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.
Once in the car, he said, “Any ideas?”
She crossed her arms. “You mean, I have permission to talk now?”
Collin stifled a grin. The annoying woman was also cute. “Be my guest.”
“I know several places around here where kids hang out.”
He knew a few himself. “I doubt he’ll be in plain sight, but we can try.”
He put the car in gear and drove east. They tried all the usual spots, the parks, the parking lots. They showed the kid’s picture in video stores and to other kids on the streets, but soon ran out of places to look.
“We have to find him before he gets into more trouble.”
“I doubt he’d come this far. We’re nearly to the city dump.”
As soon as he said the words, Collin knew. A garbage dump was exactly the kind of place he would have hidden when he was eleven.
With a spurt of adrenaline, he kicked the patrol car up and sped along the mostly deserted stretch of highway on the outskirts of the city.
When he turned onto the road leading to the landfill, Mia said incredulously, “You think he’s here? In the city dump?”
He shot her an exasperated look. “Got a better idea?”
“No.”
Collin slammed out of the car and climbed to the top of the enormous cavity. The stench rolled over him in waves.
“Ew.” Beside him, Mia clapped a hand over her nose.
“Wait in the car. I’ll look around.”
Collin wasn’t the least surprised when she ignored him.
“You go that way.” She pointed left. “I’ll take the right side.”
Determination in her stride, she took off through the trash heap apparently unconcerned about her white shoes or clean clothes. Collin watched her go. A pinch of admiration tugged at him. He’d say one thing for Miss Social Worker, she wasn’t a quitter.
His boots slid on loose dirt as he carefully picked his way down the incline. Some of the trash had been recently buried, but much more lay scattered about.
He watched his step, aware that among the discarded furniture and trash bags, danger and disease lurked. This was not a place for a boy. Unless that boy had no place else to turn.
His chest constricted. He’d been here and done this. Maybe not in this dump, but he understood what the kid was going through. He hated the memories. Hated the heavy pull of dread and hurt they brought.
This was why he didn’t want to get involved with Mia’s project. And now here he was, knee-deep in trash and recollections, moving toward what appeared to be a shelter of some sort.
Plastic trash bags that stretched across a pair of ragged-out couches were anchored in place by rocks, car parts, a busted TV set. An old refrigerator clogged one end and a cardboard box the other.
Mia was right. The kid had smarts. He’d built his hideout in an area unlikely to be buried for a while and had made the spot blend in with the rest of the junk.
As quietly as he could, Collin leaned down and slid the cardboard box away. What he saw inside made his chest ache.
The kid had tried to make a home inside the shelter. An old blanket and a sack of clothes were piled on one end of a ragged couch. A flashlight lay on an up-turned crate. Beneath the crate, the kid had stored the canned milk, a jar of water, cat food and a box of cereal.
In the dim confines Mitchell knelt over a cardboard box, cotton ball and peroxide in hand.
Collin had a pretty good idea what was inside the box.
At the sudden inflow of light, the kid’s head whipped around. A mix of fear and resentment widened his dark eyes.
“Nice place you got here,” Collin said, stooping to enter.
“I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Stealing from convenience stores isn’t wrong?”
“I had to. Panda—” Mitchell glanced down at the box “—she’s hurt.”
Curiosity aroused, Collin moved to the boy’s side. A mother cat with three tiny kittens mewed up at him. Mitchell stroked the top of her head and she began to purr.
Collin’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Oh, man. Déjà vu all over again.
“Mind if I take a look?”
The kid scooted sideways but hovered protectively.
Collin frowned. The cat was speckled with round burns, several of them clearly infected. “What happened?”
“Some kids had her. Mean kids who like to hurt things. She was their cat, but I took her when they start
ed—”
Collin held up a hand. He didn’t need the ugly details to visualize what the kid had saved the cat from.
“You can’t stay here, Mitchell. Your mother is worried.”
“She’s just worried about her ten bucks.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it.”
The kid shrugged, didn’t answer, but Collin’s own eyes told him where the money had gone. And if his nose was an indicator, the kid had scavenged a pack of cigarettes somewhere too which would explain the store owner’s guilty behavior. He’d probably sold cigarettes to a minor.
