Page 69 of Chasing Shelter (Sparrow Falls #5)

I headed inside the small office area I shared with the other caseworker, Mila, and our investigator, Noah. The only separate office was for the head of Mercer County Child Welfare, Rose.

“Morning,” Noah greeted, looking up from his laptop and adjusting his glasses. “I brought donuts.” He gestured to the kitchenette along the far wall.

“Thanks. I will take any and all sugar and deposit it straight into my bloodstream.”

Mila shook her head, her dark hair cascading around her in waves that only accentuated her stunning Eastern European features. “I’m not sure how you two are even alive with how you eat.”

I glanced at her green juice and wrinkled my nose. “I’ll keep my greens in a salad, thank you very much.”

“When you’re crashing at one p.m., you’ll wish you’d had my green juice.”

Mila might’ve been right. She had four years on me in both age and experience on the job. But I was keeping my head above water the best I could. “Pry sugar from my cold, dead hands,” I muttered as I crossed to my desk.

Noah chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “Sugar is energy. It keeps us going.”

“I’m taking that as evidence-based proof because Noah’s been at this job for longer than either of us.”

At thirty-four, Noah had been at DHS for a decade. And hitting the ten-year mark usually meant it would stick.

I slid my tote bag to the floor and pulled back my chair, stilling as a package and note caught my eye. A bag of strawberry Sour Patch Kids and a folded piece of paper with Fallon in artful, colorful letters.

My throat tightened as I sat, my fingers hovering over the paper in a battle of both wanting to open it and not.

“She wanted to read it,” Noah said, refocusing on his computer.

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Mila shot back.

My gaze flicked to her, my eyes narrowing.

She held up both hands. “I didn’t. Geez. I’m just curious what the bad boy of Blackheart Ink has to say today.”

I fought the urge to shift uncomfortably.

It wasn’t uncommon for Kye to stop by on his way to his MMA gym, Haven, or the tattoo studio he also owned, and leave something for me.

Candy was the most common treasure. But it wasn’t always that.

I had a collection of things he’d left strewn across my desk.

A Chevy Impala keychain from the show Supernatural . A stuffed velociraptor from Kye’s and my favorite movie, Jurassic Park . A snow globe of New York City from when he had flown out there for some huge tattoo expo. A drawing he’d done of my dream house.

The last was my favorite. He’d taken what I’d doodled over and over again and turned it into something beautiful. It didn’t matter that I’d never make enough money to afford that kind of house. It was more than that. It was a symbol of hope.

I flipped the note open to find more artful script inside.

Can’t have you passing out on the job. A little fuel to keep you going. Don’t work too hard.

Below the text was a drawing of a sparrow.

It was how he signed every note. I struggled to swallow as I refolded the paper and opened my bottom desk drawer to tuck it safely away.

I had to empty the drawer every so often, but I never threw the notes away.

I kept them in boxes in my closet. And when I really wanted to torture myself, I’d pull them out and read them.

“That bad, huh?” Mila asked. “He tell you he murdered someone last night?”

I scowled in her direction. Mila wasn’t being intentionally cruel, but she saw the world in black and white.

Right and wrong. Kye’s record and his sometimes-surly demeanor put him in the wrong category for her.

And I was sure him being covered in tattoos and wearing scarred motorcycle boots instead of cowboy ones didn’t help.

“Leave it,” I warned.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Rose’s door opened. “Oh, good, Fal. You’re here. I want to go over the Andrews’ placement with you.”

I pushed back my chair and stood, grateful for the interruption. If anything tripped my trigger, it was someone insulting Kye. Thankfully, Rose and I had plenty to go over.

I lost myself in the rhythm of the day. I had two home visits.

One was to check on a reunified family after the mom had gone to rehab.

She was doing great, working her program and getting some additional support from a sister who’d decided to move closer to help out with the kids. I was cautiously hopeful.

The second was to check on a set of brothers in their foster placement.

The younger boy was flourishing under the newfound attention and care, doing better in school and making more friends.

But the older boy was struggling. At fifteen, he’d built up walls, and his foster parents would have to work to break them down.

But the Moores were up to the task. I knew because I’d seen them do it countless times before.

By the time I made it back to the office, I was fading. As I glanced at my watch, I cursed. One-thirteen in the afternoon. Damn Mila for being right. Instead of taking time to make something in the office, I beelined for my desk and ripped open the bag of strawberry Sour Patch Kids.

Noah looked up from his computer. “That bad?”

“If you tell Mila that I had a sugar crash exactly when she said I would, you’re dead to me.

” I shoved the strawberry gummies into my mouth, closed my eyes, and moaned.

“Sour strawberries, you’re all I need in this world.

You never abandon me in my time of need.

You’re always there just when I need you. ”

When I opened my eyes, it was to find Noah’s attention zeroed in on my mouth. He cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze. “While you mainline sugar, want to go over the Cooper case?”

“Sure,” I mumbled around my gummies as I sat at my desk and pulled out my laptop.

When I opened the window that housed my files, Noah stood and moved in behind me. “The prosecutor is going to file charges for child neglect and endangerment tomorrow. With the evidence and testimonies, I think the parents will do some time.”

My stomach twisted the way it always did with these kinds of cases.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d gone through situations like this one.

Some people at DHS said they had to turn off their emotions to get through the day and do the work they did.

And I understood that. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t built that way.

“The kids’ grandmother would like to assume permanent custody. She has good support around her and a steady income with a work-from-home job. Do you think we can file to terminate the parental rights?”

Noah made a humming noise, his hands gripping the back of my chair as he thought about his answer. Instead of Noah’s voice, I heard a deeper one. One that held a rasp that felt like fingertips skating down my spine.

“Not sure what you’re looking for, but I can tell you where it’s fucking not. And that’s in Fal’s cleavage.”

Oh, hell.