by Glynna Kaye
He responded with a soft chuckle. “Give it time. He’ll eventually outgrow that policeman phase.”
She bumped him playfully with her shoulder. “Promise?”
“Trust me.” They sat in silence once more, listening to the night sounds. A cricket. Someone’s television tuned to a weather report. A horn blaring from the freeway. A dog yapping.
He could sit here all night with her nestled beside him. Feeling her warmth. Breathing in the subtle rose scent of her. God had to show him how to bring her and Cory out of the hardships they’d somehow fallen into.
“Why are you living in this neighborhood, Elise?” His gaze took in his surroundings. The unkempt yards. Poorly maintained apartments and homes. The air of neglect and desperation that permeated the area. “Surely this isn’t what your husband would have wanted for you and Cory.”
She tensed at his words and instinctively he tightened his arm around her in a gesture of reassurance.
Abruptly she pulled away, the cooling night air rushing to fill the now-vacant space at his side. “Sometimes you don’t get everything you want in life.”
Her tone held an icy chill that cut him to the quick.
“No,” he said, now cautious, “sometimes it has a way of handing us the worst when we least expect it.” Didn’t he know it, with the discovery of a mother and twin brother he’d never known, his dad missing, and the speculation that his dad might not be his biological father? Life had treated Elise less than kindly. He had to make her see that the downhill slide she found herself on didn’t have to continue. He could help her find a way out. “When it comes to your and Cory’s safety—”
“It may not seem so to you, but I’m doing the best I can.” Elise stood and moved to the apartment building’s door.
He stood as well, searching her distraught gaze in the dim light. Kicking himself for mishandling the situation. “Elise—”
He stretched out his hand, but she stepped back.
“Good night, Mr. Wallace. Have a safe trip to see your family. And thank you again for spending time with my son. I believe I now have the answers I need to deal with the situation on my own.”
Chapter Eight
What was wrong with her?
Remembering too vividly the warmth of Grayson’s embrace and the concern in his eyes, she let herself into the upstairs apartment with a shaky hand. He’d startled her when he first put his arm around her, but after a few moments, when he made no further movements of a more intimate nature, she’d taken it for what it was. An act of comfort. Caring. But to her shame, she’d melted into him. Craving his strength. His warmth. The safety that emanated from him.
Once inside, she locked the door behind her, then slid the chain into its bracket as if to bar herself and Cory from the tumultuous past, the uncertain future—and from Grayson, who effortlessly drew her heart and hopes to himself.
In spite of Duke’s betrayal, she still loved her husband. Still guarded his reputation and was determined that family and friends never learn what she’d discovered. But she hadn’t counted on Cory idolizing him. At what point did she tell him the truth about his father—if ever?
In spite of his taking an interest in Cory’s welfare, she couldn’t even admit the true situation to Gray tonight. She’d all but slammed the door in his face when he’d verbalized his understandable questions about her meager circumstances. Voiced his concern about her and Cory’s safety in the neighborhood.
While she appreciated him spending time with Cory and figuring out what might be the source of her son’s anger, the truth couldn’t be shared. She couldn’t betray her husband’s trust.
* * *
He should have kept his hands to himself last night. He had no business slipping his arm around her. That last thoughtless squeeze...or maybe the prying questions...had sent her running up the stairs as if her dainty feet were on fire.
She’d made it abundantly clear he wouldn’t be seeing Cory—or her—again. She had the answers she needed to see to the welfare of her son, and that was that.
It was his own fault.
“Earth to Grayson.”
He jerked his thoughts back to his two sisters seated around the breakfast table at the Colby Ranch on Saturday morning.
“He’s not usually this spacey, Violet. Must have something pretty intriguing on his mind.” Maddie cut a look in his direction. “Or at least pretty.”
Grayson noted uneasily the curious gleam in the eyes of both sisters. “I’d say thinking through how to find Dad is serious business, wouldn’t you?”
Maddie and Violet exchanged a chastised look. Then Maddie stood, gathering the breakfast dishes since their cook/housekeeper Lupita had the day off. “Do you have any leads at all, Gray?”
“Investigative work is time consuming and methodical. It’s not like on TV.” He downed the remainder of his orange juice. “I took a couple of days off this week to continue calling hospitals, clinics, churches and police departments within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of the region where we think Dad may have gone. I’ll do more of that this coming week.”
He rose and carried his empty plate, glass and utensils to the sink where Maddie rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher.
“I realize the rest of you’ve done that on a smaller scale,” he continued, “but it doesn’t hurt to check again. Things can change from one day to the next, and giving my name with an ‘officer’ in front of it usually helps people remember better.”
“I imagine so.” Violet cracked a smile. “That would sure get my attention. You filed a missing person’s report for us, so tell me again why that hasn’t turned up anything?”
Gray leaned against the kitchen counter and folded his arms. “To be honest, that probably did little more than document our concern that we can’t find him. It doesn’t make him Amber Alert material. You won’t see it on the ten o’clock news or find his face on a milk carton. Law enforcement doesn’t have the resources to beat the bushes for a misplaced adult. Grown-ups go missing every day and most eventually turn up.”
“But we think he may be sick. You’d think that would light fires under someone.”
“What’s working against us is that Dad isn’t expected back until Thanksgiving, so he’s not technically missing. If he hadn’t left his phone behind in Blackstone, it would be a nonissue. The only evidence that he might be in trouble is a few people saying he appeared ill. While that alarms us, it’s not an immediate danger kind of thing that would mobilize law enforcement. He’s not suicidal or dangling from a ledge over the Grand Canyon.”
“I know, but—”
“He’s a grown man, Violet. A doctor. A missionary who frequently goes off on these solo journeys.” He glanced at Maddie for confirmation. “The two of us know it’s common not to hear from him for weeks or months. He gets busy. Loses track of time.”