“I’m not going back to her house.”
“You have to.”
“I can’t. Panda and her babies will die if I don’t take care of her. Archie, too.”
“Archie?”
The kid reached behind them to the other couch and gently lifted a turtle out of a shoe box. A piece of silver duct tape ran along a fracture in the green shell.
Emotions swamped Collin. He felt as if he was being sucked under a whirlpool. Memories flashed through his head so fast he thought he was going blind.
At that moment, little Miss Social Worker poked her head through the opening. “I thought I heard voices.”
Mitchell shrank away from her, blocking the box of cats with his body.
“I won’t leave her,” he said belligerently. “You can’t make me.”
“Maybe your mother will let you keep them,” Collin said, hoping Mitchell’s mother was better than he suspected.
“I’m not going back there, I said. Never.”
“Why not?”
The boy’s face closed up tight, a look Collin recognized all too well. Something ugly needed to be said and the kid wasn’t ready to deal with it.
As the inevitability of the situation descended upon him, Collin pulled a hand down his face.
After a minute of pulling himself together, he spoke. “Nothing’s going to happen to your cat. You have my word.”
Mitch’s face lightened, though distrust continued to ooze out of him. “How can you be sure?”
“Because,” Collin said, wishing there was a way he could avoid involvement and knowing he couldn’t, “I’ll take her home with me.”
The boy’s face crumpled, incredulous. The belligerent attitude fled, replaced by the awful yearning of hope. “You will?”
“I know a good vet. Panda will be okay.”
Mia ducked under the black plastic and came inside. Her eyes glowed with pleasure. “That’s really nice of you, Sergeant Grace.”
“Yeah. That’s me. Real nice.” Stupid, too.
He was a cop. Tough. Hardened to the ugliness of humanity. He could resist about anything. Anything, that is, except looking at Mitch’s face and seeing his own reflection.
Like it or not, he was about to become a big brother—again.
He only hoped he didn’t mess it up this time around.
Chapter Four
Mitchell sat huddled in the back seat of the patrol car, tense and suspicious. The cardboard carton containing cat, kittens and turtle rested on the seat beside him. The rest of his property was in a battered paint bucket on the floor.
“I told you I’m not going back there.”
Mia turned in her seat, antennae going up. “Why not? Is something wrong at home?”
The boy ignored her.
Ever the cop, Collin spoke up. “Juvie Hall is the other alternative.”
“Better than home.”
The adults exchanged glances.
Collin hadn’t said two complete sentences since they’d left Mitch’s lean-to. He’d simply gathered up the animals and the rag-tag assortment of supplies and led the way to the cruiser. Mitchell had followed along without a fuss, his only concern for the animals. For some reason that Mia could not fathom, the two silent males seemed to communicate without words.
Right now, though, Collin’s words were not helping. Mia stifled the urge to shush him. Something was amiss with the child and he was either too scared or too proud to say so.
She pressed a little harder. “I wish you’d talk to me, Mitch. I can help. It’s what I do. If there is a problem at home I can help get it resolved.”
Dirt spewed up over the windshield as they bumped and jostled down the dusty road out of the landfill. Once on the highway, Collin flipped on the windshield washers.
“How do you and your mother get along? Any problems there?”
Mitch turned his profile toward her and stared at the spattering water.
Mia softened her voice. “Mitch, if there’s abuse, you need to tell me.”
His head whipped around, expression fierce. “Leave my mom out of this.”
Whoa! “Okay. What about your stepdad?”
Collin gave her a sideways glance that said he wished she’d shut up. She didn’t plan on doing that any time soon. Something was wrong in this boy’s life. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be running away. He wouldn’t be shoplifting, and he wouldn’t dread going home. She would be a lousy social worker and an even worse human being if she didn’t investigate the very real possibility of abuse.
“Mitchell,” she urged softly. “You can trust me. I want to help.”
The cruiser slowed to a turn, pulled through a concrete drive and stopped. Mitchell jerked upright. His eyes widened in fright.
“Hey. What are we doing here?”
