The deputy stepped inside the kitchen and stood near the door.
She stared at her hands. “How could they think I would strike a child?”
“What do you mean, we’re being reassigned?” Eliza asked.
Maddie raised her eyes. “You and April are to pack and be ready to leave by nine in the morning. Social Services will be taking you to another foster home after the sheriff asks you both some questions. The deputy is here to make sure you two stay safe until morning.” Maddie’s voice was strained.
Stunned, Eliza looked at the cop. What had Jo told the police?
April touched her arm. They left the kitchen together, not speaking until they were in April’s room.
“We have to find out what’s going on,” April said. “And just where they plan to send us. Maddie didn’t hit Jo. She couldn’t possibly have caused the damage I saw. Why would Jo say she had?”
“I don’t know. Why would Chelsea lie about Cade and Marlise?”
“It’s hardly the same thing,” April snapped.
“It is to me. Both lies are changing my whole life.” Eliza headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To find out something.”
She sneaked down the stairs. There was only silence from the kitchen, so she picked up the phone and dialed Cade’s number. She would talk to him as April had suggested. And tell him she was being reassigned. Where would they go? She couldn’t think of an available foster facility in town. But Social Services wouldn’t assign them out of town, would they?
The phone rang and rang. Finally Chelsea picked up.
“Cade, please,” Eliza said.
“He’s gone to work. He’s so angry. I’ve never seen him so angry before. He hates you.” Chelsea was practically shouting. “I’ll make sure he always hates you. You can’t have my brother!”
“Shut up, Chelsea. He’s your brother, not your boyfriend.”
“He’s mine. He loves me. You tell him I never lied to him.”
“Tell him yourself.”
There was a pause. Then Chelsea said, softly, almost in a singsong voice, “I won’t be here to tell him. But he won’t ever forget me. Or what you did.”
“Where are you going?” Eliza asked despite herself.
“Nowhere. I’ll be dead.” The receiver slammed down.
Eliza couldn’t believe Chelsea would ever even think of such a thing. How like her to be so melodramatic. How Cade stood it was beyond her. Eliza listened for a moment. No sounds came from the kitchen. Slowly she walked to the front door and eased it opened. She had to talk to Cade. Had to hear his side of things and explain her own.
And what was she going to do about Social Services? He had to help her or she was going to lose her home. Chelsea couldn’t be right. He would forgive her. Nothing had happened between her and Shell. It was Cade she loved. She couldn’t lose him.
CHAPTER ONE
ELIZA SHAW SWORE AGAIN as she shifted to balance her dripping, overstuffed handbag, stack of damp mail, twisted skeleton of an umbrella and soggy bag of food, all the while trying to unlock her apartment door.
“Dammit!” she muttered through clenched teeth. The perfect ending to the day from hell. She hated days like this. She was wet from head to toe and had a raging headache to boot. Sometimes it didn’t pay to get out of bed.
“If anything else goes wrong, I’m wiping the date off the calendar for years to come,” she muttered, finally succeeding in opening the door. She burst into her apartment, dropping the handbag and remnant of her umbrella onto the hardwood floor.
She kicked off her sopping shoes and tossed the mail on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. She was freezing. The month of April was supposed to be the beginning of spring, not the tail end of winter. The forecast had been for a little rain—ha! If the storm that now raged over Boston had arrived after midnight as predicted, instead of twelve hours earlier, she wouldn’t have been caught in it at all. She glanced at her watch. It was not quite eleven-thirty. Too bad the storm hadn’t listened to the weatherman.
Every cab in the city had been elsewhere, leaving her to trudge the twenty blocks between work and home in the pouring rain. The wind had laughed at her paltry umbrella, twisting it inside out within seconds of leaving the safety of the restaurant.
“If I ever win the lottery, I will hire my own chauffeur,” she vowed as she traipsed into the kitchen. She turned the faucet on high, blasting water into the teakettle, which she quickly set on the gas range. Hot chocolate or tea would help to warm her up along with a hot shower.
Impatiently waiting for the water to boil, Eliza went to the flashing answering machine and pushed the button. She needed to get out of her wet clothes. The rain had soaked through her jacket and even her sweater was damp.
“Hello, Eliza,” a familiar voice said. “I know you’re still at work, but call me when you get home no matter how late.”
Eliza frowned, checking her watch. It was late, but she’d still call. Stephen would wait up until she did. He didn’t like the fact she worked until after eleven most nights, and after midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. But as a sought-after chef in one of the hottest restaurants in Boston, Eliza was used to the long hours. Stephen knew working late came with her job. There was no need to have her check in every night.
Guilt tugged at Eliza. She was tired and cranky. She should appreciate that Stephen cared enough for her to want to know she was safe. It was nice to feel cherished. She shouldn’t take out her bad mood on him.
She picked up the phone as the teakettle screamed. Carrying the portable receiver with her into the kitchen, Eliza quickly made a cup of tea, then punched the speed dial for Stephen’s number.
“What are you doing still up?” she said when he answered.
“Waiting to hear from you. You’re later than I expected.” He sounded worried. “Are you all right?”
“Sopping wet. There were no cabs so I had to walk.”
“In this downpour at this time of night? You should have called me.”
She smiled, feeling warmed with his concern. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t have asked my worst enemy to come out on a night like tonight.”
“I wish you’d quit that job,” he said. “Find something that has daylight hours. Or open a business of your own. You know I’d back you in a New York minute.”
He’d suggested it before. Maybe it was time she gave the idea some serious thought. “After this walk home, I’m closer to starting that catering business we’ve talked about,” she murmured, taking a sip of the warm tea. More days like this and she’d take the plunge. She’d never thought of herself as an entrepreneur, but she had menu ideas for special events bubbling around in her mind.
“You’d still be working evenings, but with a better clientele,” Stephen said. “ And you could take off when you wanted. Let’s get married right away, sweetheart.”
He’d been patiently waiting for her to pick the right time to get married. She loved Stephen, but was not quite ready to make that final commitment. What was wrong with her? Or was she still adjusting to the fact they were engaged? It had only been a few weeks. She needed to get used to the idea.
“Maybe I could work from home and we could spend all our time together,” he said facetiously.
Eliza laughed. “Sweetie, I can’t see your