Look-Alike Lawman

by Glynna Kaye

  But until they’d unearthed the source of Cory’s anger issues, could she afford to cut ties with Grayson?

  Chapter Seven

  “Howdy, Cory.”

  As the boy in the cowboy hat eagerly let him into the apartment, the smell of roast beef and warm bread of some variety set Grayson’s mouth watering. His eyes readily found Cory’s mom busy in the kitchen.

  The way to a man’s heart...

  But he didn’t need a taste of her cooking to know he was already sliding down a slippery slope. He was a cop. He’d wanted to be a cop ever since hearing people talk in admiring tones about how a policeman had freed his little sister from the backseat of the remnants of a car crash that killed their mom.

  He’d tossed and turned half the night, but still hadn’t a clue as to how to get past the “no cops beyond this point” warning tape stretched across Elise’s heart. How could he get to a place where his being a cop wasn’t a constant reminder of her husband’s death? He’d have to be cautious with Cory. Make no promises he might not be able to keep. But by giving in to Cory’s pleadings to have him over for supper, could Elise be lowering her guard?

  Maybe she’d give him a hint tonight.

  “Come on in, Grayson. Supper’s almost ready.” Her welcoming tone drew him farther into the apartment as Cory almost danced around him in excitement.

  “Smells mighty good.” He caught and held her gaze, then she quickly looked away to turn off the oven. Almost as if nervous to have him here. Could it be that she hadn’t entertained a man in her home since Duke’s passing?

  For some odd reason the thought kindled hope.

  Not knowing what to expect of her decorating style, he was nevertheless taken aback at the sparseness of the furnishings as he crossed the living room to the kitchen-dining area. It was almost reminiscent of his college days when he and half a dozen other guys rented a house a few blocks off campus. Sleeping bags on the floor. Clothes, towels and shoes lined up around the perimeter of the shared bedrooms. Who needed dressers? Talk about a barren bachelor pad.

  Her place wasn’t quite as bad as that. But close.

  Despite the minimalist furnishings, the place was neat and immaculately clean—unlike his undergrad residence. A table had been set with navy blue placemats, glazed white dinnerware and navy-and-white-checked cloth napkins. Candles, too, their gentle flicker casting a homey warmth. His mom—Sharla—had been fond of candlelight. His dad said she thought it made every meal, even something straight out of a can, special.

  Cory set his hat on a corner of the countertop, then pulled out a dark oak chair and plopped down to gaze at the laden table. Beef on a platter surrounded by chunked potatoes, onions, celery and carrots. White rice. Drippings gravy in a spouted server. Green beans. Fried okra. Biscuits.

  “Isn’t this incredible, Officer Wallace? Roast is my favorite.”

  And apparently a rarity in this household from the kid’s awed voice and wide-eyed reaction.

  “Please have a seat, Grayson.” By her anxious gaze directed at Cory, it was obvious Elise didn’t want him further betraying their meager circumstances with his innocent comments. What had happened, anyway, to bring mother and son to this part of the city? An honest cop might not roll in dough, but surely her husband had at one time provided a decent home. Furniture. Sufficient insurance coverage.

  What had become of it?

  He settled in across from where he anticipated Elise would sit—likely closest to the work area of the kitchen—with Cory on his left. She looked lovely tonight in jeans and a high-waisted, flowing top. A delicate silver chain with a turquoise pendant filled in the V-neck, and her hair was loosely clasped at the nape of her neck.

  A vision like that sure got a man thinking about what it might be like not to come home to an empty condo every night. Drawing his gaze from her graceful form, he chatted about school with a squirming Cory until Elise finally seated herself and turned to her son. “Would you like to give thanks?”

  The boy nodded, unfazed by the request as many kids might be. Grayson closed his eyes and bowed his head. Waited.

  Waited some more.

  Silent prayer?

  He opened one eye. Cory had his hand outstretched toward him, his gaze patient as if dealing with a child not yet schooled in basic etiquette.

  “You’re not holding hands, Officer Wallace,” came his whisper.

  A quick glance determined that Cory’s other hand was clasped by his mother—and her free hand, like her son’s, stretched out to him across the width of the table.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  He turned toward Cory to accommodate the limitations of his sling and obediently grasped the boy’s hand. Then, after a second’s hesitation, he took Elise’s. Fragile. Soft. Warm. Holding it self-consciously in his own, it was all he could do to keep his focus on the childish voice enumerating in detail to their Heavenly Father all that he had to be thankful for.

  Whatever troubles Cory might have adjusting to the challenges life had slung at him, clearly poor parenting didn’t fit into the equation.

  “Oh, and thank you, Jesus, for this awesome roast,” Cory finished up. “And for Officer Wallace being so awesome, too. Amen.”

  Amens echoed around the table. Hands released, leaving his feeling strangely bereft.

  Grayson cleared his throat and caught Elise’s eye as he spoke to her son. “You know, Cory, if it’s okay with your mother I’d be more comfortable if you’d call me Grayson. Or Gray.”

