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The boy was one of those difficult cases who didn’t respond well to any of the case workers, the counselors or anybody else for that matter, but something inside Mia wouldn’t give up. Last night, when she’d prayed for the boy, this idea to contact Collin Grace had come into her mind. She’d believed it was God-sent, but now she wondered.
“More and more in the social system we’re seeing boys like Mitchell who don’t have a clue how to become responsible, caring men. They need real men to teach them and to believe in them. Men they can relate to and admire.”
The waitress slid a soda and a paper-covered straw in front of Sergeant Grace.
“How do you know I’m that kind of man?”
“I checked you out.”
He tilted his head. “Just because I’m a good cop doesn’t mean I’d be a suitable role model to some street kid.”
“I’m normally a good judge of character and I think you would be. The thing here is need. We have so many needy kids, and few men willing to spend a few hours a week to make a difference. Don’t you see, Officer? In the long run, your job will be easier if someone intercedes on behalf of these kids now. Maybe they won’t end up in trouble later on down the road.”
“And maybe they will.”
Frustration made her want to pound the table. “You know the statistics. Mentored kids are less likely to get into drugs and crime. They’re more likely to go to college. More likely to hold jobs and be responsible citizens. Don’t you get it, Officer? A few hours a week of your time can change a boy’s life.”
He pointed his straw at her. “You haven’t been at this long, have you?”
She blinked, leaned back in the booth and tried to calm down. “Seven years.”
“Longer than I thought.”
“Why? Because I care? Because I’m not burned out?”
“It happens.” The shrug in his voice annoyed her.
“Is that what’s happened to you?”
A pained look came and went on his face, but he kept silent—again.
Mia leaned forward, her passionate Italian nature taking control. “Look, this may not make any sense to you. Or it may sound idealistic, but I believe what I do makes a difference in these kids’ lives.”
“Maybe they don’t want you to make a difference. Maybe they want to be left alone.”
“Left alone? To be abused?”
“Not all of them are mistreated.”
“Or neglected. Or cold and hungry, eating out of garbage cans.”
Collin’s face closed up tighter than a miser’s fist. Had the man no compassion?
“There are a lot of troubled kids out there. Why are you so focused on this particular one?”
“I’m concerned about all of them.”
“But?”
So he’d heard the hesitation.
“There’s something special about Mitch.” Something about the boy pulled at her, kept her going back to check on him. Kept her trying. “He wants to make it, but he doesn’t know how.”
Collin’s expression shifted ever so slightly. The change was subtle, but Mia felt him softening. His eyes flicked sideways and, as if glad for the interruption, he said, “Food’s coming.”
The waitress slid the steaming burger and fries onto the table. “There you go. A year’s worth of fat and cholesterol.”
“No wonder Chick keeps you around, Millie. You’re such a great salesman.”
“Saleslady, thank you.”
He took a giant bite of the burger and sighed. “Perfect. Just like you.”
Millie rolled her eyes and moved on. Collin turned his attention back to Mia. “You were saying?”
“Were you even listening?”
“To every word. The kid is special. Why?”
Mia experienced a twinge of pleasure. Collin Grace confused her, but there was something about him…
“Beneath Mitch’s hard layer is a gentleness. A sweet little boy who doesn’t know who to trust or where to turn.”
“Imagine that. The world screws him over from birth and he stops trusting it. What a concept.”
The man was cool to the point of frostbite and had a shell harder than any of the street kids she dealt with. If she could crack this tough nut perhaps other cops would follow suit. She was already pursuing the idea of mentor groups through her church, but cops-as-mentors could make an impact like no other.
She took a big sip of Coke and then said, “At least talk to Mitch.”
The pager at Collin’s waist went off. He slipped the device from his belt, glanced at the display, and pushed out of the booth, leaving a half-eaten burger and a nearly full basket of cheese fries.
Mia looked up at the tall and dark and distant cop. “Is that your job?”
He nodded curtly. “Gotta go. Thanks for the dinner.”
“Could I call you about this later?”
“No point. The answer will still be no.” He whipped around with the precision of a marine and strode out of the café before Mia could argue further.
