House of Cards

By Savannah Michaels

Brandi Alexander is having a tough day.  Already, her fiance's mother has thrown $50,000 in cash at her, demanding that she break off her engagement.  Then she adds a dangerous threat to the bribe.  What's a girl to do?  Her day gets worse when a teenager arrives at her door, drops a baby in her arms, and asks her to raise it.  And she disappears!  Brandi's 'what's next?' turns to 'what if…?'   She knows firsthand about the frustrations of being abandoned and the circus of foster care homes and our legal system. She calls Zack Morgan, her former foster brother.  As an undercover cop from St. Louis, Missouri, he'd know what to do.  Boy, does Zack know what he wants to do!  If only he could get Brandi to see that they were made for each other….  Love is a complicated affair when it's mixed with more secrets than Watergate, a vengeful ex-fiance, emotional conflicts of becoming a mother overnight, and facing the fact that Zack is much, much more than a friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590880982

Book preview

Dedication

Dedicated to my real life hero, Roger, my children:  Mark, and Jeannie (plus one, name unknown as yet), and the rest of my family.

My thanks to my second parents, Roger Sr. and Vada, who prove love is an adoption of the heart. You’ve supported me through thick and thin, and at great personal expense. Thank you.

A special thanks to: Mary Adamski, friends in Outreach International Romance Writers, Inc., and Lethaladies. There’s no way I can leave out Lorraine Stephens, a great friend and editor!! Thank you for seeing the potential of this book.

I can’t leave out baby Paul, who started my own what-ifs. Wherever you are, I know the Lord is watching out for you.

Prologue

Raleigh, North Carolina—March 31

P ush, Karen! Sister Rosa urged.

A lightning bolt of pain speared through Karen Whitman’s body. She couldn’t see beyond her enlarged stomach, contorted by the movement of the infant within. Karen’s long brown hair stuck to her skin, damp with perspiration. She was soaked with sweat and bone tired. Still, she ground her teeth and pushed for all she was worth. A guttural groan wound its way from deep within her soul and escaped past her clenched teeth. Her body refused to calm. Her womb tightened again and her breath caught in her throat.

She should have been taken to the hospital. At the very least we should have called the paramedics, Sister Mary Margaret griped from the other side of the room. The rest of the girls can hear this, and it’s frightening them.

In her peripheral view, Karen watched the elderly nun as she wrung her hands, her face a mask of disgust. But no, Sister Rosa is the expert on this. No time, she says. It’s been three hours already.

"Ignore her, dulce niña," Rosa crooned. She mopped Karen’s head with a cool moist cloth.

Though Rosa was a nun as well, Karen had never thought of her as Sister Rosa, the voice of the Almighty, like Sister Mary Margaret.

I can see the head! You’re almost done, Rosa coached, her accent heavy. Lines creased the woman’s olive-skinned forehead barely covered by the dark, lustrous curls that framed her face.

Sweet girl, Sister Mary Margaret translated Rosa’s earlier words, mocking the two of them from her corner. A sixteen-year-old hoodlum gets pregnant and Sister Rosa calls her sweet. Hmph.

Another contraction hit, sparing Karen but not Sister Mary Margaret from the blast of Rosa’s lashing tongue. Karen didn’t want or need to decipher the foreign words that spewed like fiery lava from Rosa’s mouth. She pushed and felt the tearing pain of one life attempting to separate from another. Afterward, Rosa wiped the sweat from Karen’s brow as mother and midwife breathed a sigh of relief. The brief reprieve ended all too soon.

In rapid-fire succession, the contractions came. They blended, arriving fast and not ending until another joined the first, each one on top of another. Tears streamed down Karen’s face, her body heaving as it released the tiny infant.

It’s a girl! Rosa sounded overjoyed.

A girl! Karen’s life changed with a delighted announcement—she was a mother. Or was she? For the first time in her life, she knew the difference between birth mothers and mommies. Mommies raised their children; they were there to put their babies to bed, to rock them during fevers and kiss away the pain from small scrapes. Karen would never be able to do this.

She heard a frail, bittersweet cry from her new, healthy daughter and her heart tore in two. Her baby girl took her first breath and the first step away from Karen. Her eyes stung with salty tears as she stared hungrily at her tiny daughter. Covered with the blood of childbirth, the newborn looked both beautiful and icky. Still, it was agony to be apart from the child who’d shared her body for nine long months.

I want to hold her, Karen demanded.

No! Sister Mary Margaret shrieked.

I should clean her up first. Rosa’s glance at Sister Mary Margaret held a warning. But when she turned to face Karen, her soft smile was back in place.

