LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Stacey Keith

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, and educational or institutional use.

      To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: July 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0391-1

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0391-2

      First Print Edition: July 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0392-8

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0392-0

      Printed in the United States of America

      Chapter 1

      “Got a minute?”

      April’s boss, Joanna Westin, poked her head inside the office and gave April a tired smile. She was wearing her lettuce-green polyester maternity pants today, which meant the poor woman was probably taking on more water than the Titanic.

      April leaped up from behind her desk and scrambled to relocate a mountain of case files so Joanna could sit. More files were stacked beside a gurgling aquarium that only had an underwater castle, a piece of plastic seaweed and two bug-eyed goldfish left. A handful of chunky-style Legos and a Barbie with its hair chopped off were scattered across a kids’ play table. On the wall above were crayon drawings “To Miss April,” showing cheerful yellow suns, stick figure families, and houses with chimneys that had curlicue smoke coming out of them.

      “You could have just buzzed my office,” April told her. “I would have been happy to save you the walk.”

      Joanna looked sapped by the Texas heat. In the eighth month of her fifth pregnancy (“Still trying for that girl.”), she usually had more energy than ten caseworkers. Unfortunately, Raymond County Child Protective Services was chronically overworked and understaffed.

      April had a hunch that whatever Joanna held in her hand was about to put a big red bow on top of what had been a craptastic day. The folder was too thick and had too many papers sticking out at odd angles to be anything but trouble.

      Joanna heaved herself into a chair and flipped her long brown braid over the back of it. “You know, my mama used to say the best birth control was holding an aspirin between your knees. With summer on the way, I wish I’d listened.”

      “Then let me give you something that will perk you right up.” April pushed a small pile of baby clothes catalogs across her desk. “I’ve been saving these for you. They have pink outfits in them. Frilly ones. There’s even a onesie with a tutu.”

      Joanna picked up a catalog and leafed through it. “Look at these dresses! Sooooo girly.”

      “Fifth time’s the charm, right?” April backed her statement up with a smile she hoped was convincing. The odds-on office betting pool favorite was another boy. Not that April was going to tell Joanna that.

      “I’m so sick of baseball uniforms and denim overalls,” Joanna complained, her eyes hungrily roaming the pages. “All I want are little dresses with bunnies on them. Or something like this.” She held up a photo of a baby in a bubble romper. “You can’t put a boy in anything like this without your husband freaking out. I know. I tried.”

      April glanced at the file folder again. Maybe it was a case she could potentially put in the win column. She could use a win. After discovering her little Volkswagen Jetta had a flat tire this morning, she’d come to the office and found an email from one of her clients explaining why she was getting back together with her abusive ex-husband. Reading it had left April sick to her stomach.

      Some days it seemed as though nothing she did made a difference. Why were some women so eager to sacrifice their safety, self-worth and even their careers for the wrong damn men?

      Not me, she told herself firmly. Love had a not-so-funny way of messing up people’s lives. After nursing her oldest sister, Maggie, through a gut-wrenching divorce and then her middle sister, Cassidy, through teen motherhood, April knew all about love. That was why she was twenty-three and single…and planning to stay that way.

      “So whatcha got for me?” she asked.

      Joanna opened the case file and turned it around so April could read it. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. It’s a truancy case. I’m just too big and swollen and—if I may say, gassy—to be running around hell’s half acre looking for the kid.”

      April slipped her glasses on and dragged the file toward her. Matthew Barrett, age fourteen. History of truancy. Also an impressive—and growing—list of petty crimes. Knocking over soda machines for the change. Spray painting the sides of a public building. Burning down Mr. Grierson’s garden shed.

      Cuervo, Texas, population three thousand, didn’t have too many more places for Matthew to vandalize. He’d run out of walls pretty soon.

      “Where are his parents?” April asked, wondering why the first thing a troubled teen did was pick