  For a moment, perceiving a slight lowering of a delicate brow, he thought she’d deny the request. After all, he was spending time with Cory in what was basically a professional capacity. Not a social one. His presence was merely supposed to nip in the bud any behaviors that might later lead to more serious issues.

  But she nodded affirmation, and his heart lightened.

  “I think that’s fine. He calls his sitter by her first name, too.”

  Cory motioned across the table. “Would you please pass the biscuits, Officer Wa—Officer Grayson?”

  Grayson and Elise exchanged looks of amusement, then he set the biscuit basket down beside the six-year-old before helping the boy spear a juicy slice of tender beef and ladle gravy onto fluffy rice mounded on his plate.

  With a quick glance at his mother, who was distracted with serving herself, Cory snatched up a green bean with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. Chewed. “Does your wife fix roast for you, Officer Grayson?”

  Gray paused for a second, not looking at Elise but sensing her listening to the conversation. “I don’t have a wife, Cory. I’m not married. Never been married.”

  “Do you have little kids?”

  “No. No children.”

  “How come?”

  “Cory.” His mother shot Grayson an apologetic look as she finished filling her plate. But Cory ignored her warning.

  “Don’t you want to be married and have kids?”

  Grayson reached for a golden biscuit. Now there was a loaded question if there ever was one. “I’m not opposed.”

  “What’s ’posed mean?”

  “It means I have no objections.”

  “What’s no ob—”

  “It means, Cory—” Elise gave her son a pointed look “—that if God wants him to get married, he will. Now let’s change the subject, please.”

  Acquiescing, Cory poked a finger at a potato on his plate. “Did Mom tell you she’s going to get me a pony?”

  A forked carrot paused halfway to Elise’s mouth. “Cornelio Tomas Lopez, I did not say I’m getting you a pony. And use your utensils, please.”

  Cory grinned down at his meal, undaunted, but reached for a fork. “Grandma said you had a pony when you were a kid, Mom. I need a pony so I can be a sheriff or a mounted policeman.”

 
; “Ponies are expensive. They eat a lot and take up a lot of room. They need a barn to live in, too.”

  The boy perked up. “We can fix the holes in the backyard fence. There’s a shed if we can get Mrs. Morton and Billie Jean to take their junk out of it.”

  “No ponies.” She turned to Grayson, shaking her head with an exasperated smile, and he guessed mother and son had been over this pony ground before. “So, Grayson, how is physical therapy coming?”

  “Good—if I can take the therapist’s word for it.”

  “Mom, did you know Officer Grayson jumped out of a window, and that’s how he busted his shoulder? Is that cool or what?”

  “Off a balcony,” she corrected lightly, as if diving off one was an everyday occurrence, but a tiny crease between her brows surfaced. “I’m sure it didn’t feel cool.”

  Gray chuckled. “No, can’t say it did.”

  He deliberately hadn’t shared with Cory any details of the close-call encounter when asked about the source of his injury. He kept under wraps that there were “bad guys” involved. He’d only inadvertently shared with Elise that gunfire had come into play.

  Unlike TV shows and movies, that type of thing was a rare occurrence in the day-to-day life of the average police officer, although incidents seemed increasingly frequent these days. But the fact that it did happen and resulted in the death of Elise’s husband—Cory’s dad—made it a less than ideal mealtime topic. Nor could Gray discuss in front of the boy the issues that had been weighing on his mind since midweek when Cory had divulged concerns for his mother and told him about men making a nuisance of themselves.

  Would Elise be willing to open up to him about it?

  He cut her a quick look, a protectiveness welling up inside as she gently tucked Cory’s napkin more securely on his lap. Regardless of whether his concerns were welcome or not, he wasn’t leaving tonight until he got the full story from her.

  * * *

  “So what was this man-to-man conversation between you and Cory about the other day?” Elise kept her voice low as she walked Grayson down the stairs to the building’s front porch. “The one with all the serious looks when I drove up.”

  At least her direct question relieved him of bringing up the subject on his own.

  “If I tell you, you can't tell Cory.”

  “That all depends.”

  “Then it will remain between Cory and me.” He needed to get to the heart of what the boy started to tell him the other day, but their relationship was still a fragile one and he didn’t want the kid to think he couldn’t be trusted.

  “Excuse me? He’s my son, and you agreed to—”

  “Spy on him? Be a snitch?”

  She folded her arms. He knew she was trying to appear forceful, but it was all he could do to smother a smile. She looked cute when she tried to be tough.

  “I hardly think being a snitch is what I’m asking you to do.”

  “It’s up to you. You want to know or you don’t?”

  Her lips formed a grim line, her gaze assessing him. “Okay. I promise.”

  “I think your fears are transferring to him.”

  A frown creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”

  “Layman’s guess, but I think he’s acting out at school because it’s a safe place to take out his fears for your safety. He told me he needs to protect you from men who make you afraid.”

  Her eyes widened as realization apparently dawned. “Oh.”

  “He says you don’t go out much at night since, as he put it, ‘guys laid on your car.’ ”

  She slowly sank to the concrete steps, as if her legs would no longer hold her. He lowered himself down beside her.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, but from her stunned expression he had his doubts.

