Free Barefoot by the Sea by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

way to make those who did have the power move fast enough so some arbitrary, inane rule that said he couldn’t have the children back after they turned four closed in and ended all hope.
    “Close to what?” he asked Henry as calmly as he could.
    “Just…close.”
    “Henry!”
    “Listen, I know how you feel.”
    “Like hell you do,” Ian growled. “I’d kill someone to get them back.”
    “Well, don’t,” Henry deadpanned. “That’ll just make this more impossible. Just trust me—”
    “I’m sick of trusting you!” He kicked a stone under his boot, hearing the dead silence on the other end. “Sorry, listen, I just…I hate not being able to do anything. Watching that calendar move closer and closer to the cutoff and waiting for you to call and say I’m free to get them is killing me. I am…completely powerless.”
    “You’re not. You can do something so that when we get those guys—and we will, Ian—you are in a position to reclaim the children from their protective custody in Canada.”
    “Anything,” he said honestly. “I’ll do anything.”
    “Start with getting your shit together, mate. That means—”
    “A job.” He’d dive into that McDonald’s in five minutes and have a job. “I can do that.”
    “More than a job; you need stability.” Henry’s voice was rich with implication, but Ian would be damned if he understood.
    “More stable than a job? What? Management?”
    Henry snorted softly. “Sta-bil-i-ty,” he repeated, dragging the word out. “The kind that says your life is together. John Brown needs to be completely on track.”
    “What exactly does that mean, Henry?”
    Henry sighed, a sound that was out of character and not exactly promising.
    “What?” Ian demanded. What did he have to do to get his kids?
    “You have a little time,” Henry said vaguely. “Obviously, we can’t make any move on the Canadians for release until we’ve got every single member of N1L behind bars. So you actually have some time to do this.”
    “To do what?” What was Henry getting at? Was he about to hand out yet another identity and new place to live? Fine, whatever. As long as Ian could live on the mere possibility of getting his children back.
    “Look, I had a conversation with my counterpart in Canada yesterday to discuss how we get the wheels rolling should we clear out the streets of Brixton.”
    They’d better clear, and the wheels better roll. The minute that gang was off the streets and it was safe, Ian wanted his kids back.
    “The review board has had a change of personnel and they’re more strict than ever.”
    What the fuck did that mean?
More asinine rules about a man and his own offspring? He bit back his anger, as if that proved he was capable of control.
    “The new board is insisting that you prove your life is together, professionally and personally, before they give you back the kids.”
    How together could he be in these circumstances? “Henry, what the hell do I need to do?”
    “Get married.”
    He froze, blinked into the phone, and almost laughed. “
What?
”
    “You need to get married. At least on paper. They’re going to want proof that you aren’t a single parent.”
    He coughed in disbelief, turning in a circle like he could possibly find someone to share how ludicrous this was. “I need a
wife
?”
    “You need proof that you have one. She doesn’t actually have to appear in the hearing, just sign a piece of paper.”
    “There’s a
hearing
?”
    “There could be. There is a process, Ian, like any government red-tape-ridden system. I can help you through the process and we can do an awful lot in the background like, say, annul a marriage that’s real on paper only. But you need to produce that paper.”
    “You make it sound simple to get someone to sign a marriage certificate.”
    “With your charm?”
    Yeah, he was swimming in that today.
    “Can’t you guys doctor one up?” The magic they’d performed with instant legit and totally