Now? Please, Rosa? I’m not afraid of blood and guts.

This is foolishness, Sister Mary Margaret persisted. You’ll sign the papers for adoption. You have no other choice. Holding her will only make it harder for you to give her up. The elderly nun’s lips pursed with distaste as she looked from the infant to Karen. Her bushy eyebrows were drawn down, resembling dark clouds in a stormy sky.

I am not giving her up! I haven’t signed any papers and you can’t make me. Karen glared down the older woman until she turned away.

Sister Mary Margaret left the room and slammed the door behind her. Very little imagination was necessary to decipher the words of disgust that trailed behind her. Sister Rosa handed the infant to Karen, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Had Karen ever known anyone to cry for her? No. Her own mother hadn’t even cried when she’d walked out on her family eleven years earlier. At five, she’d screamed, tears streaming down her face as her mother ran from the house and never looked back. Then she’d cowered in the corner as her drunken father threatened to beat her for disturbing his dinner.

The final pains of expelling the afterbirth were softened by the feel of her tiny infant in her arms. Karen savored every second, aware that her time with this sweet child would be short.

The door burst open once more and Karen’s heart jolted with fear.

We’ll take over from here, a heavyset man said. The patch on his blue coveralls read Emergency Medical Technician. Who’s been taking care of her?

I have, Rosa answered, her gaze meeting Karen’s. "Relax, niña. They mean you no harm."

What are they doing? Karen asked, the activity surrounding her too much to follow after her ordeal.

They’re preparing to take you to the hospital, Rosa explained. The lines creasing Rosa’s forehead increased until she resembled a crinkled puppy. Sister Mary Margaret must have called them. You and the baby need to be checked by doctors and released.

No! No hospital and... no... men. The last word was a frantic shriek as she shrank away from the EMT’s large hands sweeping forward. Panic seized her. She would not let these men touch her. Karen squeezed her daughter closer. All reason fled as she pleaded with Rosa. I won’t go. You’re a midwife, Rosa. Do something. Please?

I will stay with you. The nun reached for one of the technicians and held him in place for Karen’s scrutiny. Allow this man to examine you and the child for his reports. You can refuse to go to the hospital.

Relief flooded through Karen’s veins. Rosa’s word was golden; the six months she’d spent at the Unwed Mothers’ Home had taught her as much. She was safe. Regardless, she shuddered at the technician’s touch. Her mind retreated to safety and her gaze focused on the infant in her arms.

Rosa placed her hand on Karen’s shoulder, gently squeezing. She smiled as Karen acknowledged her presence with a glance. You will be okay. He is not here to hurt you.

Karen saw understanding in the older woman’s eyes. She knew. Shame tormented her with a flurry of unshed tears. Somehow, Rosa had seen past the I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude Karen had worn like armor for six months, past the hidden fears, screams suffocated in her pillow as nightmares assailed her in the dark. No one had heard the words of reassurance she whispered to her unborn child, but Rosa knew her secrets.

Karen flinched as the technician’s hand touched her stomach, burning her bare skin as if his thin glove was a branding iron. Rosa soothed her with foreign words, extending her finger to gently trace the length of the infant’s nose. The child’s face puckered, no doubt to let loose a wail of discontent, effectively changing the course of Karen’s thoughts.

I should clean the child, Rosa said, reaching for the newborn. Have you thought of a name yet?

A n-n-name? Regret, frustration and reality hammered at Karen all at once. I c-c-can’t name her. A century of silence swept by in a second, filling the room as everyone seemed to focus on Karen. She noticed for the first time that the medical technician had moved away, apparently finished with his examination. I mean... I haven’t had a chance to think about it.

Rosa’s gaze filled with compassion as she lifted the infant into her arms and turned to walk to the sink. Karen spent a moment surveying her surroundings. The nursing office was a makeshift maternity ward, the table beneath her provided a minimal cushion and even less comfort. She felt like a bug under a microscope, her feet spread in stirrups and her private parts covered with absorbent gauze. Obviously, there was no place for modesty where childbirth was concerned. If Karen had her way, she’d be under the table, not on it.

The newborn cried as Rosa gently washed her, snatching Karen’s attention back to the present. Though exhausted and tender, she reacted instantly, prepared to stand and ensure her child’s safety. A technician’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. Karen gasped and shuddered, hunkering lower on the table as the paramedic yanked his arm away and stared at her in confusion.

You shouldn’t stand yet, he said. He gazed at his hand as if he’d never seen it before or considered its potential beyond healing. Karen pondered that for a moment before Sister Mary Margaret’s noisy entrance seized her attention.

