Linda Goodnight – A Season for Grace (страница 2)

Then Mr. James reached into his pocket. Drew and Ian watched him, silent. Collin watched his brothers.

“I want you to have one of these,” the counselor said as he placed something in each of the younger boys’ hands. It looked like a fish on a tiny chain. “It’s a reminder of what I said, that God will watch over you.”

Collin’s curiosity made his palm itch to reach out, but he didn’t. Instead, Mr. James had to pry his fingers apart and slide the fish-shaped piece of metal into the hollow of his hand.

Much as he wanted to, Collin refused to look at it. Better to cut to the chase and quit all this hype. “Where are we going this time?”

His stupid voice shook. He clenched his fists to still the trembling. The metal fish, warm from Mr. James’s skin, bit into his flesh.

The pretty social worker looked up, startled that he’d spoken. Collin wondered if she could see the fury, red and hot, that pushed against the back of his eyes.

“We already have foster placements for Drew and Ian.”

But not for him. The anger turned to fear. “Together?”

As long as they were together, they’d be okay.

“No. I’m sorry. Not this time.”

He knew what she meant. He knew the system probably better than she did. Only certain people would take boys like Drew who expressed their anger. And nobody would take him. He was too old. People liked little and cute like Ian, not fighters, not runaways, not big boys with an attitude.

Panic shot through him, made his heart pound wildly. “They have to stay with me. Ian gets scared.”

The social worker rose and touched his shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Collin.”

Collin shrugged away to glare at the brown paneled wall behind the counselor’s desk. Helpless fury seethed inside him.

The worst had finally happened.

He and Drew and Ian were about to be separated.

Chapter One

Twenty-three years later, Oklahoma City

Sweat burned his eyes, but Collin Grace didn’t move. He couldn’t. One wrong flinch and somebody died.

Totally focused on the life-and-death scenario playing out on the ground below, he hardly noticed the sun scalding the back of his neck or the sweat soaking through his protective vest.

The Tac-team leader’s voice came through the earphone inside his Fritz helmet. “Hostage freed. Suspect in custody. Get down here for debrief.”

Collin relaxed and lowered the .308 caliber marksman rifle, a SWAT sniper’s best friend, and rose from his prone position on top of the River Street Savings and Loan. Below him, the rest of the team exited a training house and headed toward Sergeant Gerrara.

Frequent training was essential and Collin welcomed every drill. Theirs wasn’t a full-time SWAT unit, so they had to stay sharp for those times when the callout would come and they’d have to act. Normally a patrol cop, he’d spent all morning on the firing range, requalifying with every weapon known to mankind. He was good. Real good, with the steadiest hands anyone on the force had ever seen. A fact that made him proud.

“You headed for the gym after this?” His buddy, fellow police officer and teammate, Maurice Johnson shared his propensity for exercise. Stay in shape, stay alive. Most special tactics cops agreed.

Collin peeled his helmet off and swiped a hand over his sweating brow. “Yeah. You?”

“For a few reps. I told Shanita I’d be home early. Bible study at our place tonight.” Maurice sliced a sneaky grin in Collin’s direction. Sweat dripped from his high ebony cheeks and rolled down a neck the size of a linebacker’s. “Wanna come?”

Collin returned the grin with a shake of his head. Maurice wouldn’t give up. He extended the same invitation every Thursday.

Collin liked Maurice and his family, but he couldn’t see a loner like himself spouting Bible verses and singing in a choir. It puzzled him, too, that a cop as tough and smart as Maurice would feel the need for God. To Collin’s way of thinking there was only one person he trusted enough to lean on. And that was himself.

“Phone call for you, Grace,” Sergeant Gerrara hollered. “Probably some cutie after your money.”

The other cops hooted as Collin shot Maurice an exasperated look and took off in a trot. He received plenty of teasing about his single status. Some of the guys tried to fix him up, but when a woman started pushing him or trying to get inside his head, she was history. He didn’t need the grief.

The heavy tactics gear rattled and bounced against his body as he grabbed the cell phone from Sergeant Gerrara’s over-size fist, trading it for his rifle.

“Grace.”

“Sergeant Collin Grace?” A feminine voice, light and sweet, hummed against his ear.

“Yeah.” He shoved his helmet under one arm and stepped away from the gaggle of cops who listened in unabashedly. “Who’s this?”

“Mia Carano. I’m with the Cleveland County Department of Child Welfare.”

A cord of tension stretched through Collin’s chest. Adrenaline, just now receding from the training scenario, ratcheted up a notch. Child welfare, a department he both loathed and longed to hear from. Could it finally be news?

He struggled to keep his voice cool and detached. “Is this about my brothers?”

“Your brothers?”

Envisioning her puzzled frown, Collin realized she had no idea he’d spent years trying to find Ian and Drew. The spurt of energy drained out of him. “Never mind. What can I do for you, Ms. Carano?”

“Do you recall the young boy you picked up last week behind the pawn shop?”

“The runaway?” He could still picture the kid. “Angry, scared, but too proud to admit it?”

“Yes. Mitchell Perez. He’s eleven. Going on thirty.”

The kid hadn’t looked a day over nine. Skinny. Black hair too long and hanging in his eyes. A pack of cigarettes crushed and crammed down in his jeans’ pocket. He’d reminded Collin too much of Drew.

“You still got him? Or did he go home?”

“Home for now, but he’s giving his mother fits.”

From what the kid had told him, she deserved fits. “He’ll run again.”

“I know. That’s why I’m calling you.”

Around him the debrief was breaking up. He lifted a hand to the departing team.

“Nothing I can do until he runs.”

He leaned an elbow against somebody’s black pickup truck and watched cars pull up to a stop sign adjacent to the parking lot. Across the street, shoppers came and went in a strip mall. Normal, common occurrences in the city on a peaceful, sunny afternoon. Ever alert, he filed them away, only half listening to the caller.

“This isn’t my first encounter with Mitch. He’s a troubled boy, but his mother said you impressed him. He talks about you. Wants to be a cop.”

Collin felt a con coming on. Social workers were good at that. He stayed quiet, let her ramble on in that sugary voice.

“He has no father. No male role model.”

Big surprise. He switched the phone to the other ear.

“I thought you might be willing to spend some time with the boy. Perhaps through CAPS, our child advocate program. It’s sort of like Big Brothers only through the court system.”

He was already a big brother and he’d done a sorry job of that. Some of the other officers did that sort of outreach, but not him.

“I don’t think so.”

“At least give me a chance to talk with you about it. I have some other ideas if CAPS doesn’t appeal.”

He was sure she did. Her type always had ideas. “This isn’t my kind of thing. Call the precinct. They might know somebody.”

“Tell you what,” she said as if he hadn’t just turned her down. “Meet me at Chick’s Place in fifteen minutes. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

She didn’t give up easy. She even knew the cops’ favorite hamburger joint.

He didn’t know why, but he said, “Make it forty-five minutes and a hamburger, onions fried.”

She laughed and the sound was light, musical. He liked it. It was her occupation that turned him off.

“I’ll even throw in some cheese fries,” she added.

“Be still my heart.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. Regardless of her sweet voice, he didn’t know this woman and didn’t particularly want to.