Finding Purpose (Colorado Veterans Book 1) Read online

  Carlo’s tears fall heavier now and he crawls to get to me. As I stand he latches onto my waist with his bony little arms.

  The social worker peels his fingers back, trying to make him let go. “She has to go back to work. You need to let her go. I’m going to take care of you.” Her voice is flat like even she doesn’t believe what she’s saying and I have the most powerful urge to slap her hands away from him and hug him close to me.

  I know it’s an inappropriate response so instead I place a hand on her arm and say, “Give me a minute with him and he’ll walk out of here with you, okay?” She stands, brushes her hands over her long frumpy skirt, stares at me for an uncomfortable minute, huffs out something under her breath and stomps out of the room.

  I turn my attention to the sad little leach stuck to me. “Okay, here’s the deal. You have to go with her, Carlo. It’s the law. I’ll find out where they placed you and come check on you tomorrow. I won’t forget about you, okay? If you don’t get up and walk out there, they’ll drag you out and I don’t want that to happen. Please, for me. I promise I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He holds tighter to me with his skinny little arms and I stroke the short, coarse hair on his head and say, “You have to trust me. I’m sure it’s not easy for you. Just do what I ask.” He lets go and slumps to the floor. I reach under his arms and pull him to a standing position. He stays on his feet and the defeat is obvious as he lowers his head and hunches his shoulders over. Finally, he takes the hand I offer to lead him out of the room.

  The social worker is standing by the door talking to Dex when I appear. I lead Carlo over to her and say, “Carlo isn’t going to give you any trouble, but I’ve promised I’ll see him tomorrow wherever you place him.”

  “That’s highly unusual, officer.”

  “Yes, I know. I don’t make it a habit, but it’s a deal he and I made and I’ll hold up my end. I’ll need the address and phone number of where he’s going as soon as he’s placed. I’ll give you my number and you can call or text it to me later today. If I don’t hear from you I’ll track you down tomorrow.”

  Her face is tomato red. She’s pissed, but I don’t care. I’m not trying to check up on her, I’m trying to make sure a scared, neglected kid is made to feel comfortable. If it takes some extra effort on my part, so be it. “I’m not trying to step on your toes. I just want to make this easier for him.”

  She nods once and taps him on the shoulder. “Let’s go. I’ll get the officer your foster home information so she can see you.” She snatches her purse off the floor and pulls him behind her. His wide eyes watch me until he disappears around the corner.

  “How was your day?” Judson asks as he sets a plate down in front of me with a juicy steak and a large, steaming baked potato. His clothes are dingy from working in the barn all day, but his expression is light, like he feels good about what he’s doing with his time.

  “Rough. Dex and I broke up a nasty domestic dispute between an adult brother and sister. The sister was in bad shape. We found her 10-year-old kid crouched in the closet amongst a pile of dirty clothes and shoes, hiding. We’ve been to that place before, when she got beat up by her boyfriend. Poor kid’s seen way too much for his age. He latched onto me and didn’t want to let go. I hate that part of the job. The social worker showed up and it was obvious she didn’t give a shit what happened to him. She’s working only for the paycheck. I know her job is difficult, but that kid could’ve used a soft touch after everything he’s been through. I had to promise to drop by and see him tomorrow at his foster home.”

  Judson doesn’t respond. He must realize nothing he says will shovel the shit out of this day. He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. I look up and notice the tender expression he’s giving me and I’m taken back to the night on the bathroom floor when he gave me a similar look.

  The emotion of the day finally overflows and my eyes fill with tears. I tend to be pretty tough but when it comes to kids I crumble. Judson pushes his chair back and pats his lap. I don’t hesitate. I move around the table and straddle his lap. He pulls my head to his shoulder and rubs soft comforting circles around my back. I feel sweet kisses every so often on my hair as I cry.

  “I’m supposed to be a tough cop, not a crying girly girl,” I whine.