Of course she should stand, Sister Mary Margaret snapped. Better yet, she should be taken to the hospital where she belongs. The pasty-faced nun thrust a bony finger in Karen’s face, her distempered expression set in granite.

She refuses to go. Rosa’s calm voice broke through the layer of hostility in the room. A backbone of steel lay beneath it and Karen could sense the frustration Rosa kept contained. If you’ll allow me another ten minutes, I’ll have her and the child cleaned up and back in her room. You should have no complaints over the use of this room.

She won’t go? Sister Mary Margaret appeared apoplectic. Of course she’ll go. Take her, she ordered the paramedics.

We can’t take a patient if they refuse—

Sister Mary Margaret! Rosa turned to face her fellow nun, her eyes blazing. These girls are not mongrels delivering puppies. They are flesh and blood creatures with human feelings. The decisions they make regarding their lives and the futures of their children will alter the rest of their lives. I have had it up to here, she continued, sliding her finger across her throat, with the way you belittle their lives, the complex decisions they face, and your deaf ears as to the reasons why they are pregnant in the first place! If you cannot look at these girls with Christian charity, then perhaps it is time for you to consider another vocation.

Sister Mary Margaret bristled, her spine straight as a broom handle as she marched from the room. For a brief moment, it appeared as if the room brightened with glory and life surged again within Sisters of Mercy Home for Unwed Mothers.

Minutes later, the paramedics were dispatched and Rosa finished washing Karen, then settled Karen into her room. She placed the newborn into a bassinet beside Karen’s bed.

I want to hold her. Karen wondered how the bassinet had appeared, but exhaustion was taking its toll.

Later, Rosa whispered. You’ve had a hard day, both of you. You need sleep. She will be right here beside you when you wake up.

After Rosa left the room, Karen peeked over the side of the tiny bed. She needed one last look at her little girl before she could sleep. Time was short and she wanted to cherish every moment.

During the next two days the counselors came and went, shoving adoption papers in front of Karen’s nose as frequently as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Hope wrestled with reality. Her dreams squared off against the newfound maturity of a mother.

Though Sister Mary Margaret made a point never to speak to her in front of Rosa, she never missed an opportunity while Rosa’s attention was diverted. You can’t raise a child! Where will you live? Who will care for her while you’re at school? You’re too young to drop out. The child’s father is probably as young as you are! Sister Mary Margaret’s words lingered in her mind like echoes down the long dreary halls of the Home.

The child’s father. Which one of the five boys who had raped her had fathered this infant? Shame crept into Karen’s soul as she watched her infant sleep. No one would ever hear the story of the newborn’s conception; it was a private nightmare from which she’d never escape. She would protect this child or anyone else from knowing—at all costs.

IN THE PARKED CAR BESIDE her, lay Karen’s most precious gift to the world—her baby girl. Three days old, and already she’d been exposed to a drunken man’s rampage. The scene with Karen’s father had been ugly.

Karen wasn’t naive. She knew her father would never allow her to raise the child. She needed him for one reason and she’d withstood his wrath for one purpose. Without his car, she’d never be able to find the right mother for her child. She’d stolen the vehicle after he drank himself into another stupor.

The newborn gave a light whimpering sound and she scrunched up her face, preparing to wail. But the cries never came. Tiny arms rose and dropped in silence, and sleep overcame the infant. The sleep of the innocent, she’d heard Rosa say.

Karen missed Rosa, but none of the other aspects of living at the Home. Rosa always seemed to know when the horrors became too much, and when memories came forth unbidden. Karen formed impotent fists at her sides, but so far she’d been able to contain her rage. When would it explode? Would she hurt this precious gift from God in a helpless fury? She couldn’t let it happen. Nor could she turn her child over to the authorities...those who had failed so dismally with her own care.

In desperation, she’d run. Reckless hope died as reality sank in. When pressed for a name for the birth certificate, Karen found she couldn’t provide one. To do so would link a part of Karen’s past and the ugliness of her life to this innocent child. Yet, she couldn’t release her to nameless, faceless parents either. If she’d stayed at the Home she would have eventually caved in, signed papers, and never seen her child again. She would never know where her little girl was, whether she was cared for, or if she was suffering the same abuse Karen had grown up with. No. The choice was hers—she’d carried the child, she’d suffered the childbirth, and she would choose who raised her newborn. Everything else was unacceptable.

Karen had never known control over her own life, but she craved it for her infant. Her daughter would know what it was like to live in a loving home with a parent who nurtured life, not destroyed it. Others had called her decision unrealistic. They’d said she didn’t know the law. She didn’t know how things really worked. So, she’d stopped talking.

