She wouldn't force the Quinns to take sides. And she wouldn't risk
putting her precious and vital relationship with Seth at risk because
two adults in his life couldn't mind their tempers.
"I won't lose my job over it, either," she muttered as she went to work
on the countertops. "Just because he can't see what he's throwing out of
his life."
She hissed out a breath, scooped her fingers through her hair, which the
heat and her exertion had dampened at the temples. And calmed herself by
giving the drip pans on the ancient range a good scouring.
When the phone rang, she snatched it up without thinking. "Hello?"
"Anna Quinn?"
Grace glanced out the window, saw Anna puttering happily among the back
garden. "No, I'll--"
"I got something to say to you, bitch."
Grace stopped, two steps from the screen door. "What?"
"This is Gloria DeLauter. Who the hell do you think you are, threatening
me?"
"I'm not--"
"I got rights. Do you hear me? I got fucking rights. The old man made a
deal with me, and if you and your bastard husband and his bastard
brothers don't live up to it, you're the ones who'll be sorry."
The voice wasn't just hard and harsh, Grace realized. It was manic, the
words shooting out so fast that one ran into the back of the other. This
was Seth's mother, she thought as more abuse rang in her ear. The woman
who'd hurt him, who frightened him. Who'd taken money for him.
Sold him.
She wasn't aware that she had twisted the phone cord around her hand,
that it was so tightly wrapped it bit into the flesh. Struggling for
calm, she took a deep breath. "Miss DeLauter, you're making a mistake."
"You're the one who made the goddamn mistake, sending me that fucking
letter instead of the money you owe me. You fucking owe me. You think
I'm scared 'cause you're some asshole social worker. I don't give a shit
if you're the goddamn Queen of goddamn England. The old man's dead, and
if you want things to stay like they are you're going to deal with me.
You think you can hold me off with words on paper? You're not going to
stop me if I decide to come back and take that boy."
"You're wrong," Grace heard herself say, but her voice sounded far away,
echoing in her head.
"He's my flesh and blood and I got a right to take what's mine."
"Try it." Rage tore through her like a storm surge. "You'll never put
your hands on him again."
"I can do what I like with what's mine."
"He's not yours. You sold him. Now he's ours, and you're never going to
get near him."
"He'll do what the hell I tell him to do. He knows he'll pay for it
otherwise."
"You make one move toward him, I'll take you apart myself. Nothing
you've done to him, however monstrous, is close to what I'll do to you.
When I'm finished, they'll barely have enough left to scrape up and toss
in a cell. That's just where you'll go for child abuse, neglect,