Smiling all the way to my office, I step inside to see someone sitting in my chair.
Well, swinging on it with his feet up on my desk like a millionaire businessman.
“Michael, feet off the desk. Now.”
Using my mom-voice doesn’t really get me anywhere, seeing as I do it with a huge smile on my face.
But Michael’s different. He’s a good boy.
His feet slip off my desk and he smirks. “Got some news for me?”
Shit.
My face falls. And when he sees it, so does his.
Michael is almost seventeen. He has a foster family, but there lies the issue. His mother got out of jail not six months ago, and he wants to live with her again.
But she…
“She doesn’t want me back.” He glares down at his feet.
Walking forward, I place my bag on my desk and take a seat in the visitor chair with a sigh. “Oh, sweetie. It’s not that. There’s more to it than just wanting you back, which she does, by the way.”
He turns his glare to me. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Leaning forward, I look him right in the eye. “I am on your side. Always. Don’t ever question that.”
Looking properly chastised but still pissed, he asks quietly, “Why?”
Leaning back in the chair, I explain, “There’s a huge process when a person comes out of jail. The housing they’re provided is usually not great, and basic as basic comes. Then there’s finding a job. And sticking to it. In your mom’s case, she needs to go to therapy every week, and she’ll have drug tests done on a monthly basis for a while. And honestly, honey…” He looks up. “…she thinks you deserve better. As do I. Her main concern was getting you back for a few months, you turning eighteen, and then going it on your own. Which you will. Won’t you?”
Michael’s face softens. “Yeah. I just need money first.”
A small smile appears on my face. “Okay, then. We’ll find you a job.”
He nods, then asks, “How’d it go with Tahlia?”
The little shi-
He knows I can’t answer that.
Putting on my poker face, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He grins, “Yes, you do. Her court thingy was today. And you’re her case worker.”
I shrug casually. “If you want to know anything about Tahlia, I suggest you ask Tahlia.”
Michael’s face turns dreamy. “She’s a hottie. I see her around school, but I never get a chance to talk to her. And I’d like to.”
That’s so sweet. My poker face starts to crumble, “Well, maybe you should make an effort. Ask her out. Go to a movie or something.”
His face becomes stoic. “The only time I’ll ask a girl out is when I can take care of her. And right now, I can’t. So dating isn’t an option.”
God help us. We’ve got a bossy little keeper in the making.
My face softens with a smile. “You’re a good boy, Mikey. We’ll find you a job. And soon.”
Standing suddenly, he picks up his school bag and heads for the door. “Later, Miss Ballentine.”
Turning to the door, I call out, “Later, sweetie.”
As soon as Michael exits, Charlie enters. Charlie is my boss and an awesome guy. He’s Maori, from New Zealand. So he’s this big, tall, thick, olive-skinned man, but his voice is so sweet and high-pitched, it’s like talking to a lamb in a lion suit.
“Got time for a word, Lex?”
I motion him forward. “Sure thing. What can I do for you?”
Moving to sit behind my desk, he moves to the chair opposite me and hands me a flyer, along with paperwork. Already nodding, I know what this is.
Yearly drug tests.
It’s mandatory in my field. Social work in Australia has a zero-tolerance view on drugs. Which is fine. I don’t do drugs anyways.
Charlie leans forward and says softly, “These are coming early this year. We’ve got a tip that someone in the office has been using.”
At the idea of someone I work with getting caught doing drugs, my scalp tingles, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Wide-eyed, I whisper, “Oh.”
Charlie nods at my reaction. “Exactly. We’re thinking of making them biannual, rather than annual. Make sure we keep people on their toes.”
I nod in full agreement. “If people are starting to be lax, that might be a good idea. Especially if one of ours is using.”
The idea of one of my kids being led by a person taking drugs makes me mad.
A lot of these kids have seen too much wrong in the world, and most of it has been caused by drugs. I want to protect them. I want them to have the childhood that I didn’t get. I want to be there to pick them up when they’re down.
But I need to be careful.
And I will be careful.
As much as a person with a stalker can be.
Driving home, I listen and sing along to the radio.
Knowing I have nothing, and I mean nothing, in the refrigerator to cook, I stop by a drive-thru restaurant and get a burger meal.
Pulling up to my unit building to park in my normal spot, I frown. The spotlights above the parking bay are both out. Normally, one works while the other is waiting to be fixed. I sit in my car a moment.
They were both fine last night.
Discreetly locking my car door, I look around the lot. Nothing seems out of place.
So why is my heart racing?
You’re scaring yourself.
Huffing out a humorless laugh, I run my hands down my face. I really am scaring myself. The lights are out and I’m really wound up. Shaking my head at myself, I sigh and unlock the car door. On my way out, I reach over the seat to pick up my meal.
“Shit!”
I drop my drink and it spills all over my car seat.
Growling, I reach across the middle of the seats to the back where I always keep a gym towel. Finding it, I throw the sweaty towel on the seat and try to soak up as much as I can. Backing out of the car, a hand comes around my mouth while another cinches around my waist. Tightly.
Heavy breathing in my ear. “You scream and I’ll f**k you bare. I’ve got AIDS, bitch. You want AIDS?”
Trying my best to keep calm, I shake my head quickly, and he laughs at the side of my face.
He smells bad. Really bad. Putrid.
He says, “You’re going to come with me. You’re not going to fight. You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t ya?”
Closing my eyes, I nod. But as he pulls me down the side of the building, I begin to cry. The tears fall down my face while my body shakes, trembling in fear. I can’t help it. I know I said I wouldn’t fight but I dig my heels in and claw at his arms. I don’t want him to get me somewhere dark and out of sight.