Games of the Heart (Crimson Romance) (18 page)

“We ensure that the right parents are placed with each of our precious little ones.”

“Oh, my goodness, that would be essential,” I replied, wondering if this was the “insure,” as in their insurance policy, or ensure? Where did the disposable kids come in?

“I’d just get all cozy inside if I could show you some photos of our orphanages and the biological parents who have placed their precious bundles of joy with our American friends. Ohhh, you’ll just melt.”

“Delta, what if the baby doesn’t like me or I don’t like her? I’d feel just terrible if that bundle of joy didn’t like me.” I made my voice sound tiny, good trick for a gal my size, but I’ve perfected it for lethal use over the years.

“Silly girl. We have that all arranged.”

Out spilled the details of the insurance plan to avoid this awkwardness, with a monthly service fee before parents paid for the final adoption and which continued for five full years. “The service fee can even be continued after five years in case,” she whispered, “the children become willful as teens and too difficult to handle.”

“Parents can return them like an appliance they don’t like?” Rumor had it that the most loving parents of teenagers sometimes wanted to return their own offspring, yet my stomach lurched. Where were those trashed by PSA? Did Petra know? Did I dare tell her or Tom?

Delta must have noticed the grimace even though she had pulled out a compact to add yet another a coat of powder and lipstick. “Let’s be honest, Jane. There are times when adopted children do not bond. This happen. We give choices,” she said, adding lip-gloss, and smacked her lips together. “We simply arrange for another child or darling baby to be exchanged for the one previously in that home. Or adoptive parents can opt out — ” She continued to smile, once she checked her teeth for lipstick and removed the inky pink flecks from her incisors. “ — when the return fee is paid.”

I felt my eyes bug out. “So I pay a fee and return the child?”

“Exactly. It’s privately arranged and not part of our bungling, red-tape-filled silly old government or even part of the bureaucratic programs in Poland. Makes it ever so much easier. You can be sure of a smooth delivery of your child, unlike the natural type.” She chuckled, in what I thought was meant to be a woman-to-woman joke on labor pains. She rubbed a finger across her teeth, then checked the compact again. “I haven’t been blessed with babies. It’s because He knows I help mommies and daddies to be parents.” She sighed and half closed her eyes, before they flicked open then shut, just to see if I’d taken the bait.

“This is exactly what I wanted to know, Delta.” Not that she didn’t have children, but about PSA. “What do I do next? Some background checking?”

“Oh, I’m sure working with Bobby, I mean Pastor Bob, you’ve got a perfect record. Come to the office and see some of the photos of the babies and the Child’s Play Baby Home in Poland, where most of our infants and children reside for just a few days before they come here to the United States.”

My cell rang. I didn’t recognize the number. “Jane Angieski here.”

“Jane, Tom. Can’t talk much. You asked about the PSA?”

“I’m in a meeting. Can I call you back?”

“No, actually, I wanted to know something. This sounds odd, but any chance your grandfather speaks Polish? I thought he said something to that mutt who brought us together.”

“Yes, but it’s not unusual.”

“How fluent is he?”

“The dog?”

“Yeah, the dog. The guys at the station are going on
Letterman
and need a dog that barks in Polish. Jeeze Louise, are you even listening?”

“He’s good. Gramps.”

“I’ve called your condo, just got the machine. I can’t leave right now. Could I have a favor? Get him to come down here, like pronto?”

“Good talking with you. You bet.” I closed the phone. Tom didn’t need to know I was chumming it up with Delta, but whatever it was, I could get Gramps to return Tom’s call. “I need to head home now and speak with my grandfather. May I see you tomorrow, Delta?”

We shook hands, and she held mine a tad too long, rubbing a circle on the back of my hand with her index finger. “Do you, um, have a special, um, life partner?” She smiled again.

“Are you asking me out, Delta?” I know the gulp was audible, even to me, but it didn’t stop her next question.

“You’re attractive, Jane, in a wholesome, well-padded way some women like. So do you?”

Okay, I’d go so far to help orphans, but dating Delta Cheney wasn’t my cup of cocoa. “I hope to see more of one special man.” She’d been flirting with me and, duh, I didn’t even know it and it dawned on me that this was the reason that Pastor Bob seemed to be conflicted with her attentions.

