Boss On Notice. Janet Lee Nye

SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      THERE WAS A kid in his kitchen. Not a regular kid but a baby-size kid. Josh stopped in the doorway and stared at him. The kid, in blue shorts and a white shirt with a sailboat on the front, stood a few feet from the sliding glass door that led to the patio. He was rubbing the bottom of his nose with the back of a fat little hand, staring at his own reflection in the glass and scratching his bottom with the other hand.

      “Uh...um, hey? Who are you?”

      The kid’s eyes opened wide as he turned to look at Josh. He pulled the hand away from his nose and a string of snot followed, stretching long and low, before dripping down onto the floor. The kid stood there, mouth moving, looking too startled to speak. Josh put his hands up like, “okay, okay, it’s good, we’ll figure this out,” but it was too late. The kid’s face crumpled into something that resembled a boiled troll’s seconds before an ungodly screeching wail began.

      What the hell? This kid could give an ambulance siren some competition. Tears began to run down his face and he shuffled his feet in a kind of awkward dance.

      “Hey. Hey. It’s okay,” Josh said, taking a step forward and extending a hand, not knowing if he was supposed to extend the hand. “Sorry. You scared the sh—You scared me.” He gave his best shot at a friendly smile.

      How it was possible for the screech to get louder, Josh did not know, but, yep, the volume shot straight from ambulance siren to aircraft-taking-off territory. Josh glanced around the small apartment. He’d left the sliding glass door to the back patio open to air out the kitchen after he’d accidentally set fire to a bag of microwave popcorn. The screen had been pushed open. The kid had wandered in. Which meant that whoever the kid belonged to was out there, somewhere. Okay, this was a problem with a solution.

      “Hey, come on,” he said. “Let’s find your mom.”

      Josh took a few steps in the direction of the door but the kid didn’t follow. Nope. Not that easy. What the kid did was fall over on his butt and...get louder? Was that even possible? Yes, it was.

      Josh started to cover his ears, then forced himself to let his hands fall back to his sides. How did parents deal with this? He tried a smile. Made what he hoped was a comical shrug. What did they do on Sesame Street? There had to be some kind of kid code, a universal sign for “all is cool,” but hell if he knew it. “Where’s your momma, little guy?”

      The shriek seemed to have maxed out, but now there was a bubble of snot expanding, expanding...from one of the kid’s nostrils. At the point Josh thought surely it was going to pop, the snot bubble shrank back down when the kid remembered to breathe. Then, it began to grow again. Okay, really? The thing about snot bubbles was—How do you look away? Josh felt his own face going red. A train wreck of a house he could handle. That was all in a day’s work. Nasty grout that needed scouring, a floor that hadn’t been mopped in months, greasy kitchen grime—all that he could put right with or without the rest of the Crew. But a wailing kid? There were people for that. Parents. Again, he gave it a try. “Hey, little guy, your mom? Where?” Nope, not going to be that easy apparently.

      He crossed the kitchen, put his hands under the kid’s armpits and lifted. He turned his face to the side so he wouldn’t get puked on and could at least spare one eardrum. That snot bubble was an issue, too, now about a big as a bubble in a Hubba Bubba gum ad. He slid the screen door to the side and walked outside holding the kid as far from himself as possible. Wasn’t there a character in an X-Men movie that could knock down brick walls with his superpowered scream? This kid could be that guy.

      He crossed the small concrete patio and stepped out into the grass, already feeling the weight of the kid in his shoulders. He looked both ways. There were four apartments lined up. Two duplexes and a parched strip of St. Augustine grass between the two buildings. What he did not see was anyone that could help.

      “Hello?” he said.

      Now the kid was kicking his legs and wiggling in Josh’s grip. He caught a couple of baby-shoe kicks in the ribs. Geez, put this kid in martial arts, he’d be dangerous.

      “Ian?”

      Josh turned toward the sound of the voice. Frantic. Female. Mom? Could this be Mom? Ian screamed and wiggled and blew more snot bubbles. Please, God, let that be his mother. A woman snatched the baby from his hands. She sank down into the grass, clutching the baby. Petite, young, blonde. When she looked up at him, as if still wondering what to think, he saw the panic in her eyes. Blue eyes, pupils wide, shining with tears.

      “Oh, my God, Ian. Ian, baby. Don’t ever scare Mommy like that ever again.”

      She hugged him and kissed his face. Josh wanted to look away when the snot bubble popped right on Mom’s cheek, but if she even noticed, there was no sign of it. Okay, yeah, maybe moms don’t care, but gross! Josh shifted his feet in the grass and stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Uh. Sorry. The sliding glass door, on my patio, it was open, he wandered in. I think I scared him.”

      She stood, keeping the boy clutched tight against her. “He... Wait, what? Oh, God.” She looked at the boy, shook her head and then looked back at Josh. Tears welled at the bottom of her eyes. She ran a hand through her hair, brushing it back, and let out a great big breath. “Thank you. Oh, Ian. Don’t do... Don’t scare me like...” She cleared her throat, turned her head, seemed to compose herself. “I didn’t realize our back door was unlocked,” she said. “I went in the other room for one second and...” Her face went pale and Josh could see in her eyes all of the nightmare scenarios that were playing out in her head. She hugged Ian to her. “Thank you. He’s not getting out of my sight again.” She looked at Ian. “No, sir, you are not.”

      “At least now I know where to return him. I’m Josh, by the way. Josh Sanders.”

      She jiggled the baby to her hip and held out a free hand. “Mickie Phillips. Nice to meet you.”

      “Moving in?” He tried to look her over with being too obvious about it. Her laser focus on the child in her arms helped in this regard. She was busy finger-brushing his messy hair and cleaning the snot off his cheek—finally!—with a tissue that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Was that some kind of secret mom power? She looked like she might be halfway through her twenties. Slim, but he could see the strength in her, in the way she held that boy. Good cheekbones, cute nose. Blond hair and ice-blue eyes. Dang. She looked like she could have some Viking shieldmaiden in her gene pool. There was a slight trace of an accent he couldn’t place, but it wasn’t Southern.

      “Yeah.”

      “Welcome