  “You’re supposed to be you. It’s what makes you good at your job. If that didn’t affect you, I’d be more worried for you than I am about your crying. Compassion is what separates you from so many others. It’s okay. No one has to know other than me.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, my voice barely a whisper.

  He carries me to the bedroom, leaving our lovely meal uneaten and strips off my clothes. I stand there as he retreats to the bathroom. I can hear the water flowing in our oversized claw-footed bathtub. When he returns, he takes his own clothes off and leads me to the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub and removes his prosthesis, then lowers himself into the tub before reaching his hand out for me. I sit down in between his legs and rest against him. He grabs the bath gel to squirt in his hands, rubs them together and washes me all over. My nipples are tight little peaks by the time he finishes.

  Judson has officially taken my mind off of things as he teases me by skirting close but not touching my most sensitive places. I know he’s distracting me from my long day with the hint of sex and I’m so thankful we live alone together now.

  As his hands drift down my chest again, I arch up and out, trying to get direct contact with his fingers. He chuckles and slips down the sides, lifting the weight of each breast but steering clear of the nipple.

  “Please, touch me,” I beg. His lips brush my neck and lead up to my ear where he circles the lobe with his tongue.

  “Shhh. Be patient,” he tells me. Why does he have so much patience when I’m a wild bundle of need and want? Goose bumps spread across my skin while his hands slide down under the water where I open my legs, welcoming him.

  “So greedy, Daisy,” he murmurs in my ear. Both hands sweep over my thighs and push them further open. “So beautiful. So perfect.” His fingers trail from my knee to the apex of my thighs and separate the lips of my sex. I squirm as he plays this game of teasing me. He’s close to where I want him but not quite there and the sound of my increased breathing seems loud enough to echo around the room. His fingers circle the opening and rub up, trapping my clit as they slide past the swollen flesh. I mew and press my hips up against his fingers.

  “Patience. I’m taking my time.” His voice seems like more of a growl.

  “No, no patience. I need you now.”

  His teeth nip at my earlobe. “I said be patient,” he commands. Both hands slide over my belly, up my rib cage and palm the weight of my breasts again. His thumb and forefinger pinch and twist my nipples and I feel desire zing through me straight to my center.

  “Judson,” I call out, “more!” He pinches and twists harder this time and I lower my hand to between my legs and circle, unable to wait any longer. If he won’t take care of me, I’ll take care of myself. I make four or five circles over my throbbing clit before his hand captures my wrist. “No, Daisy, this is my job. Just hold still. I promise to reward good behavior.”

  “I can’t wait. I need it.” When did I start sounding this whiney?

  “Yeah, you can.”

  His erection is rock-hard against my back and I hope he won’t be able to hold out much longer. He keeps one hand on my breast, pinching and plucking, while the other disappears between my legs. One thick finger pushes inside me with ease and I squeeze around it. He slides it in and out a few times and then adds a second finger. Knowing he’s not going to increase the pace, I let my head lull back against his chest and turn it to the side. When I open my eyes his nipple is right there within my reach so I flick it with my tongue and he tenses.

  “What are you doing, Daisy?”

  I don’t answer. I swipe at it again. He flexes into my back. Now that I’m certain he likes it, I turn my face more
fully into him and suck it into my mouth, trapping it with my teeth.

  “Quinn,” he groans, his voice deeper with lust. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face at his reaction and I lose the beaded tip. I lean in and repeat the process and his fingers fuck me harder. His control is slipping with each pull of my lips.

  He removes his hand altogether and flattens it against my pussy.

