Free Kane (BBW Billionaire Romance) by Christa Wick Page B

job markets—and crime statistics.
    A phone call woke her at seven a.m. on Wednesday, her heart seizing as she read the caller ID.
    NC DHHS Children’s Services
    “Hello,” she answered cautiously. She had talked to Reed about notifying the agency, which had given her temporary custody of Christine while she worked to officially adopt the baby. He had said the company’s legal department would contact them for her and ensure there were no issues.
    “This is Children’s Services calling for Daniella Marquardt,” a woman said.
    “This is she,” Daniella answered. “With whom am I speaking?”
    “Julie Thrall, I am a colleague of your caseworker.”
    More panic crept in and she tightened her sweaty grip on the phone. “Why isn’t Mr. Corbin calling me himself?”
    “Because Mr. Corbin is at the burn unit with a brother and sister set on fire by their grandmother,” the woman snapped. “Speaking of fires, we have a report that you are no longer living at the address provided on your temporary custodial agreement.”
    “No…” Daniella’s heart began to pound against the back of her sternum, her face flushing hot and beads of perspiration forming along her top lip. “An attorney was supposed to contact the agency—”
    “No such contact occurred,” Thrall said, cutting her short. “We need to see the baby immediately and then schedule an appointment to inspect your current lodgings.”
    “Of course, I will get her dressed and be at the agency when it—”
    An exasperated sigh silenced Daniella.
    “A caseworker must see the child,” Thrall chided. “Not a secretary or receptionist. Do you think we’re that dumb, Miss Marquardt?”
    “I don’t think you’re dumb at all!”
    Good Lord! Daniella thought. She had really lucked out getting Mr. Corbin as Christine’s caseworker. She couldn’t imagine having this sniping, rude woman making decisions about the baby.
    “If you can meet me at eight before I make my next health and welfare check on one of my kids,” Thrall powered on, “I won’t have to send the police out to take the baby from you.”
    She paused and then her tone turned menacing.
    “Is that going to be a problem, Miss Marquardt?”
    The question danced around inside Daniella’s head. She didn’t have a car, would have to get a driver and Christine would need changed.
    “Is it?” the woman asked again. “Perhaps you should just give me your location now and I’ll dispatch a unit.”
    “No, tell me the address,” Daniella blurted. “We will be there.”

    * * *
    A trailer park ? Daniella silently questioned as the Tap&Ride driver passed between the two crumbling brick pillars that marked the entrance.
    The park was run down, almost stereotypical in appearance as someplace a Child Service’s caseworker would visit on a regular basis. There were no lawns between the mobile homes, just dusty brown spaces with random patches of yellowing grass and vehicles that looked like they should have been hauled off to the salvage yard years ago.
    “What number did you say?” the Tap&Ride driver asked, his hand leaving the wheel to stroke at an annoying soul patch as sparse as the clusters of grass.
    “Two-twenty,” she answered in a distracted manner as she studied the aluminum-clad structures they passed.
    Her stomach, already tied in knots, felt ready to dissolve and her face began to heat. Something was off. The park was a single lane, starting with one-oh-one on the left and two-oh-one on the right. They were halfway down its length. Two-twenty would be on the right at the very end.
    None of that was alarming. But there were a lot of motorcycles in the park. They weren’t worn out scooters or cheap rice burners. They were choppers—long imposing bikes with skull caps hanging off handlebars instead of proper helmets.
    “Stop!” she said.
    The driver responded by taking his foot off the gas.
    “Back up—”
    “We didn’t pass it,” he interrupted.
    “We need to leave