The Detective's Undoing. Jill Shalvis

it, that little flag over there is worth more than I am.”

      “I’m not talking about your checkbook,” he said, his disappointment in her clear. “I’m talking heart. Soul. Now get out and go show them what you’re made of.”

      Delia stared at him as panic raced through her veins like wildfire.

      “Go,” he repeated firmly. “I’ll wait right here.”

      What had she expected—him to hold her hand? She didn’t need that, or him. She could do this. Drawing upon years of experience, she took a deep supposedly calming breath and got out of the car.

      She might not know exactly what to do or how to reach Jacob, but she’d find a way. By herself.

      Just as always.

      “Delia.”

      She looked at Cade, bracing herself for either anger or pity.

      “I believe in you,” he said softly, making her heart pound ridiculously. She ignored it and walked toward the house.

      * * *

      Edna greeted Delia with a cool sophistication that matched her home, but the woman’s eyes were warm and joyful, which gave Delia even more to worry about.

      For the first time she wondered what she was trying to take Jacob away from. And did she even have that right?

      Edna, with her height and undeniably regal presence, was a well-preserved sixty-eight, which Delia knew only because Edna mentioned her age as they walked through the house to the back deck. They sat at a cozy patio table laden with snacks that made Delia’s empty stomach grumble loudly.

      “Scott Felton will be here shortly,” Edna said, which surprised Delia because the social worker had made it clear he would be present for every moment of this first meeting.

      At Delia’s unspoken question, something flickered across Edna’s face, something that looked suspiciously like guilt. “I might have led him to believe our meeting was for half an hour from now,” she said evenly.

      “Might have?”

      “Well…yes.” There was no disguising that flash of emotion now, though it was more good humor than remorse. “I wanted to see you for myself first,” Edna admitted

      Delia, who could act cool, calm and collected with the best of them, didn’t move, didn’t so much as give a hint of her nerves and fear and worry. “And?”

      “And…I like what I see.” With that, she sent Delia a genuine smile. “It’s funny, I never thought I’d find myself a parent, especially at my age.” She waited a beat. “But I have to say, there’s nothing quite as exhilarating—or as tiring—as a child.”

      Much as Delia wanted to meet her brother, she needed to feel out this situation. “You enjoy having him? He’s happy here?”

      “Yes to the first question, but as for the second, I haven’t a clue.” Edna sighed. “He’s eight years old, he’s been alone too long, neglected too long, and he’s a boy. Therefore he’s a master at hiding his feelings.”

      An unfortunate family trait, Delia thought.

      “When I found out about you,” Edna continued, casually pouring tea from a pot that looked like an heirloom, “I of course had you investigated.”

      “You what?”

      “You want custody and I had to be sure that if the courts decided he should be with you, instead of any alternatives, that you would be good for him.”

      “Alternatives? You didn’t intend to keep him?”

      “I’m willing, but I’m far too old for the boy. He won’t be happy here for long.” She set down her teacup and looked into Delia’s eyes. “He’s practically a baby, and I don’t take this responsibility lightly. I had to make sure you would take care of him the way he deserves to be taken care of. The way he hasn’t been taken care of until now.”

      Delia’s heart all but stopped. “He was abused?”