  “Stop,” he demands. I lean back and still myself, waiting for him to tell me what he wants. I’m pretty sure I’m about to get what I want. He pulls in a deep breath and says, “Sit up and turn. I want you on my dick and I want to watch your face as you take it. I scramble to comply, sending water splashing over the sides in my excitement. As he straightens both legs, he palms his cock, stroking while he watches me get into position like he asked. It’s a tight fit in this tub and it doesn’t help that he’s a big guy and takes up a lot of space. With both my knees trapped on the outside of his hips I lower myself onto him. He aligns us and I drop all the way down. My head flies back and I release a whimper of delight. He grips the cheeks of my ass and lifts to start my movement. I follow his lead. My breasts bounce between us and I watch as he licks his lips in response. He continues to guide my hips but lowers his head in an attempt to capture a nipple. I release the side of the tub I was using for leverage and hold my breast in my hand, guiding it to his mouth. He tugs at the tip, elongating the pink flesh before flicking it with his wicked tongue.

  I switch breasts and offer up the other, wanting to balance the sensation. His tongue swipes at me and I press it closer to his face. He nips harder this time and he flexes up into me as I drop down. My eyes widen at the fuller, deeper sensation while his lips form a naughty smirk.

  With a tighter grip on my hips, he powers up, switching the pace to high. Water is sloshing all over the bathroom as we fumble through with lack of leverage and slippery ceramic, but I ignore what’s certain to be a big mess. Instead, I concentrate on the buzzing at my core. It’s signaling that I’m close to a powerful eruption, one that’s sure to consume me. I adjust so I’m on my feet crouched over him. The burn in my thighs is holding back the orgasm that looms so close, but I don’t let it stop me from moving.

  When his eyes shift from the place our bodies are joined and lock on mine, I see lust, need, excitement, tension, and love all twisting together until he presses his finger to my clit and swirls a couple of times. Then my eyes close as my orgasm takes me to the far reaches of outer space. He grips tighter and thrusts two more times until his cock expands and explodes deep inside me. His head falls back against the tub with a thud and I lean forward so I’m close enough to reach behind him to feel if he did any physical damage.

  He wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls it to his lips. “I’m okay, Daisy. Come here.”

  I lie against his chest while our bodies settle. Most of the water is out of the tub and the cool air settles over my heated skin, chilling it slightly.

  “Thanks for making a crappy day better. I love you.”

  “Me too. I probably should have tried talking to you instead of fucking you till you forget about your shitty day though. That was my intention when we came in here but as soon as you pressed up against me I couldn’t remember my plan. I’m sorry. Please be patient with me.”

  “You’re not going to get any complaints from me. I like how you handled that situation. As far as everything else, I think you’re doing well. Do I want you to tell me what you’re feeling? Yes, but I also know it takes time. It’s only been six months since you started therapy. Give yourself some credit. Besides, I don’t want to change you, just make life better for you.”

  He kisses the top of my head and holds me close until the remaining water cools too much to stay in. Then we get out and he cleans up the flooded mess while I nuke our dinner in the microwave. Afterwards he carries me to bed where we lie for another hour as I listen to him talk about all the progress he made to the barn today.

  It’s noon when Dex and I finally finish all the paperwork piled up in our inboxes. There have been no callouts so far today so we’re going to the social worker’s office. I’m amazed she’s there when we arrive. There are stacks of papers covering all of her desk except the area her computer is on and she looks exhausted.

  “Officers,” she greets us. It’s obvious she’s not happy to see us, but I don’t care. It’s not that I want to make things hard for her, but my concern is Carlo, not if I’m interrupting her paperwork time.

  “Ms. Winsted. Sorry to bother you. I’d like the address to the home Carlo is staying in. I’ll make the visit after school.”

  Her sigh is heavy as she replies, “You can go now. He didn’t go to school today. There was a scuffle at the house last night and the housemother decided Carlo should stay home and acclimate to his new surroundings.”

  “What do you mean a scuffle?” I narrow my eyes on her.

  She huffs. “He got into a fight with another boy right before bedtime last night.”

  I take a step forward, my anger rising at the flippant way she shares the information. Dex grabs my arm and gives it a warning squeeze. I stop moving but keep my eyes trained on her, waiting for a response.

  “I’m not sure what the circumstances were, but it was an older kid he fought with. He got beat up and wasn’t in any shape to go to school today. He’s okay, officer. He’s used to this kind of thing and it was his mouth that got him in trouble in the first place.”