In the middle of a starless night, before the dew had settled on the ground, Karen had slipped out of the Home and taken her baby with her. She’d seized control before it could be taken from her.

Karen stroked the tiny face that already looked a lot like her own. Lord, how she wanted... No, turn her loose. Don’t hold her too close to your heart, she needs a good home. A real home.

I have to find you a mother, Baby. Someone to take care of you, because I can’t. A single tear formed and Karen scrubbed it away with the back of her hand. Time had run out. There wasn’t time for emotion or lost wishes. She watched the infant’s face twist into itself, automatically shushing the tiny girl before she cried. In spite of the way her baby girl had been conceived, Karen loved her. She was perfect. Innocent. She deserved a chance.

You’re a sweet baby girl. You didn’t ask to be born. You just came down from heaven to the wrong place—like me. Now we have to find you the right mother.

Faith was an important part of Karen’s make-up. An unshakable confidence was what brought her to this neighborhood in the suburbs of Raleigh, North Carolina, to look for the right mother for her child. As the newborn slept, Karen surveyed her surroundings. The old beaten-up Ford needed a paint job and bore the marks of abuse from her father. The dented dirty car was a stark contrast to the clean, modern, suburban street where Karen was parked.

This was the kind of neighborhood Karen dreamed of. Heavens, how she’d wished she could find out she was traded at birth and would be rescued to live in this clean, pleasant environment. Children played on the front lawns, safely confined behind chain link fences that kept ugliness out and the warmth of a loving home in.

Two children in particular caught Karen’s attention, especially the neon pink of the little girl’s outfit made even brighter with sunlight. A slender red-haired woman, who looked several years older than Karen, laughed as she captured the ball that the boy had dropped. Lord, how her red hair gleamed in the sunlight. Then with the same happy expression on her face, the lady placed the ball into the little girl’s hands—as if offering the child a precious gift.

Karen’s breath caught as she absorbed the woman’s smile. She felt warmed, even at this distance, as if a slice of sunlight had come down from the heavens to brighten up her lonely day. What would it be like to have a mother like that?

A small tear formed and threatened to escape Karen’s eyelids as she clenched them closed. There would be plenty of time for tears later. She gazed down at the sleeping infant then back at the woman.

I know that lady. At least I think I do, Karen spoke into the warm, foul-smelling air inside the car. But where? A thought streaked through her mind. Nah. It was impossible. There was no way her path might have crossed with this woman, yet Karen could visualize this lady holding Karen’s baby girl. Wishful thinking?

Karen had thought the red-haired woman was the mother of the two children. She realized her mistake when the children called out to their mama next door. The red-haired lady pecked the cheek of each youngster, handing them one by one over the fence to the waiting arms of their real parent. The affection was obvious and Karen felt the trickle of another tear as it broke loose. There was nothing she could do to stop the tear as it blazed a trail down her cheek.

That’s who I would pick for you, Baby. Someone who will love you. She’ll protect you, too.

The more Karen watched the red-haired woman, the more she knew this person should raise her baby. Kindred spirits in the world recognize each other. She’d heard the phrase in a church service she’d snuck off to attend. For a moment the red-haired lady glanced in her direction and Karen felt a connection. Lightning streaked down her spine. It was impossible. But it had to be. Karen sat low in the driver’s seat because she was short. If their eyes did meet, it had to be a fluke. The slender, red-haired woman would have no reason to glance in her direction, unless...

As the older female turned away, Karen watched her wave to her friend before she went inside and closed the door. She remained parked on the peaceful street for several more hours, but got out and peeked through windows as the red-haired lady prepared her dinner and went about personal business. As the lights went out for the evening, Karen made her decision. Tomorrow she would act upon it.

The infant moved in Karen’s arms, settling back to sleep after drinking a tiny bit of formula and burping loudly against Karen’s stained, well-worn shirt. It would be at least tomorrow afternoon before her father awoke. By that time, Karen would be home. Her precious baby girl would have a new home. She’d be safe.

The engine sputtered to life and the wheels squealed as Karen started the car and moved it from the curb. Tonight she’d spend with Baby. One last night together.

Tomorrow you’ll have a new mommy, Baby. She’s perfect. If I had my wish...

But Karen knew better than to wish. Her life was in another part of town, significantly seedier and much less friendly. Another world. But her baby would never have to experience the ugliness. Her baby girl’s new life would begin tomorrow

.

One

W hatever it takes, you will not marry my son! Samantha Webster stood in the center of Brandi Alexander’s living room as regal as a queen on her throne. She’d been to see her hairdresser recently, Brandi decided. No woman looked