Someone Like You. Susan Mallery

      Mac touched Bev’s arm. “Thanks for doing this for me. I’ll keep the appointment as short as possible.”

      “Not to worry. Emily and I had a brilliant time together this afternoon. Tonight will only be more fun. Isn’t that right?”

      The eight-year-old nodded.

      “Great.” Mac glanced at his watch. “I’m running late. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

      Jill trailed after him as he walked to the door. “Are you eating dinner?”

      “Maybe later.”

      Typical guy. “Good luck with the social worker. If you decide you need any legal advice, let me know.”

      He paused on the threshold. “You’re a corporate lawyer. This isn’t your area of expertise.”

      “True, but if I can’t research it, I’ll know someone with the answer.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      

      MAC ENTERED the county services building at 6:28 p.m. and walked to the stairs.

      The reception area on the second floor was typical government issue. Formica-covered countertop with a couple of desks behind. A shelving unit held dozens of different forms while posters reminded pregnant women they needed prenatal care and kids that it wasn’t cool to smoke.

      Most of the overhead lights were off, but he saw light spilling into the hallway and he stepped behind the counter to head that way. He stopped in front of a nameplate reading “Hollis Bass” and knocked on the partially open door.

      “Come in,” a man called.

      Mac pushed open the door and entered.

      Hollis Bass’s office was as neat and prissy as the man himself. Two large plants sat on top of gray file cabinets in the corner. The paperwork in the open shelves had been neatly stacked and perfectly centered in each cubbyhole. The folders on the desk lined up with military precision and the pens and pencils rested in a perfectly straight row.

      Hollis looked as if he’d never outgrown that adolescent awkwardness of too-long arms and legs. He was tall, thin and painfully tidy, wearing creased khakis and a long-sleeved button-down shirt fastened up to the collar. Small, round glasses made his brown eyes appear close-set.

      Lord, he was a kid, Mac thought as he shook the man’s hand. Maybe twenty-four, twenty-five. Great. Just what he needed. Some fresh-out-of-college, idealistic, save-the-world little prick determined to prove himself against a big, bad grown-up.

      “Thank you for dropping by,” Hollis said as he motioned to the folding chair in front of his desk. “I’m sure you’re very busy.”

      “I didn’t know the visit was optional.”

      “It’s not.” Hollis settled behind his desk and carefully folded his hands together on the blotter. “Mac…may I call you Mac? I prefer to be less formal on these visits.”

      “It’s your party,” Mac told him.

      “Good. Mac, I want to give you a feel for how this process is going to go.”

      They had a process?

      “The court mandates that you and I meet every other week for as long as you have Emily. I may also arrange more frequent meetings if I deem them necessary. While I will do my best to accommodate your schedule, these meetings are mandatory. If you skip even one, I will notify the judge, and your daughter will be returned to her mother within twenty-four hours.”

      “I’m aware of that.”

      “Just so we’re all clear. Now, you are welcome to reschedule. I would imagine in your line of work, your time isn’t always your own.”

      Mac had been in law enforcement for over a decade and he’d learned a lot about people. One thing that had been easy was spotting those who didn’t approve of what he did for a living. Just his luck—Hollis was one of them.

      “I appreciate your flexibility,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

      “It’s part of my job.” The corners of Hollis’s thin mouth turned up, but not in a friendly way. “In addition to our meetings, I’ll want to speak with Emily from time to time. I won’t make appointments for that. I’ll simply drop by.”

      Of course. All the better to see if Mac screwed up.

      “She’ll either be with me or her day-care provider. I’ve already given your office that information.”

      “I have it right here.” Hollis opened a file. “Beverly Cooper, a local resident. Fifty-three, single. A bit eccentric, but considered to be a good person. No criminal record.”

      Mac’s temper flared. The little twit had investigated Bev? He wanted to say something. He wanted to do something. But he sat quietly and reminded himself that he’d made the choices that had brought him to this place. He had no one to blame but himself.

      “You’re familiar with the terms of the custody agreement?” Hollis asked. “You must maintain legal employment, meet regularly with me, maintain a suitable house for your daughter and see that she is provided for. In addition you’re not to commit any criminal acts or even be charged with any criminal acts.”

      “None of that is a problem.”

      “I’m glad we’re clear.” Hollis closed the folder and leaned forward. “Mac, I’ll be blunt with you. I don’t think men in law enforcement make good fathers.”

      This was one of the few times Mac hated being right. “What is that opinion based on?” he asked, even as he had to grind his teeth to keep from reacting.

      “Personal observation. Men on the edge have trouble relating to their families, especially their daughters. Too much tension, too much violence, has a way of changing a person. Look at your own situation. Based on what I read about the testimony, it was your time in the gang unit that caused your divorce and your separation from Emily.”

      Mac hated that the kid had a point.

      “So how are things going with her?” the social worker asked, his voice low and gentle.

      Mac thought about Emily not speaking to him, about her monochromatic food issues and her emotional distance.

      “Just peachy,” he said easily. “Couldn’t be better.”

      Hollis sighed. “Whatever you may think of me personally, I do want to help.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      “All right. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

      

      MAC SAT ON THE EDGE of his daughter’s bed. They’d survived the first twenty-four hours. He wouldn’t count that as a victory, but at least it hadn’t been a total disaster. Em didn’t talk that much when he was around, but at least she hadn’t mentioned leaving. He didn’t think he could stand that.

      “How was your day?” he asked, knowing he probably shouldn’t.

      “Okay.”

      “What did Elvis think of Beverly?”

      Her mouth curved up slightly. “He liked her.”

      “Elvis always had great taste in women. I think she’s pretty fun.”

      “I like Jill.”

      He thought of the slender beauty next door. “I know.”

      “When we played dress-up tonight before dinner, she let me be the princess and she was my lady-in-waiting.”

      “That was nice of her.” He shifted so he could stroke his daughter’s hair. “I’m glad you’re here, Em. I’ve missed you so much.”

      Her eyes widened,