Glynna Kaye - Look-Alike Lawman

With a glance at the potted pink geranium she’d set on the front step last spring—a pitiful remnant of her former lush gardens—she followed her son into the building, passing the lockboxes where residents received mail. All except her. She had a post-office box elsewhere, ensuring no friends or family members could search for her street address online and learn the truth about the neighborhood where she now resided.

Slowly she climbed the threadbare carpeted steps to their second-story apartment, a sparsely furnished space unlike any she’d ever imagined living in.

Yes, Duke had been a courageous cop. But his surreptitious penchant for playing the ponies had been his—and her—downfall.

Which brought her back to Cory’s fascination with policemen—like the well-built, good-looking guy at the school that afternoon. All spit-shined and polished in an official black uniform for his career day appearance, his dark chestnut hair neatly clipped, he exuded that quintessential cop aura. Confident. Authoritative. A bit cocky.

And a proud Texan.

She could see it all there in the flashing seconds when he’d held her gaze. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to cloak his appreciative glance as it fleetingly swept over her, his expressive eyes questioning if she returned his interest.

Which she did not.

She’d never again willingly put herself in a position to wait up late at night, anxiously listening for the garage door to signal the safe return of her hero. There would be no more haunting reminders, when embraced in the arms of a body armor-clad man, that the bulletproof vest was there for a reason. No heart-stopping moments when an unidentified police officer was reported as injured on the 5 o’clock news. She’d never again risk the nightmare of two somber officers at the door in the dead of the night, waiting to take her to the hospital. Or endure the heartbreak of not getting there in time to say goodbye.

No, never again. She hoped she’d made that plain enough when she broke visual contact with Cory’s Officer Wallace and hurried her son from the building.

“Mom?” His face still a thundercloud as he waited at the apartment door, Cory jerked past her when she let them inside. “How old do you have to be before you can be a policeman?”

The cop thing again. But at least he was speaking to her. “Much older than you are now.”

“How old?”

“Depends. Twenty-one, usually.” Twenty-one. That’s how old Duke had been when he’d moved to Texas where his bilingual fluency and three years of law-enforcement coursework were much sought after.

He hadn’t lived but a week beyond twenty-six.

Three years her senior, he’d been her childhood sweetheart in their small Arizona hometown. Which was why she couldn’t move back there, no matter how much she wanted to. Not yet. Not until she could return with her head held high, her finances restored and the weakness of Tomas “Duke” Lopez well-hidden from family and the community.

Cory flung his backpack to the hardwood floor and flopped onto the worn couch of the diminutive living room. Then, as if coming to a sudden conclusion, he scrambled to the sole end table, opened a drawer and pulled out the massive city phone book.

His reading skills were rapidly progressing, but he still had a considerable way to go. Nevertheless, he determinedly flipped through the thin-sheeted pages as she speed-dialed his sitter, their downstairs neighbor Billie Jean.

“Change out of your school clothes, Cory. Don’t dawdle.”

She glanced impatiently at her watch. It was disruptive enough to her employer that they’d accommodated her taking a midafternoon lunch hour each day. Even with the school situated between home and work, when traffic was congested there wasn’t much wiggle room to pick up Cory, deposit him at Billie Jean’s and get back to the clinic.

“Mom?”

As she waited for her friend to answer, she turned to her son, who still lingered over the phone directory spread across his lap.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got to get my ball glove back, so I need the help of a policeman. How do you spell Wallace?”

* * *

“Thank you again for coming.” Miss Gilbert, an attractive blonde in her early twenties, smiled at Grayson. “You and the other professionals made quite a positive impression on my class. On the whole school, in fact. But especially on Cory Lopez.”

“Cute kid.” With a gorgeous but stuck-up mom. “Too bad about his dad.”

“Yes. The sudden loss continues to take its toll, as is apparent from his behavior.”

“His behavior?”

“According to his former kindergarten teacher, it’s been like night and day compared to last year. Restless and distracted. Playing rough. Aggressive. Almost obsessed with following in his father’s footsteps and getting even with the man who shot him.”

Grayson frowned. “They have the guy in jail. I know it’s not been the customary swift Texas justice, but he’s awaiting trial.”

“That doesn’t mean much to a little boy.”

“No, I imagine not.”

“I couldn’t help but notice, though, how he settled down almost from the moment you arrived. Do you have children of your own, Mr. Wallace?” Her quick glance took in his left hand prominently supported by the sling, then her smooth cheeks flushed. He smiled to himself. Checking him out for a ring, was she?

“No, no kids,” he admitted. But maybe on down the road.

“Must be the uniform, then. Reminded him of his father.”

“Could be.”

“He’s a child with so much potential. Elise—his mother—works hard to provide for him, to give him love and attention. But a troubled boy that age could use a strong male influence. Have you ever thought about our district’s mentoring program?”

“What’s that?” If it was what he thought it was, he wanted no part of it. He didn’t intend to get attached to anyone else’s kid ever again.

“It’s an opportunity to connect with children in a meaningful way. Too many in this part of town come from broken homes that are struggling financially. There are few good role models.” She lifted her gaze to his in appeal. “I’d love to see a youngster like Cory have a chance, not end up like so many drawn to street gangs in order to find a place where they feel they belong.”

“I doubt I’d be much of a mentor for a first-grader. Maybe an older boy, if I had the time. Which I don’t.”

“At least please give it some thought, Mr. Wallace.” Her cheeks flushed again. “I’m sure you noticed how the children—Cory—gravitated to you.”

Yeah, he’d noticed how Cory had sidled up to him, especially when he’d crouched to his level. How the boy had moved in close, basking in the attention. Jenna’s son had been the same. He and Michael had been drawn to each other. Grown close. Closer than Gray had ever been to a little kid. Did Michael understand why Gray was no longer a part of his life? Did Jenna explain it to him at all?

He shoved away the haunting speculation. “Cory’s a friendly little guy.”

“I know it’s your job to keep the ‘bad guys’ at bay, Mr. Wallace, but what if those bad guys had once had a man in their lives who cared about what happened to them?” Miss Gilbert’s smile again encouraged, but it would get her nowhere.

His memory flew to his brother who’d been raised without a father when their parents had split and each took two kids. Jack turned out okay, didn’t he? Then again, he’d grown up on a ranch, not in the heart of a big city.

“I don’t mean to pressure you,” the teacher amended, apparently mistaking his silence for annoyance. “But I’ve come to love Cory. A policeman like you, who’s already had a thorough background check, could move quickly through the mentor screening process.”