cases with Michelle until it’s time for the meeting. Nerves hit me again. I’ve been here for a day and a half, and I haven’t done any real work yet! Sure, no one’s assigned me anything, but what if Director Smith thinks I’m slacking off and decides to fire me?
Wringing my hands, I sit next to Michelle at a large oval table. Everyone else files in, chatting animatedly about everything from this morning’s traffic (not bad), some sports event that was on last night (Opossums lost, although I’m not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing), to developments in their cases. The last one catches my attention because it sounds like someone is selling drugs in the local high school, but before I can ask about it, Director Smith enters, and the chatter dies out.
“Morning,” she greets, her gaze sliding over the room until she locates me. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new social worker. I hope you’ll treat her with respect and help her with anything she might need to get her bearings.”
My seat suddenly feels uncomfortable as all eyes turn toward me. It’s the first day of school all over again, and I can’t shake the awkwardness crawling up my spine. Surreptitiously, I glance at my chest to make sure I’m wearing clothes and that this isn’t a nightmare. The warm smiles and nods my new colleagues are sending in my direction makes some of the tension leave my body. They don’t hate me. That’s just my lack of self-confidence rearing its ugly head.
“We’re going to balance the caseload,” Smith continues, “by transferring some of the active cases to Ms. Reynolds. That should leave everyone with more breathing space and get Ms. Reynolds up to speed on how things work in this town, who are our contacts in various departments, and other useful things. You still aren’t in the system, right?”
Before I can start apologizing for something that isn’t even my fault, Michelle rushes to my rescue. “Clifton has some nasty stomach bug and hasn’t been at work since Wednesday.”
Smith rolls her eyes. “Can’t he do it remotely? He’s an IT guy, for god’s sake. Tell him to grant Kayla access to our systems, or I’ll personally drag his puking ass over here. Oh, may I call you Kayla?”
I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed or straight out laughing like the rest of the team is. “Of course,” I murmur in response to Smith’s question. I’m not about to tell my scary boss that she doesn’t get to call me Kayla.
“I’m not sure he’s puking out of his ass,” Michelle notes dryly. “But I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
“Good. We’ll go over the standing cases later, but first, we have two new ones.”
“Two?” One of the younger women sighs. I think her name’s Beth. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing Kayla is here now because we can barely manage the ones we already have.”
Smith nods in agreement, then clicks a remote. The projector on the table flickers to life, displaying an image of a smiling teenage girl. It looks like a yearbook photo. “Georgia Simpson,” Smith says. “She turned eighteen three months ago.” Noticing the looks of confusion around the room, Smith continues, “She also had a baby four weeks ago.”
I study the picture again, imagining the overwhelming burden of having a baby at eighteen. The poor girl must be in over her head. I can’t even imagine having a baby now, let alone when I was in high school.
George, the only man on the team besides the vacationing Jason the Pen Clicker, frowns. “Does she have priors?”
Although that’s usually the reason we take on these cases, the girl in the picture doesn’t fit the profile of an addict or alcoholic. Smith’s next words confirm my thoughts. “No. As far as we know, she’s been a straight-A student, and the most trouble she’s been involved in was pranking her biology teacher with a live frog in her drawer. She lives in Sunrise Terrace right now, just her and the baby. The neighbors repeatedly complained that the baby ‘cries a lot.’” Smith mimics air quotes around the words.
“Seriously?” George raises an eyebrow. “A month-old baby that cries? Impossible!”
“Yeah, the neighbors have their own set of issues,” Smith says with an edge to her voice. “However, they called the police, who were mandated to alert us. Deputy Powell was on duty that night and told me there didn’t seem to be anything wrong in the household but that Georgia could definitely use some help. It seems like she’s all alone. The parents kicked her out, and the baby’s father isn’t in the picture. She’s struggling to get by but hasn’t asked for help. The asshole neighbors have actually done her a favor by alerting us to her case because now we can step in and help.”
Across the table, Beth snorts, her blond braids swaying from side to side as she shakes her head. “Yeah, I bet she’ll throw herself right into our arms and start thanking us the moment we show up at her door and tell her we’re from CPS.”
No, she’ll be terrified. Most of them are. Someone will need to gain her trust and convince her we’re there to help and not to steal her baby. And I know who that someone will be. “I’ll take the case,” I blurt out, eager to get started. Then, realizing Smith hasn’t officially assigned it, I quickly add, “If that’s okay?”
Smith gives me a small smile. “Of course. I know you aren’t new to this field of work, but I didn’t want to dump a brand new case on you on your second day here. However, if you want it, it’s yours. Michelle will give you a rundown on the support structures we have in place that are relevant to Georgia’s case. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it. We’re a team here.”
“Thanks, I will,” I say. I fidget in my chair, ready to spring into action, but I force myself to calm down. The meeting isn’t over yet, and I’ll probably have much more work to be excited about before it ends.
“Good. The second case will be a little more…problematic.” Georgia’s photo fades into one of a young boy, around seven or eight years old, with hollow cheeks and dark circles under his haunted eyes. “Aaron Adams,” Director Smith announces. “We’ve received anonymous information that he’s being abused by his father, Benjamin Adams.”
That causes a wave of surprised whispers. “Benjamin Adams?” one of my older colleagues asks. I think her name is Laura or Lora or something similar. I didn’t get to talk to her yesterday, so I’m not sure. “As in the Chief of Surgery Benjamin Adams? That’s ridiculous. He’s a doctor!”