Disappointment curled in her belly. When she could close her surprised mouth, she did so with a huff.
The basket of leftover fries beckoned. She crammed a handful in her mouth. No use wasting perfectly good cheese fries. Even if they did end up on her hips.
Sergeant Collin Grace may have said no, but no didn’t always mean absolutely no.
And Mia wasn’t quite ready to give up on Mitchell Perez…or Collin Grace.
Chapter Two
“Hey Grace, you spending the night here or something?”
Eyes glued to the computer screen, Collin lifted a finger to silence the other cop. “Gotta check one more thing.”
His shift was long over, and the sun drifted toward the west, but at least once a week he checked and re-checked, just in case he’d missed something the other five thousand times he’d searched.
Somewhere out there he had two brothers, and with the explosion of information on the Internet he would find them—eventually. After all this time, though, he wasn’t expecting a miracle.
His cell phone played the University of Oklahoma fight song and he glanced down at the caller ID. Her again. Mia Carano. She’d left no less than ten messages over the past three days. He had talked to her twice, told her no and then hadn’t bothered to return her other calls. Eventually she’d get the message.
The rollicking strains of “Boomer Sooner” faded away as his voice mail picked up. Collin kept his attention on the computer screen.
Over the years, he’d amassed quite a list of names and addresses. One by one, he’d checked them out and moved them to an inactive file. He typed several more names into the file on his computer and hit Save.
The welfare office suggested he should hire a private search agency, but Collin never planned to do that. The idea of letting someone else poke into his troubled background made him nervous. He’d done a good job of leaving that life behind and didn’t want the bones of his childhood dug up by some stranger.
Part of the frustration in this search, though, lay with his own limited memory. Given what he knew of his mother, he wasn’t even sure he and his brothers shared a last name. And even if they once had, either or both could have been changed through adoption.
Maurice Johnson, staying late to finish a report, bent over Collin’s desk. “Any luck?”
He kept his voice low, and Collin appreciated his discretion. It was one of the reasons he’d confided in his coworker and friend about the missing brothers. It was also one of the reasons the man was one of his few close friends. Maurice knew how to keep his mouth shut.
“Same old thing. I added a few more men with the last names of Grace and Stotz, my mother’s maiden name, to the list, but I’m convinced the boys were moved out of Oklahoma after we were separated.”
Their home state had been a dead end from the get-go.
“Any luck in the Texas system?”
“Not yet. But it’s huge. Finding the names is easy. Matching ages and plundering records isn’t quite as simple.”
“Even for a cop.”
A lot of the old files were not even computerized yet. And even if he could find them, there were plenty of records he couldn’t access.
“Yeah. If only most adoption records weren’t sealed. Or there was a centralized listing of some sort.”
“Twenty years ago record-keeping wasn’t the art it is today.”
“Tell me about it.”
He’d stuck his name and information on a number of legit sibling searches. He’d even placed a letter in his old welfare file in case one of the boys was also searching.
Apparently, his brothers weren’t all that eager to make contact. Either that or something had happened to them. His gut clenched. Better not travel that line of thinking.
“Did you ever consider that you might have other family out there? A grandma, an aunt. Somebody.”
He shook his head. “Hard as I’ve tried, I don’t remember anyone. If we ever had any family, Mama had long since alienated them.”
He’d had stepdads and “uncles” aplenty. He even remembered Ian’s dad as a pretty good guy, but the only name he’d ever called the man was Rob.
A few years back he’d tracked his mother down in Seminole County—in jail for public intoxication. His lips twisted at the memory. She’d been too toasted to give false information and for once one of her real names, anyway a name Collin remembered, appeared on the police bulletin.
Their subsequent visit had not been a joyous reunion of mother and son. And, to his great disappointment, she knew less about his brothers’ whereabouts than he did.
After that, she had disappeared off the radar screen again. Probably moved in with her latest party man and changed her name for the tenth or hundredth time. Not that Collin cared. It was his brothers he wanted to find. Karen Stotz-Grace-Whatever had given them birth, but if she’d ever been a mother he didn’t remember it.
“Do you think they’re together?”
