for help. But then, Adele didn’t have anyone else.
Neither did Jordan.
And that’s why the knot twisted even harder.
The next two voice mails had the repeated gist of the first message so Jordan kept going through them, hoping for some explanation.
“Where are you?” Adele had shouted in the fourth one. “I need you. Corbin needs you. Why aren’t you answering your bleeping phone?”
“Because I was on an international flight that I told you about—twice,” Jordan grumbled. Behind her, the automatic toilet flushed. “And why are you using words like bleeping?” But she was obviously talking to herself.
Jordan didn’t know who Corbin was, but since it had been over a year since she’d seen Adele, it was possible that was the name of her current boyfriend. Also possible that this Corbin was the reason Adele was in some kind of trouble. Adele didn’t usually make good choices when it came to men or her social/political causes—a reminder that only twisted Jordan’s stomach even more.
Before she went to voice mail number five, Jordan tried to call Adele again. Still no answer, and she hoped this was a case of Adele’s crisis already being fixed. Maybe Adele and Corbin were in the kiss-and-make-up stage and had turned off their phones so as to not be disturbed. If so, then Jordan was definitely going to have that burger and shake. Maybe a margarita, too.
After Jordan left a message for Adele to call her back, she played the next voice mail. This one didn’t start with a shout but rather a sob. “Oh God. Jordan, I really screwed up. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. Please.”
That hit Jordan far harder than the shout had. Adele apologized a lot, but an apology mixed with tears was never a good sign. With her hands a little unsteady now, Jordan quickly scrolled down to the next voice mail.
But this one wasn’t from Adele.
It was a number that wasn’t in Jordan’s contacts, and when she hit Play, the voice was unfamiliar, too. “Major Rivera, I’m Ruth Gonzales, a social worker from the Department of Human Services in San Antonio. Could you call me immediately?”
Jordan’s stomach did more than merely tighten. It went to her knees. She doubted it was a coincidence that DHS and Adele had left her messages within the same hour. But what the heck was going on? There was only one more voice mail, and it had also come from the social worker’s number.
Her hands were more than just a little unsteady when she hit Play, and her heart was beating hard enough that it might be difficult for her to hear. “Major Rivera,” the message said. “This is Ruth Gonzales again from the DHS, and I just wanted you to know that it’s all been worked out. Corbin is on his way to be with his father.”
All right. That calmed Jordan’s nerves and heartbeat some. Or at least it did until she thought about why a social worker would have contacted her to tell her that Adele’s boyfriend was with his father.
A social worker wouldn’t have done that.
Mercy. Yeah, this was bad.
Jordan hit the button to call Ms. Gonzales to find out what the heck was going on, but she had to wait through five long rings before the woman finally answered.
“This is Major Jordan Rivera—”
“Oh yes,” the woman interrupted. It was the same person on the two voice mails. “Didn’t you get my message? It’s all taken care of.”
“Yes, I got your message, but I don’t understand. Who’s Corbin?”
Silence. And it lasted even longer than the telephone rings. “He’s your cousin’s two-and-a-half-year-old son.”
The relief came just as the toilet flushed again. This time, though, the plastic seat cover decided to switch itself out, as well. The whirling-grinding sound was so loud that Jordan had to raise her voice to make sure the social worker heard her.
“There’s been some mistake. Adele doesn’t have a child.”
“But she does.” Ms. Gonzales sounded pretty adamant about that.
However, Jordan was equally adamant. “If Adele had had a baby, she would have told me.”
Though the moment the words left her mouth, Jordan got another of those bad thoughts. Maybe Adele would have told her. Unless she’d thought it would upset Jordan.
Which it would have.
Adele had no business having a child when she could barely take care of herself.
“It was your cousin’s name on the boy’s birth certificate,” Ms. Gonzales went on. “And she had his social security card. The child even called her Mama.” The woman paused. “Major Rivera, I watch the news so I know who you are. I’m also aware of what you’ve been through.”
Jordan heard something in the woman’s voice that she’d been hearing way too much of lately—sympathy. Not just a little dose of it, either. It was the poor, pitiful you tone. Since she was a woman, everyone thought the worst. That she’d been sexually assaulted. She hadn’t been. But during those two days she’d been held captive, Jordan had imagined in crystal clear detail all the bad things that could have happened to her.
She’d broken down and cried.
Some hero she turned out to be.
“Major Rivera,” the social worker said, getting Jordan’s attention. “Adele explained that you’ve been out of the country for months and that you were coming here on leave in between assignments, but do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Apparently not. “Why don’t you fill me in?” Jordan suggested.
It sounded as if Ms. Gonzales dragged in a deep breath. “Well, before your cousin was arrested, she brought her son to me, hoping that he wouldn’t be put in foster care while she was in jail. She said she didn’t have time to take him anywhere else because the cops followed her here.”
There was only one word that Jordan managed to hear in that explanation. “Arrested?” she howled. “For what?”
“Uh, I’m not at liberty to discuss that, but maybe you can talk to Dylan Granger about it? If you’re comfortable talking to him, that is. Your cousin said something about things being strained between you two. Because he’s your ex-husband.”
Even though the toilet was flushing nonstop as if it were possessed by a demon, Jordan had no choice but to sit down on it. The automatic plastic cover seat slithered like a snake beneath her butt.
“Dylan Granger?” Jordan managed to repeat.
“That’s right.” Ms. Gonzales sounded downright perky that Jordan had managed to make the connection. “Your cousin gave him temporary custody of Corbin because Dylan Granger is the boy’s father.”
* * *
DYLAN NOW KNEW firsthand what it was like to be a Ping-Pong ball. He was volleying stunned glances between the paperwork the social worker had handed him and the little boy who was standing just a few feet
