Sea Swept by Nora Roberts

the hammer down and rose. “I’m Quinn.”
    “I’m Anna Spinelli.” She kept the smile in place as she walked forward, hand extended. “Which Quinn are you?”
    “Cameron.” He’d expected a soft hand because of the eyes, because of the husky purr of her voice, but it was firm. “What can I do for you?”
    “I’m Seth DeLauter’s caseworker.”
    His interest evaporated, and his spine stiffened. “Seth’s in school.”
    “I’d hope so. I’d like to speak with you about the situation, Mr. Quinn.”
    “My brother Phillip’s handling the legal details.”
    She arched a brow, determined to keep the small polite smile in place. “Is he here?”
    “No.”
    “Well, then, if I could have a few moments of your time. I assume you’re living here, at least temporarily.”
    “So what?”
    She didn’t bother to sigh. Too many people saw a social worker as the enemy. She’d done so once herself. “My concern is Seth, Mr. Quinn. Now we can discuss this, or I can simply move forward with the procedure for his removal from this home and into approved foster care.”
    “It’d be a mistake to try that, Miz Spinelli. Seth isn’t going anywhere.”
    Her back went up at the way he drawled out her name. “Seth DeLauter is a minor. The private adoption your father was implementing wasn’t finalized, and there is some question about its validity. At this point, Mr. Quinn, you have no legal connection to him.”
    “You don’t want me to tell you what you can do with your legal connection, do you, Miz Spinelli?” With some satisfaction he watched those big, dark eyes flash. “I didn’t think so. I can resist. Seth’s my brother.” The saying of it left him shaken. With a jerk of his shoulder, he turned. “I need a beer.”
    She stood for a moment after the screen door slammed.When it came to her work, she simply didn’t permit herself to lose her temper. She breathed in, breathed out three times before climbing the half-repaired steps and going into the house.
    “Mr. Quinn—”
    “Still here?” He twisted the top off a Harp. “Want a beer?”
    “No. Mr. Quinn—”
    “I don’t like social workers.”
    “You’re joking.” She allowed herself to flutter her lashes at him. “I never would have guessed.”
    His lips twitched before he lifted the bottle to them. “Nothing personal.”
    “Of course not. I don’t like rude, arrogant men. That’s nothing personal either. Now, are you ready to discuss Seth’s welfare, or should I simply come back with the proper paperwork and the cops?”
    She would, Cam decided after another study. She might have been given a face suitable for painting, but she wasn’t a pushover. “You try that, and the kid’s going to bolt. You’d pick him up sooner or later, and he’d end up in juvie—then he’d end up in a cell. Your system isn’t going to help him, Miz Spinelli.”
    “But you can?”
    “Maybe.” He frowned into his beer. “My father would have.” When he looked up again, there were emotions storming in his eyes that pulled at her. “Do you believe in the sanctity of a deathbed promise?”
    “Yes,” she said before she could stop herself.
    “The day my father died I promised him—we promised him—that we’d keep Seth with us. Nothing and no one is going to make me break my word. Not you, not your system, not a dozen cops.”
    The situation here wasn’t what she’d expected to find. So she would reevaluate. “I’d like to sit down,” Anna said after a moment.
    “Go ahead.”
    She pulled out a chair at the table. There were dishes inthe sink, she noted, and the faint smell of whatever had been burnt for dinner the night before. But to her that only meant someone was trying to feed a young boy. “Do you intend to apply for legal guardianship?”
    “We—”
    “You, Mr. Quinn,” she interrupted. “I’m asking you if that is your intention.” She waited, watching the doubts and resistance sweep over his face.
    “Then I guess it is.