“Ian and Drew? No.” He remembered that last day too clearly. “They were headed to different foster homes. Chances are they weren’t reunited either.”
His mother hadn’t bothered to jump through the welfare hoops anymore after that. She’d let the state have custody of all three of them. Collin, who ended up in a group home, had failed in his promise to take care of his brothers. He hoped they had been adopted. He hoped they’d found decent, loving families to give them what he hadn’t been able to. Even though they were grown men, he needed to know if they were all right.
And if they weren’t…
He got that heavy, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and logged out of the search engine.
Leaning back in the office chair, he scraped a hand over his face and said, “Think I’ll call it a night.”
Maurice clapped him on the shoulder. “Come by the house. Shanita will make you a fruit smoothie, and Thomas will harangue you for a game of catch.”
“Thanks. But I can’t. Gotta get out to the farm.” He rose to his feet, stretching to relieve the ache across his mid-back. “The vet’s coming by to check that new pup.”
“How’s he doing?” The other cops were suckers for animals just as he was. They just didn’t take their concern quite as far.
“Still in the danger zone.” Fury sizzled his blood every time he thought of the abused pup. “Even after what happened, he likes people.”
“Animals are very forgiving,” Maurice said.
Collin pushed the glass door open with one hand, holding it for his friend to pass through. Together they left the station and walked through the soft evening breeze to the parking garage.
“Unlike me. If I find out who tied that little fella’s legs with wire and left him to die, I’ll be tempted to return the favor.”
Another police officer had found the collie mix, but not before one foot was amputated and another badly infected. And yet, the animal craved human attention and affection.
They entered the parking garage, footsteps echoing on the concrete, the shady interior cool and welcome. Exhaust fumes hovered in the dimness like smelly ghosts.
Maurice dug in his pocket, keys rattling. “Did your social worker call again today?”
Collin slowed, eyes narrowing. “How did you know?”
His buddy lifted a shoulder. “She has friends in high places.”
Great. “The department can’t force me to do something like that.”
“You take in wounded animals. Why not wounded kids?”
“Not my thing.”
“Because it hits too close to home?”
Collin stopped next to his Bronco, pushed the lock release, and listened for the snick.
“I don’t need reminders.” Enough memories plagued him without that. “You like kids. You do it.”
“Someday you’re going to have to forgive the past, Collin. Lay it to rest. I know Someone who can help you with that.”
Collin recognized the subtle reference to God and let it slide. Though he admired the steadfast faith he saw in Maurice, he wasn’t sure what he believed when it came to religion. He fingered the small metal fish in his pocket, rubbing the ever-present scripture that was his one and only connection to God. And to his brothers.
“Nothing to forgive. I just don’t like thinking about it.”
Maurice looked doubtful but he didn’t argue. The quiet acceptance was another part of the man’s character Collin appreciated. He said his piece and then shut up.
“This social worker. Her name’s Carano, right?”
Collin glanced up, surprised. His grip tightened on the metal door handle. “Yeah.”
“She goes to my church.”
Collin suppressed a groan. “Don’t turn on me, man.”
He’d had enough trouble getting Mia Carano out of his head without Maurice weighing in on the deal. The social worker was about the prettiest thing he’d seen in a long time. She emanated a sincere decency that left him unsettled about turning her down, but hearing her smooth, sweet voice on his voice mail a dozen times a day was starting to irritate him.
“Single. Nice family.” White teeth flashed in Maurice’s dark face. “Easy on the eyes.”
Was she ever! Like an ad for an Italian restaurant. Heavy red-brown hair that swirled around her shoulders. Huge, almond-shaped gray-green eyes. A wide, happy mouth. Not too skinny either. He never had gone for ultra-thin women. Made him think they were hungry.
“I didn’t notice.”
“You’re cool, Grace, but you ain’t dead.”
“Don’t start, Johnson. I’m not interested. A woman like that would talk a man to pieces.” Wasn’t she already doing as much?
Maurice chuckled and moseyed off toward his car. His deep voice echoed through the concrete dungeon. “Sooner or later, boy, one of them’s gonna get you.”