“Never hurts a girl to ask.” She shrugged and sashayed out of my office, stilettos echoing as Delta left the building.

I breathed. “That went well,” I said out loud, then closed my desk and ran to the SUV. Fifteen hot minutes later, I was pulling into the driveway as Gramps and Harmony were pulling out, with the top down on the car. “Off to see Tom?” I asked.

“Who? Oh, your cop friend. No, Harmony and I are going to meet her father for a short visit. Got a call from Child Protective Services and if she’s supervised, we can visit with him tonight at the program home. I tried to call you, but your phone was busy.”

I watched Harmony’s face sitting next to Gramps, and it looked like she’d rather have seconds of succotash and liver than visit with her father. The girl at least could talk to her dad.

Then I saw something missing. “Where’s the pooch?”

“Had to leave him in the house. You might want to check. Got a bad feeling about it.” Then he looked at his watch. “We’ve got to go. See you later.”

I let the engine run, cranked up the A/C to higher than high, and thought about the dog. I knew some Polish, could read a bit, and if I could help Tom with something about the PSA, maybe I’d get some information, too. As I opened the door a crack, I had a queer feeling that Tuffy had been listening. He was statue still next to his leash near the door; only the stub of a tail wagged.

I didn’t want to, but I peeked down the hall. Toilet paper. Tiny bits of the stuff. Then I saw shreds of leftover pizza boxes on the kitchen floor. “Executive decision. Let’s go for a ride, my little menacing friend.” I picked up his leash and car harness and slipped the end into the buckle of his collar.

Fifteen minutes later Tuffy and I arrived at LVPD, central station, and he walked in like he owned the joint. “Captain Tom Morales?” I said Tom’s name and felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Nicer to see you than Henry.” If possible, Tom was more rumpled, and now I could see the bristle on his face had flecks of gray.

My hormones took over and I leaned in to smell him, then blinked out of that fantasy and stepped back.

But he moved into the spot I’d retreated from. “You go everywhere with that fur ball?”

“He’s safer here and so is my living room furniture. Gramps and Harmony are off for a parental visit with her father. You get me instead.” I caught a glimpse of myself in what I decided was a one-way mirror in the reception area and didn’t like what I saw: frazzled, hassled and yet oddly attractive to Delta Cheney. You can cringe if you want to. I did.

“You speak the language, too?” He took my arm and Tuffy’s leash, escorting us down the neon-lighted hall.

“My vocabulary stinks, to be honest. Could never conjugate the verbs.”

As the door opened, I saw her. There was a Miss Nevada look-alike in sensible tan slacks and a pale blue lawn cotton shirt I’d recently coveted at J. Jill, with a bright badge on her tan leather belt. Her red hair had gloriously almond highlights. I coveted that hair, too.

“Officer Christina Nelson, community service rep. Officer Christy, Pastor Jane.” He looked at her and me. “Don’t let the girly looks fool you. Christy’s a tough cop, and we’re working together on this case.”

I pulled my eyes from her perfect complexion and there was a child standing, no hiding, right behind her. He was no more than five, sunken cheeks, puffy lips and eyes that would have been perfect in a Dickens play.

Tom looked from me to Officer Christy. They didn’t speak; they didn’t smile. Who was the boy? Tuffy wasn’t waiting for humans to make a move. He snapped the leash from Tom’s fingers and snuggled up to the child, rubbing his body against the boy’s thin legs. The boy’s blue eyes froze on Tom, waiting for the nod before he touched the dog. Then the kid was on the floor, hugging Tuffy and scratching his chin. Then the belly.

“A Polish orphan.” I felt as if someone had kicked me in the gut. It was one thing to hear about the horrors and another to face them in the flesh.

“This time of day, there was no one around to tell if the kid speaks Polish. I thought maybe … ”

“
Czesc. Nazywam si, e
Jane.” I sat on the floor next to the child. He looked at me and nodded. Did that mean he understood my, “Hello. My name is Jane”? He didn’t freak out, so I tried another question, this time, “
Jak si, e pani nazywa
?” or “What is your name?”

“Mikel.”

“So, it is Polish. Okay, now we’re getting someplace,” Christy said, and ruffled the boy’s head. He nearly melted into her touch.

I lifted the leash and tried to piece together the Polish words for, “Do you want to take my dog for a walk?” At least, that’s what I hoped I said.