The green-and-red sign of the 7-Eleven convenience store loomed above the gas pumps. Mia recognized it as the store from which Mitch had shoplifted. Facing consequences was an important part of teaching a child right from wrong, but Mia still felt sorry for him. And she felt frustrated to be getting nowhere in their conversation.
Collin shifted into Park and got out of the car.
Mitchell shrank back against the seat. “I ain’t going in there.”
Mia braced for a strong-armed confrontation between the cop and the kid, prepared to intervene if necessary. But the cop surprised her.
He opened the back door, hunkered down beside the car and spoke quietly, almost gently, to the scared boy. “Everybody messes up sometime, Mitch. Part of being a man means facing up to your mistakes. Are you willing to be a man about it?”
Although Mia was dying to offer to go inside with the boy and talk to the owner, she knew Collin was right. For once, she had to bite her tongue and let the cop do the talking.
Several long seconds passed while Mia thought she would burst. The need to blurt out reassurances and promises swelled like yeast bread on a hot day. Would Mitchell go on his own? Would Sergeant Grace drag him inside if he didn’t?
As if in answer to her unasked question, Collin placed one wide hand on the knee of the boy’s dirty blue jeans and patiently waited.
The gesture brought a lump to Mia’s throat. Her brothers would laugh at her if they knew, but she couldn’t help it. There was something moving about the sight of a tough, taciturn cop conveying his trustworthiness with a gentle touch.
The boy’s shoulders were so tense, Mia thought his collarbone might snap. Finally, he drew in a shuddering breath and reached for his seat-belt clasp.
“Will you go with me?” Mouth tight and straight, he directed the question to Collin.
The policeman pushed to his feet. “Every step.”
And then, as if the social worker in the front seat was invisible, the two males, one tall and buff and immaculate, the other small and thin and tattered, crossed the concrete space and went inside.
The kittens in the back seat made mewing sounds as Panda shifted positions. Mia glanced around to be sure they were staying put. Yellow eyes blinked back.
“Hang tight, Mama,” she said. “The abandonment is only temporary.”
The poor, bedraggled cat seemed satisfied to stay with her babies and the hapless turtle. So, Mia tilted her forehead against the cool side glass and watched the people inside the store. There were a few customers coming and going, an occasional car door slammed, though the area was reasonably quiet.
She
could see Collin and Mitchell moving around inside, see the clerk. Although frustrated at being left behind, for once, she didn’t charge into the situation. But she did use her time to pray that somehow the angry shop owner would give the child a break without letting him off scot-free.
Ten minutes later, Collin and Mitch emerged from the building. Collin wore his usual bland expression that gave nothing away. Mitch looked pale, but relieved as he slammed into the back seat.
Mia could hardly contain herself. “How did it go?”
“Okay.” Collin started the cruiser and pulled into the lane of slow Sunday-afternoon traffic.
Mia rolled her eyes. That wasn’t the answer she was asking for. But since the cop wasn’t willing to elaborate, she asked Mitchell. “What was decided? Is he going to press charges?”
Mitch trailed a finger over one of the kittens. “I don’t know yet. But he said he’d think about it.”
The quiet, gentle boy she usually encountered had returned. The belligerence, most likely posturing brought on by fear, had dissipated. He looked young and small and lost.
Collin spoke up—finally. “We worked out a deal.”
“And is this a secret all-male deal? Or can the nosy, female social worker be let in on it?”
Collin glanced her way, eyes sparkling. At least she’d badgered a smile out of him. Sort of.
“Didn’t like being left in the car?”
The rat. He had already figured out that she needed to be in the middle of a situation. “This is the sort of thing I’m trained to do. I might have been useful in there.”
He didn’t argue the point. “We’re asking for twenty hours of community service.”
That was something she could help with.
“I’ll talk to the DA if you’d like.” She did that all the time, working deals for the juveniles she encountered. “He’s a friend.”
“Figures.”
“Having friends is not a bad thing, Sergeant.”
“It is when you use them to harass people.”
A Child's Christmas Boxed Set: Sugarplum HomecomingThe Christmas ChildA Season For Grace Page 41