Collin waved him off, climbed into his SUV, and cranked the gas-guzzling engine to life. Nobody was going to “get” him. Way he figured, nobody wanted a hard case like him. And that was fine. The only people he really wanted in his life were his brothers. Wherever they were.
Pulling out of the dark underground, he headed west toward the waning sun. The acreage five miles out of the city was a refuge, both for the animals and for him.
His cell phone rang again. Sure enough, it was the social worker. He shook his head and kept driving.
The veterinarian’s dually turned down the short dirt driveway directly behind Collin. The six-wheeled pickup, essential for the rugged places a vet had to traverse, churned up dust and gravel.
“Good timing,” Collin muttered to the rearview mirror, glad not to be in back of Doc White’s mini dust storm, but also glad to see the dependable animal doctor.
If Paige White said she’d be here, she was. With her busy practice, sometimes she didn’t arrive until well after dark, but she always arrived. Collin figured the woman worked more hours than anyone he knew.
The vet followed Collin past the half-built house he called home to the bare patches of grass that served as parking spots in front of a weathered old barn.
A string of fenced pens, divided according to species, dotted the space behind the barn. In one, a pair of neglected and starved horses was slowly regaining strength. In another, a deer healed from an arrow wound.
To one side, a rabbit hutch held a raccoon. And inside the small barn were five dogs, three cats and ten kittens. He was near capacity. As usual. He needed to add on again, but he also needed to continue the work on his house. The bank wouldn’t loan money on two rooms, a bathroom and a concrete slab framed in wood.
Booted feet first, the vet leaped from the high cab of her truck with a whoop for a greeting.
“Hey there, ornery. How’s business?” she hollered as Collin came around the front of his SUV.
“Which one?”
“The only one that counts.” She waved a gloved hand toward the barn, and Collin nearly smiled. Paige White, a forty-something cowgirl with a heart as big and warm as the sun, joked that animals liked her faster, better and longer than humans ever had.
One thing Collin knew for sure, animals responded to her treatment. He fell in step with the short, sturdy blond and headed inside the barn.
Without preliminary, he said, “The pup’s leg smells funny.”
“You been cleaning those wounds the way I showed you?”
“Every day.” He remembered the first time he’d poured antiseptic cleaner on the pup’s foot and listened to its pitiful cries.
Doc stopped, stared at him for a minute and then said, “We’ll have a look at him first.”
Paige White could always read his concern, though he had a poker face. Her uncanny sixth sense would have bothered him under other circumstances.
The scent of fresh straw and warm-blooded animals astir beneath their feet, they reached the stall where the collie was confined.
From a large, custom-cut cardboard box, the pup gazed at them with dark, moist, delighted eyes. His shaggy tail thumped madly at the side of the box.
As always, Collin marveled at the pup’s adoring welcome. He’d been cruelly treated by humans and yet his love didn’t falter.
Doc knelt down, crooning. “How’s my pal today? Huh? How ya doin’, boy?”
“I call him Happy.”
“Well, Happy.” The dog licked her extended hand, the tail thumping faster. “Let me see those legs of yours.” She jerked her chin at Collin, who’d hunkered down beside her. “Make sure this guy over here’s looking after you.”
With exquisite tenderness, she inspected one limb and then the other. Her pale eyebrows slammed together as she examined the deep, ugly wound.
Collin watched, anxious, when she took a hypodermic from her long, leather bag and filled it with medication.
“What’s that?”
“More antibiotic.” She held the syringe at eye level and flicked the plastic several times. “I don’t like the way this looks, Collin. There’s not enough tissue left to debride.”
“Meaning?”
“We may have to take this foot off, too.”
“Ah, man.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, heard his whiskers. He knew Paige would fight hard to avoid another amputation, so if she brought up the subject, she wasn’t blowing smoke. “Any hope?”
“Where there’s life, there’s hope. But if he doesn’t respond to treatment soon, we’ll have to remove the foot to save him. Infection like this can spread to the entire body in a hurry.”