“
Prosze
.” The “please” he’d responded meant that I hadn’t mangled the question. Last time I tried out my questionable language skills in a Polish restaurant, I ordered poached shoelaces over borscht with a side dish of camera lenses. And that was just the appetizer.

Mikel stood only to my waist, and his hand was heaven in my own. We didn’t speak as I led the way down the corridors and outside to the grassy areas surrounding the police station. Christy and Tom walked a distance behind us.

“Do you like dogs, Mikel?” I asked in Polish. This time he wrinkled his forehead. I tried again with something like: “Dogs? You like?”

“
Tak. Tak
.” He nodded yes, in case I didn’t know that, which I did, but not much more.

He took Tuffy’s tennis ball that I’d shoved in my pocket before we left the house, and the two raced down and back on the grass. Mikel’s limp didn’t keep him from running. I walked over to Tom. “Where was he found?”

“Wandering around downtown. Near the homeless shelter, close to city hall. Got a call about the boy and just glad I was here when it came in. Gotta be a disposable kid out of the PSA refund system.”

“Thought they dumped them in New York or Chicago?”

“Yep, but maybe the law is getting close. Kid tumbled out from behind an alley, probably smelled the food since a lot of the churches are serving meals. No ID, natch, labels cut out of his clothes. Some bills in his pocket. He looked scruffy. This really ticks me.” He slammed a fist into his other palm and Mikel jumped.

Tom waved and smiled, waved again before the child relaxed. “Nothing to trace. I think the women serving at the shelter thought he was with the regulars. Or the kid had run away and wasn’t talking. Somebody called the police, and it got into the Amber Alert system. Got a call from their unit today, and Christy here brought him back to stay in a group home until we can get him in a foster home. Then get this nasty stuff straightened out.”

“Will he tell you anything?”

“What
do
you know about the kids that PSA supposedly turns out? Is it more than hearsay from Petra Stanislaw?” Tom waved to the boy as Officer Christy walked down the path to keep an eye him.

“I believe Petra, Tom. She thinks what she’s trying to do is moral. She believes she must avenge the harm caused by PSA. Remember that case about Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center in L.A. a few years back where the HMO was heaving paraplegics out on Skid Row as the poor souls dragged colostomy bags along after them because they had no coverage? Why not with children who can’t be sold? Why not dump them, too? It’s not that far-fetched.”

I was rocking and rolling, and about to go postal.

“I don’t know if you’ll consider this, Jane. Wait, before you scream that I’m using you. Think it over. I asked around about you, nothing official, didn’t check for a criminal record. Hey, I’m a cop. I do this.”

“Smacking that cop was necessary. How else could I make it look real? Besides, how did I know he didn’t get the memo that I was only pretending to be a prostitute? Plus nobody told me he’d just had dental surgery, either. He fainted, for goodness’ sake. Then a rookie rushed in and wrestled me to the ground, like one bad dream after another.”

Tom didn’t blink, but his sensual lips held the promise of a smile. “So would you consider, in your position as a minister, asking some questions that could help answer why Polish children are turning up in cities all over the country? Why the PSA stays lily white even after the clients who adopt and then rejected the children are found? Why in God’s name doesn’t anyone bring charges? Are they that shallow? Stupid? Or cruel?”

“Maybe they’re embarrassed?”

“Oh, my left foot. You take in a baby, don’t like it, return it, and
you’re
embarrassed?”

“I’m not defending anyone, Tom. I’m asking questions, like you. So want my response to your proposition now?”

“Let’s get out of this confounded heat.” He turned and waved to the other officer. “Hey, Christy? We’re going to get some water. When the kid’s tired, or you are, come on in and get him some juice. Better bring the mutt, too.”

The station cafeteria suddenly emptied when Tom walked in after me and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. I rolled the icy bottle on my cheek and said, “If I’m concerned about someone’s spiritual survival that will take precedence over telling you anything.”

“These people are nasty sewer rats, Jane. They have no souls. Human trafficking is one of the sickest crimes around. We’re dealing with felons who use babies and little kids to make money.”

“Some of the kids must go to okay homes.”

“Yeah, sure. Most, as far as we’ve been able to investigate. But, Jane, that’s not the point and you know it. Even one thrown on the streets is too many.”