The Child Comes First Read Free

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    â€œTiffany is alone in the world,” Jayda said, hoping to build upon the unexpected sympathy she’d glimpsed in this man. “And that’s not her fault.”
    He remained silent a moment, then seemed to collect himself. He glanced down at the folder on his desk. “She has a history of acting out. And she’s accused of murder. Not negligent homicide or involuntary manslaughter, but second-degree murder. What sane people would feel they could take such a child into their home?”
    Jayda leaned forward, holding his gaze. “We have to get her out of the detention center. Surely you can guess how bad such places can be. And she didn’t kill Derek Baldridge.”
    â€œWhat about the other incidents of fighting and such?”
    â€œShe was barely walking and talking when the first one was recorded, and the others were self-defense. Sometimes she has a temper, but she’s had a tough life. Come with me to the juvenile facility and talk to her right now—ask her to explain. I hope you’ll see that she’s worth saving. Please.”
    A few frozen moments passed before she knew he’d do as she’d asked. With a rueful half smile, he eased back against his chair. “I’ll need a few minutes with my secretary to rearrange my schedule,” he said. “And I’ll drive us there. On the way, we can talk more about Tiffany and this crime she’s accused of. I can bring you back to your own car when we’re finished.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. But she didn’t like the idea of being alone in a car with this man she didn’t know. Trapped. She’d likely have nightmares about it later. They’d merge with the ones she’d had since childhood, ever since her uncle had come into her life and made it a living hell with his groping hands and lurid games. And yet she’d agreed to ride in the car with Montgomery, anyway—for Tiffany’s sake.
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    S IMON DIDN’T KNOW WHY he’d wanted Jayda to ride with him. He’d always been so careful to be seen only with women who dressed and carried themselves in just the right way, women who could enhance his prestige in his chosen profession. He wouldn’t let anything tear down all he’d achieved so far. Certainly not a prim social worker with an overabundance of concern for a child accused of murder. Yet, he’d asked her to ride with him in the car he’d refurbished with such loving care….
    He loved his restored Mustang almost as much as he loved winning in the courtroom, and he wondered what Ms. Kavanagh would think of it. Most of the women he knew couldn’t understand the deeper beauty of this hot little vehicle, but they almost always appreciated the vintage Mustang for its ever-increasing monetary value. He figured he’d be treated to outright disdain from the social worker because he drove something so impractical.
    â€œHere we are,” he said as he approached the low, sleek car with its gleaming hunter-green finish. Resisting the urge to polish an isolated smudge with the microfiber swatch he always kept in the pocket of his Armani suit, he led her to the passenger side and eased the key into the lock—no remote entry for a car such as this. When he opened the door for her to slide into the seat, he had the inexplicable feeling that he was inviting her to slide into his life. Why that would flit through his mind when she was so utterly wrong for him, he couldn’t imagine.
    She didn’t immediately get into the car, but stood back a few paces. Her eyes glowed as she took in the lines of the vehicle, focusing on one detail after another. She nodded to herself, seeming to be lost in her observations, then she smiled.
    â€œIs this a Shelby GT?” she asked. “A 500, right?”
    His jaw dropped. He’d never met a woman who could identify the car. Most could tell it was a Mustang, but that was about it.