  “I tried not to let him know...not to react in such a way that it would frighten him. I thought I’d done that. He never talked about it afterward.”

  “What happened?” he asked gently.

  A weary sigh escaped her lips as she stared across the darkened yard, the dim porch light its sole illumination. “Not long before school started, we’d gone to a Sunday evening church event. We stayed for the barbecue afterward and time got away from me. Cory was having fun with the games and the bounce house, so we didn’t leave until well after ten o’clock.”

  She bent her knees and lifted her feet to the step on which she sat, wrapping her arms protectively around her legs, almost like a little kid might do. “The streets were surprisingly empty that night. Not much traffic. When I stopped for the signal at one deserted intersection, suddenly half a dozen men—older teens or early twenties—stepped out of the shadows of a closed shop and approached the car.”

  A muscle tightened in his shoulder as she paused, and he sensed her gathering the strength to continue.

  “They surrounded us. Tried to open the doors. Pounded on the windows. Rocked the car. Made lewd remarks and gestures. A couple of them found it funny to stretch across the hood of the car.”

  Picturing the scene, he flexed his fingers as tension mounted. “What did you do?”

  She closed her eyes momentarily, nibbling on her lower lip. “I said a prayer that there would be no oncoming traffic. And hit the gas. I ran the red light—and every red light the rest of the way home.”

  “Oh, Elise.”

  “The men jumped off the car by the time I got through that first intersection,” she assured quickly, as if concerned he might think she’d harmed someone, “but I kept going.”

  “You did the right thing.” Instinctively he knew she needed to hear that. “Did you call the police?”

  She shook her head. “No. It all happened so fast. My cell phone was in my purse on the floor of the backseat. All I knew was that I had to get Cory safely home. I assured him everything was okay. Made him sing ‘Jesus Loves Me’ with me all the way back to the apartment. I got him tucked into bed. Read him his favorite stories. Then after he fell asleep—”

  She shivered.

  “Then what?”

  “I went in the bathroom and threw up.”

  Without thinking, he slipped his good arm around her and drew her near. She stiffened for a moment, then gradually relaxed as if drawing comfort from him as they sat in silence—comfort he willed into her with every fiber of his being.

  She’d been terrified. Thank God neither she nor Cory had been hurt. But the experience had left a raw wound. No wonder she no longer went out at night.

  “What about the other men?” He kept his tone gentle, as he’d done when probing her son on the same topic. “The ones Cory said drive by here and yell what he called dirty words.”

  She shrugged against him. “Neighborhood teens with not enough to do.”

  “Except harass innocent women and children. How long ago did this happen? Could you identify them?”

  “Last week most recently.” Most recently? How long had this been going on? “I do my best not to look at them except to keep an eye on where they are. I don’t want to encourage them. I took Cory by the hand and led him straight into the house.”

  She turned to Gray, her breath catching ever so slightly at finding his face mere inches from her own. She looked away at once, but his heartbeat ramped up to an erratic rhythm.

  “I could probably identify one or two that I’ve seen before. I don’t think they mean any harm. When I’ve seen some of them during the daytime, when they’re not with their buddies, they’re polite enough.”

  “I don’t like the sound of it. If they come around again, you call 911. You understand?” She needed to recognize the potential seriousness of the situation.

  “By the time the police could arrive, they’d be long gone. Siccing law enforcement on them might encourage them to push things further. Retaliate. I
can’t afford to be known in the neighborhood as someone who’s rocking the boat.”

  “What they’re doing is against the law. I’ve already asked that police presence be stepped up.” And he’d driven his SUV through the neighborhood last night to check things out himself. No sign of rowdy teens. “Sometimes all it takes is a cruiser making the rounds at unexpected intervals to get those types to move on. It’s likely you’re not the sole woman they’ve approached.”

  She turned toward him again, still secure in the breadth of his arm, her gaze uncertain. “So, you think this is what has Cory so angry?”

  The situation made him angry, so why not a kid?

  “Boys learn quickly that exhibiting fear isn’t acceptable. But anger? One of the few emotions a man’s at liberty to indulge in.” He paused, drinking in the beauty of her dark, expressive eyes. Marveling at the gentleness of her heart and how quickly she was finding her way into his. “I think this tough front at school is a cover-up for what he’s feeling inside, that he’s powerless to keep you safe. He can’t take on those men, but he did a pretty good job of straightening out those kids a few years older than him.”

  Elise uncoiled her legs, glancing down at her hands as she clasped and unclasped them on her lap. How he wanted to capture them in his own. Assure her everything was going to be okay.

  “I tried not to let him know I was afraid.” Her voice held a wistfulness that made Gray all the more determined to protect her and Cory regardless of risk of rejection. “I’ve been determined from the moment of Duke’s death not to make my son a substitute spouse. Not to involve him in grown-up decision making or burden him with adult problems. I’ve seen too many single mothers do that. But it looks like my efforts have been in vain.”

  “Like I said before, kids are perceptive. I think Cory is remarkably sensitive and tuned in to what’s going on around him.”

  She tilted her head to look at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Please don’t tell me that trait will make him a good cop.”