“I know. But a dog with two amputated feet…”
He let the thought go. Doc knew the odds of the pup having any quality of life. Finding a home for him would be close to impossible, and Collin only kept the animals until they were healthy and adoptable or ready to return to the wild. He didn’t keep pets. Just animals in need.
Doc dropped the empty syringe into a plastic container, then patted his shoulder. “Don’t fret. I’ll run out again tomorrow. Got Jenner’s Feed Store to donate their broken bags of feed to you and I want to be here to see them delivered. Clovis Jenner owes me.”
Warmth spread through Collin’s chest. “So do I.”
Doc was constantly on the look-out for feed, money, any kind of support she could round up for his farm. And she only charged him for supplies or medications, never for her expertise.
“Nonsense. If it wasn’t for me and my soft heart, you wouldn’t have all these critters. I just can’t put them down without trying.”
“I know.” He felt the same way. Whenever she called with a stray animal in need of a place to heal, Collin took it if he had room. He was stretched to the limit on space and funds, but he had to keep going. “Let’s go check on the others.”
Together they made the rounds. She checked the cats and dogs first, redressing wounds, giving shots, poking pills down resistant throats, instructing Collin on the next phase of care.
At the horses’ pen, she nodded her approval and pushed a tube of medication down each scrawny throat. “They’re more alert. See how this one lifts her head now to watch us? That’s a very good sign.”
One of the mares, Daisy, leaned her velvety nose against Collin’s shirtfront and snuffled. In return for her affection, he stroked her neck, relishing the warm, soft feel against his fingers.
The first few days after the horses had arrived, Collin had come out to the barn every four hours to follow the strict refeeding program Doc had put them on. Seeing the horses slowly come back from the brink of death made the sleepless nights and interrupted days worth the effort.
Sometimes the local Future Farmers of America kids helped out. The other cops occasionally did the same. Most of the time, Collin preferred to work alone.
At the raccoon’s hutch, Paige declared the hissing creature fit and ready to release. And finally, she stood at the fence and watched the young buck limp listlessly around the pen.
“He’s depressed.”
“Deer get depressed?”
“Mmm. Trauma, pain, fear lead to depression in any species.” She squinted into the gathering darkness, intelligent eyes studying every move the deer made. “The wound looks good though.”
“You do good work.”
Some bow hunter had shot the buck. He had escaped with an arrow protruding from his hip, finally collapsing near enough to a house that dogs had alerted the owner. Paige had operated on the badly infected hip.
“I do, don’t I?” The vet smiled smugly before sobering. “Only time will tell if enough muscle remains for him to survive in the wild, though.”
She turned and started back around the barn to her truck. Collin took her bag and followed.
Headlights sliced the dusk and came steadily toward them, the hum of a motor loud against the quiet country evening.
Collin tensed. “Company,” he said.
“Who is it?”
“My favorite neighbor,” he said, sarcasm thicker than the cloud of dust billowing around the car. “Cecil Slokum.”
Collin and his farm were located a half mile from the nearest house, but Slokum harassed him on a regular basis with some complaint about the animals.
The late-model brown sedan pulled to a stop. A man the size and shape of Danny DeVito put the engine in Park and rolled down a window. His face was red with anger.
“I’m not putting up with this anymore, Grace.”
The sixth sense that made Collin a good cop kicked in. He made a quick survey of the car’s interior, saw no weapons and relaxed a little.
“What’s the problem, Mr. Slokum?” He sounded way more polite than he felt.
“One of them dogs of yours took down my daughter’s prize ewe last night.”
“Didn’t happen.” All his animals were sick and in pens.
“Just ’cause you’re a big shot cop don’t make you right. I know what I saw.”
“Wasn’t one of mine.”
“Tell it to the judge.” The man shoved a brown envelope out the window.
Collin took it, puzzled. “What is this?”
“See for yourself.” With that, Slokum crammed the car into gear and backed out, disappearing down the gravel road much more quickly than he’d come.
Collin stared down at the envelope.
“Might as well open it,” Doc said.
With a shrug, Collin tore the seal, pulled out a legal-looking sheet of vellum and read. When he finished, he slammed a fist against the offending form.
Just what he needed right now. Someone else besides the annoying social worker on his back.