had no doubt her staff would consider him “hot.” She frequently overheard co-workers rating men who visited the CHC offices. This one had appealing black curls falling over straight black eyebrows. And eyes so dark, so rich a blue, they were almost black. He was a little too tall and muscular for Regan’s taste. But he had a nice smile. And he smiled it at her now. Waiting.
She set the glass down with a thump and, with an effort, refrained from straightening her blouse and checking the status of her suit jacket. “Uh, I’m, Ms. Grant, supervisor of the Family Assistance Department’s Child Help Center. Nathaniel Piggot is our director, Mr….?” Regan reached a hand across her desk. Her firm clasp demanded the man seated opposite her supply identification.
Ethan’s stomach turned when he heard Nathaniel Piggot’s name. He could only hope Ms. Grant wasn’t taking a page out of the director’s book. Left up to Nathaniel, all needy kids would eventually be phased out of the system to sink or swim. He guarded the department’s budget as if it were his private fortune. Piggot didn’t believe in providing what he termed “frivolous” services. Basic needs, in Ethan’s estimation.
“Sorry,” Ethan said, realizing he’d taken too long to give her his name. “I’m Ethan Knight, Detective, Desert City PD. That’s my partner, Taz, out in the hall. One of them, at least. Mitch Valetti is the other.” Grinning, Ethan turned briefly toward a huge black shadow visible through the frosted glass panels that flanked Regan’s door.
She followed his movement and barely suppressed a shudder. Her lips tightened and her earlier welcoming voice became decidedly cool—due only in part to the hulking animal. Regan erased her first favorable assessment of Ethan Knight. Policemen didn’t rate high on her list. In fact, she’d taken this job to forget a messy breakup with her fiancé. Jack Diamond, a captain with the Phoenix force had the same outward charm as Detective Knight. Too late, Regan had learned that Jack spread his charm around to every woman he met, including some he arrested. They’d lived together a short time, yet she’d been the last to find out Jack had a problem keeping his pants zipped. His pals on the force all knew, but not one had clued her in. In Regan’s estimation, policemen were vermin scraped from the bottom of the barrel.
She clasped her hands on top of her desk and leveled at Knight the sternest look she could muster. “I’ve read your name on case files processed by my predecessor, Detective. While you may have worked directly with Anna, I have a different policy. All new cases go straight to Level-one Intake. There they’ll be read, ranked and assigned to available caseworkers on a needs basis set up by Director Piggot.”
Ethan, who’d gathered his reports from the floor during her terse little speech, slapped the stack in front of her on the desk. “Well, I’ve saved you the trouble of ranking Mike and Kimi Hammond, as well as Marcy White.”
Regan’s narrowed gaze went from the man’s thinned lips to the papers still fluttering on her blotter. She didn’t like Ethan Knight’s belligerent stare or his arrogant attitude. “Wh-what do you mean, saved me the trouble? Ranking cases based on service requirements is what we do at CHC. Reports come to us from several sources. Police intervention is one, but minor in the larger scheme, I assure you. Take these forms to Sandy Burke, three doors down. Oh—should you need to see me again, please leave your dog outside. I assume there’s a rule excluding animals other than seeing-eye dogs from government buildings. If not, there should be, and I’ll certainly make a request to have one implemented.”
“Really?” Ethan leaned forward, supporting both arms on the desk. His nose nearly touched Regan’s. “My dog has better manners than a lot of people you’ll meet, including some who work here. I don’t know where you got your training in social work, Ms. Grant, and I don’t give a damn. But in Desert City we take care of our needy or abused kids at the time they require help. We don’t send them up dead-end channels never to be heard from again.” Rising to his full six foot two, Ethan glared down into her pale features. “These kids have been processed. All my reports need is your look-see at the foster homes and your signature. It’s fine by me if you shred the vouchers. The kids got the medical care when they needed it. That’s what counts in my book.”
Regan picked up the top set of papers and scanned the page until anger blurred her vision. Her jaw sagged, but her head shot up and she impaled Ethan with a scowl. “I can’t believe you have the gall to step on our toes so blatantly and then come here and deliver me a lecture, as well. What credentials do you have? What gives you the right to decide who in this town is qualified to care for a troubled child?”
“Three children—this time,” Ethan said in a low, dangerously soft voice. “I suppose you could say my credentials come from working Desert City streets for fifteen years.”
Regan drummed her fingers on the paper she’d let fall. “No degree in psychology or sociology?”
“Criminal Justice,” Ethan snapped.
“I see.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the back wall. “I have a master’s in child psychology and one in social work, Mr. Knight.”
“Detective,” he said curtly. “A rank I earned working with the scum of society while you sat in civilized classrooms and studied in quiet libraries.” Damn, but something about the snooty tilt to this woman’s chin irked him.
Regan pursed her lips. “I don’t have to defend myself to you. I think you’re well aware that you’ve exceeded your authority, and to what extent. I want it stopped here and now.” She stabbed a finger at Ethan’s painstakingly typed reports. “Otherwise, Detective, I’ll initiate a formal reprimand and personally place my complaint in the hands of your commander.”
Ethan felt heat claw its way into his throat. Suddenly the term battle-ax didn’t seem so far out of line. Rising stiffly, he inclined his head in a curt movement, his back teeth clamped too tightly to manage any sort of formal leave-taking. For a moment he was tempted to whistle Taz back into the room to give the psychology expert another taste of the type of fear kids experienced when their worlds were turned upside down. But he was more humane than that.
Yet it went against Ethan’s grain to leave, allowing the supervisor to think he’d heeded her threat. Other social service agencies in town lauded the system he and Anna Murphy had built. If Ms. Power Suit Grant assumed he’d turn away from a suffering child rather than risk a reprimand from the chief, her degree in psychology wasn’t worth crap.
Bringing Taz to heel with a flick of his finger, Ethan strode from Regan’s office. Still fuming, he collected his vehicle from the station, then drove to meet Mitch.
“Wow,” Mitch said a few minutes after Ethan and Taz joined him in the unmarked car they’d been assigned. “Who climbed your butt?”
Ethan, who’d thrown himself into the passenger seat, aimed a glower at his closest friend. “What makes you think anybody did, cowboy?” Mitch was known as the Italian Cowboy around the department for two reasons—he was of Italian extraction and he owned a small horse ranch.
“I wonder.” Valetti laughed. Brown eyes sparkled with humor. “I’ve got it.” He snapped his fingers. “You got taken down a peg or two by the heir to Anna’s throne. Your message on my voice mail said you were going to drop some reports off to her. So—” Mitch waggled his dark eyebrows “—rumors must be true. Grant is a certifiable bitch.”
Ethan winced. “Where do rumors like that start? If you’ve never met her, Mitch, why would you pass on such garbage?”
“Ah. So she’s a fox?”
“Screw you, Cowboy. Quit trying to put words in my mouth.”
