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Swept Away
Gwynne Forster
MILLS & BOON
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To my husband who loves me and whom I love; to the memory of my father who gave me my first lesson in the meaning and power of a man’s love; and to my stepson who is so much like them both.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Veronica Overton walked with prideful steps into the executive ladies’ room on the fifth and top floor of the building that housed the agency, Child Placement and Assistance—CPAA—that she headed as executive director. In the three years that she’d been its chief, she’d developed the agency into a driving force on Baltimore’s notoriously depressed and blighted west side. When she went home to her co-op town house in upper-middle-class Owings Mills, just outside Baltimore proper each night, she could pride herself in the knowledge that she’d made it; she’d accomplished what millions strove to do. She’d reached the top of her profession before her thirty-third year, and by bringing integrity to everything she did, she’d won the respect and admiration of everyone who knew or knew about her. Veronica reached the entrance to the ladies’ lounge and stopped short.
“What do you know about that?” she heard a woman ask. “Her Highness, Lady Veronica, is flat on her backside. The invincible Miss Overton. Not even the governor can get her out of this one.”
Veronica recognized Mary Ann’s voice when she said, “Why’re you so happy about it? I think it’s a reflection on all of us. Somebody slipped up somewhere.”
“Yeah,” came the voice of Astrid Moore, the woman who had competed with Veronica for the position of executive director, “but Her Highness is the one who’ll burn for it. That man means business.”
Veronica rubbed her arms to relieve the sensation of burrs and thorns attacking her skin. Forgetting that the women thought themselves alone, she startled Astrid with a hand on her shoulder.
“What are you talking about? What’s happened that I don’t know about?”
Astrid’s glistening white teeth sparkled against her smooth dark skin. “You didn’t know? Schyler Henderson just held a news conference. Seems Natasha Wynn is missing from the foster home we placed her in, and he’s suing CPAA for negligence.”
Veronica couldn’t help bristling at the accusation, even as apprehension raced like blood through her body. “Negligence? He’s out of his mind. Some children run away from their own parents.”
“Yes,” Mary Ann said, stepping over to Veronica’s side in an unspoken gesture of support. “But Mr. Henderson said the home in which we placed Natasha is an unsuitable environment. You know what that means.”
“Do I ever!” Veronica wrinkled her nose against the sweet, sickening perfume that Astrid sprayed around her neck and ears. “Thanks for your loyalty, Astrid. Be sure I won’t forget it. Not ever,” she added with pointed sarcasm.
She inspected her light brown skin, combed her black, artificially straight hair, refreshed the lipstick that matched her dusty-rose raw-silk dress and walked out of the room head high and shoulders straight. People said she walked regally, but she felt anything but regal right then. A blast from Schyler Henderson and his Advocates for the Child (AFTC) people could topple her, destroy all that she’d done and sink her into professional disgrace.
She welcomed the sharp mid-March air that greeted her when she stepped out of the CPAA building. Winter had hung around longer than usual, and she tugged her street-length black shearling coat closer to her body. At the corner, she bought some roasted chestnuts from Franco, who told her proudly that he’d sent three children through college on what he made selling them. She believed him. Over twelve years, chestnuts at ten for a dollar fifty could have bought him a mansion.
The twenty-minute train ride home gave her just the time she needed to unwind after a hard day and to begin thinking of her other life. Her choral society, work with the shelters and her plan to help juveniles achieve more respect in their neighborhoods. She wanted to form them into groups of volunteers who would assist people in emergencies. As she entered the two-story brown brick structure, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride. It was hers, and she didn’t owe one penny on it.
After a light supper, she sipped ginger ale and watched the evening news. The Henderson man was everywhere, and his commanding presence and mesmerizing charisma seemed to have worked their magic on the reporters. Not one of them questioned his accusations; not one pointed out her contribution to the people in the area she served. Sickened by the media’s readiness to put her on trial, she flipped off the TV and set about planning her defense.
The next morning she sat in her office with her deputy, Enid Dupree, discussing the agency’s options. Enid didn’t believe they had the resources or the proof to combat AFTC. “Veronica, you know Henderson is formidable when he makes a case against you. Look at the way he managed that case against the boys’ club.”
Veronica sat forward. She’d forgotten that case. “But this agency is not culpable.”
Enid shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. He believes in his soul that we’ve destroyed Natasha Wynn, and if you didn’t have anything more to go on than the evidence he cited to the press, you’d say he’s right.”
“I