  “He’s 10 years old. What do you mean he’s used to this and his mouth got him into this?” My voice rises a few octaves when Dex clears his throat and pulls me flush against him.

  “I mean, officer, this is not uncommon in the foster care system, especially with the group homes. There’s a pecking order amongst the kids and he stepped out of line. I’m not condoning the behavior but I’m telling you it could have been avoided if he wanted it to be. The other boy has been punished. I have to get back to work, here’s the address,” she scribbles it on a piece of paper and hands it to me. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll check on him later. I’m buried in cases here. There are 100 more kids in my caseload who need follow-ups and I have to get all this paperwork done.”

  I look at everything on her desk and realize she’s drowning in paperwork and issues and probably even the kids themselves. There obviously aren’t enough people in this department and she’s doing the best she can. Even though it’s not close to good enough, there’s nothing I can say to make her feel worse than she already does.

  “Thank you for the address, Ms. Winsted. We’ll make the visit now.” She nods and returns to her paperwork.

  Twenty minutes later we pull up to a large two-story house at the back of a suburban neighborhood. It’s a little run-down with peeling baby blue paint and unattended flowerbeds. Bikes and various toys litter the yard, leaving no question that children live here. We ring the doorbell and an older woman answers. She’s wearing spandex pants meant for someone half her age and size, and a short long-sleeved T-shirt that barely covers her waist. It’s not an attractive look.

  “Can I help you, officers?”

  “Yes, we’re here to see Carlo Brown.”

  She squints her eyes. “Why?”

  “We were there when he was removed from his home yesterday and promised to check on him. The social worker said he’d be home today acclimating after an issue last night.”

  “Yeah, he’s here. Follow me.” She turns without so much as a smile and saunters through the house, down the stairs to the basement as we trail along. The basement is divided off into three sections, each with two twin beds. There are three dressers and one closet. The lighting is dim, but sufficient, and the air is damp and cool. I’m wondering if they bring in space heaters at night to help keep the kids warm. It’s winter and basements can get very cold.

  On a twin bed pushed against the far wall is Carlo. His back is against the wall and his bottom on the mattress. His arms are wrapped around his knees with his cheek
resting on top facing the other direction.

  “Carlo?” I call to him and his eyes lift slowly. I’m struck in an instant by the look of defeat on his little face. I’m also enraged in the same instant by the condition his face is in. His eye is swollen almost shut and his lip is busted. The beautiful caramel skin of his cheek is marred by the four, deep, red scratches running down toward his neck. I can’t help the gasp that flies out. Dex places a hand on my shoulder as if telling me to get it together without actually saying the words.

  “Carlo. It’s Officer Hannigan and Officer Dexter, from yesterday. I promised I’d come by to see you. How are you feeling?” I approach like I’m dealing with a wounded, cornered animal. He continues his silence. His eyes flick to the foster mother and back to me as he remains mute.

  “Carlo, can you explain what happened to you?”

  The foster mother clears her throat and Carlo’s eyes flick to her again and back to me. He shakes his head and looks down at his knees.

  I turn to the woman and say, “I’d like you to give us a few minutes alone with him.”

  “That’s not normal, officer.” She stands defensively with her arms crossed over her chest, hip popped out like she’s an irritated teenager.

  I can feel the growl building up inside me because I know she’s covering up something here, but I don’t get a chance to say a word. Dex turns to her with his best shut-up-or-suffer face and says, “I don’t care how irregular it is. We’re officers of the law and are requesting a moment with this young man to hear from his mouth why he looks like he was in a cage match since we saw him yesterday afternoon. We can do it this way or I can call the social worker and request a full investigation.” His expression is stony as he faces off with her.

  She stares at Carlo, never blinking, never breaking eye contact, like she’s trying to convey something silently. Then she spins on her heel and stomps back up the stairs. I release the breath I’d been holding and sit on the edge of the bed.