Linda Goodnight - A Season For Grace

Adam chuckled. “And that drives you nuts in a hurry.”

“Yes, it does. Human beings have the gift of language. They should use it.” She let her head go lax. “That feels good.”

“You’re tight as a drum.”

“I didn’t sleep much last night. I couldn’t get Mitch off my mind so I got up to pray. And then, the next thing I know I’m praying for Collin Grace, too.”

“The cop?”

“Yes. There’s something about him…sort of an aloneness, I guess, that bothers me. I can’t figure him out.”

Adam squeezed her shoulders hard. “There’s your trouble, sis. You always want to talk and analyze and dig until you know everything. Some people like to keep their books closed.”

“You think so?” She swiveled back around to face him. “You think I’m too nosey? That I talk too much?”

“Yep. Pushy, too.”

“Gabe thinks I’m too soft.”

“That’s because he’s the pushiest lawyer in three states.”

Didn’t she know it? She’d lost her first job because of Gabe, and though he’d done everything in his power to make it up to her in the years since, Mia would never forget the humiliation of having her professional ethics compromised.

Nic stuck his head into the kitchen, then ducked when his mother threw a tea towel at him. “Mia, your purse is ringing. Should I get it?”

Mia slid off the stool and started toward the living room. She might be pushy, but she played fair.

A large masculine hand attached to a hairy arm— Nic’s—appeared around the door, holding out the cell phone.

Taking it, Mia pushed the button and said, “Hello.”

“Miss Carano, this is Monica Perez.”

“Mrs. Perez, is something wrong?” Mia tensed. Today was Sunday. A strange time for calls from a client. “Is it Mitchell?”

The woman’s voice sounded more weary than worried. “He’s run away again. This time the worthless little creep stole money out of my purse.”

Collin kicked back the roller chair and plopped down at his desk. He’d just returned from transporting a prisoner and had to complete the proper paperwork. Paperwork. Blah. Most Sundays he spent at the farm or crashed out on his couch watching ball-games. But this was his weekend to work.

“I need to see Sergeant Grace, please.”

Collin recognized the cool, sweet voice immediately. Mia Carano, social worker to the world and nag of the first order, was in the outer office.

“Dandy,” he muttered. “Make my day.”

Tossing down the pen, he rose and strode toward the door just as she sailed through it. She looked fresh and young in tropical-print capris and an orange T-shirt, a far cry from the business suit and heels of their first meeting.

“Mitch has run away again,” she blurted without preliminary.

“Nothing the police can do for twenty-four hours.”

“We have to find him. I’m afraid he’ll get into trouble again.”

“Probably will.”

Her gray-green eyes snapped with fire. “I want you to go with me to find him right now. I have some ideas where he might go, but he won’t listen to me. He’ll listen to you.”

The woman was unbelievable. Like a bulldog, she never gave up.

“It’s not police business.”

“Can’t you do something just because it’s right? Because a kid out there needs you?”

Collin felt himself softening. Had any social worker ever worked this hard for him or his brothers?

“If I take a drive around, have a look in a couple places, will you leave me alone?”

“Probably not.” Her pretty smile stretched wide beneath a pair of twinkling eyes.

She was a pest. An annoying, pretty, sweet, aggravating pest who would probably go right on driving him nuts until he gave in.

Against his better judgment, he reached into a file cabinet and yanked out a form. “Sign this.”

“What is it?”

“Department policy. If you’re riding in my car, you gotta sign.”

The pretty smile grew wider—and warmer.

He was an idiot to do this. Her kind never stopped at one favor.

Without bothering to read the forms that released the police department of liability in case of injury, Mia scribbled her name on the line and then beat him out of the station house. At the curb, she stopped to look at him. He motioned toward his patrol car and she jumped into the passenger’s seat. A gentle floral scent wafted on the breeze when she slammed the door. He never noticed things like that and it bugged him.

He also noticed that the inside of his black-and-white was a mess. A clipboard, ticket pad, a travel mug and various other junk littered the floorboards. Usually a neat freak, he wanted to apologize for the mess, but he kept stubbornly silent. Let her think what she liked. Let her think he was a slob. Why should he care what Mia Carano thought of him?

If she was bothered, she didn’t say so. But she did talk. And talk. She filled him in on Mitch’s likes and dislikes, his grades in school, the places he hung out. And then she started in on the child advocate thing. She told him how desperately the kid needed a strong male in his life. That he was a good kid, smart, funny and kind. A computer whiz at school.

This time there was no Delete button to silence her. Trapped inside the car, Collin had to listen.

He put on his signal, made a smooth turn onto Tenth Street and headed east toward the boy’s neighborhood. “How do you know so much about this one kid?”

“His mom, his classmates, his teachers.”

“Why?”

“It’s my job.”

“To come out on Sunday afternoon looking for a runaway?”

“His mother called me.”

“Bleeding heart,” he muttered.

“Better than being heartless.”

He glanced sideways. “You think I’m heartless?”

She glared back. “Aren’t you?”

No, he wasn’t. But let her think what she would. He wasn’t getting involved with anything to do with the social welfare system.

His radio crackled to life. A juvenile shoplifter.

Mia sucked in a distressed breath, the first moment of quiet they’d had.

Collin radioed his location and took the call.

“It’s Mitchell,” Mia said after hearing the details. “The description and area fit perfectly.”

Heading toward the complainant’s convenience store, Collin asked, “You got a picture of him?”

“Of course.” She rummaged in a glittery silver handbag and stuck a photo under his nose.

Collin spotted the 7-Eleven up ahead. This woman surely did vex him.

He pulled into the concrete drive and parked in the fire lane.

“Stay here. I’ll talk to the owner, get what information I can, and then we’ll go from there.”

The obstinate social worker pushed open her door and followed him inside the convenience store. She whipped out her picture of the Perez kid and showed it to the store owner.

“That’s him. Comes in here all the time. I been suspicious of him. Got him on tape this time.”

Collin filled out the mandatory paperwork, jotting down all the pertinent information. “What did he take?”

The owner got a funny look on his face. “He took weird stuff. Made me wonder.”

Mia paced back and forth in front of the counter. “What kind of weird stuff?”

Collin silenced her with a stare. She widened rebellious eyes at him, but hushed—for the moment.

“Peroxide, cotton balls, a roll of bandage.”

Mia’s eyes widened even further. “Was he hurt?”

The owner shrugged. “What do I care? He stole from me.”

“He’s hurt. I just know it. We have to find him.”

Collin shot her another look before saying to the clerk, “Anything else we should know?”

“Well, he did pay for the cat food.” The man shifted uncomfortably and Collin suspected there was more to the story, but he wouldn’t get it from this guy. He motioned to Mia and they left.