Violet sighed. “So we sit tight.”
“It’s going to be okay, Vi.” Maddie dried her hands on a dish towel. “If anyone can find Dad, it’s Grayson.”
He wished she’d stop saying that. He could follow paper and electronic trails and track with the best of them, but there wasn’t much to track. Dad hadn’t used his credit or ATM cards in some time. Which made Gray uneasy. Very uneasy. But he couldn’t yet tell the family what increasingly gnawed at the back of his mind.
What if Brian Wallace didn’t want to be found?
He’d never have given that a second thought under different circumstances. But once he’d returned from his undercover assignment and discovered the family’s—for lack of a better word—mess, it made disquieting sense.
Every single day, men and women walked away from friends and family and disappeared—at least for a time—in order to escape the pressures and responsibilities of their daily lives. Dad had harbored for a good long time the fa
ct that he’d been married before. That he had more than the three kids who lived with him. Then there was the ugly question about paternity. Maybe the Wallace-Colby boys weren’t even his biological offspring. Maybe he knew the secrets of a lifetime were about to break wide open and decided it was time to find an exit.
Their dad wasn’t dumb. He’d taken his oldest vehicle on this trip—the one without GPS tracking capability. Then he’d conveniently left behind at one of his stops his state-of-the-art cell phone—the one law enforcement might have been able to “ping” for location coordinates. Troubling for sure, but right now he didn’t need to give the family anything else to worry about.
“I’m doing my best, ladies, and that’s all I can do.”
Violet approached to slip her arms around him for a hug. “That’s all we ask, Gray. Thank you.”
Then she pulled back, mischievous sparks dancing in eyes so like Maddie’s. “Now care to tell us what else—or who else—is on your mind?”
* * *
“Saw you sittin’ on the front porch with Cory’s cop last night.” An early bird like Elise, Billie Jean popped open the door of the clothes dryer in the laundry room shared by the building’s tenants. Pulling out an armload of bath towels, she motioned to Elise to put her own washer-damp bedding inside.
How much had Billie Jean seen? Grayson’s arm around her? Her jerking away in childish panic when his question about the circumstances Duke had left her in to hit a nerve? Face warming, Elise stuffed the sheets inside, closed the metal door and selected the settings. With any luck, Billie Jean couldn’t linger long to interrogate her this morning. She and Roy and the kids were heading out of town for the weekend. Leaving at eight.
Breathing in the nose-tickling scent of detergent, Elise relaxed against the vibrating dryer to watch her friend fold towels. “He was filling me in on what he’d learned about Cory’s situation.”
“Which is?”
“He thinks Cory’s acting out at school because of me.”
Billie Jean eyed her thoughtfully. “Bet that was a hard one to swallow.”
“Not as hard as you’d think.” Or at least not after she’d had more time to review the circumstances of Cory’s school difficulties. “As much as I don’t like it, it makes sense. Remember in early August when those men accosted us on the way home from church late one night?”
“Rocked the car and all that?”
“Yeah. And then you know how those neighborhood teens are always showing off to their buddies, pretending to be super macho and wolf whistling and hollering things out the car windows.”
Billie Jean gave a self-mocking smile of regret. “Sad to say, that hasn’t been a problem for me in recent years. But yeah, I remember you mentioning that.”
“Grayson—Officer Wallace—suspects Cory’s afraid on my behalf. Angry that he can’t stop those men from bothering me. So he’s acting out at school.”
Her friend nodded as she folded another towel and added it to the growing stack. “Is this Grayson guy going to work with him? Help him deal with it?”
“Actually—” Elise tossed her long braid over her shoulder “—now that I know the source of Cory’s outbursts, it’s time to see if the school counselor thinks I should seek professional assistance.”
Her friend gave a disbelieving laugh. “I think all the assistance you need comes packaged in that bighearted cop. He might not be a kid shrink, but it seems to me he’s in tune with Cory. Far more than any professional would ever get. I can already tell Cory’s demeanor has softened considerably from what it’s been the past few months. Surely you’ve noticed.”
She had.
Billie Jean folded a final towel and gave it a satisfied pat. “I’m surprised we didn’t put two and two together earlier—connect it to that episode with the men on the street.”
“Thankfully Grayson did.”
“So...will we be seeing him again?”
“No.” Still ashamed at the way she’d dismissed Grayson, Elise bent to pick up a ball of lint and tossed it in the wastebasket. “He’s done what I asked him to do. Now he can remove his superhero cape and return to his real life.”
“Superhero cape, huh?”
“That’s what he called it.”
Billie Jean’s brow crinkled. “And you’re going to let him walk away, just like that?”
“I have no reason to detain him.”
“Honey, I can think of plenty of reasons to detain that handsome hunk of man. Your pride is gonna be your downfall. Never wanting to accept a well-intentioned offer of help. Always wanting to do everything on your own.”
Her friend’s words smarted. “Quite honestly, Billie Jean, it’s not a good idea for Cory to get further attached to him. I appreciate what he’s done for me, enabling me to better help my son, but it’s best not to push a situation that could lead to heartache.”
Billie Jean gathered up the towels in her arms, studying her a long moment. “Heartache for Cory? Or for you, Elise?”
* * *
“That house caught your eye, boy? It’s for sale.”
Grayson turned to an official-looking SUV that had pulled in behind his along the tree-shaded street. It was the sheriff he’d met last time he’d been in Grasslands.
“Hey, George.” He stepped to the open passenger-side window. “I’ve always had an interest in early twentieth century Texas architecture. A sweet 1920s example like this grabbed my attention.”
“Nice investment property—or a home if you’re inclined.”
Grayson glanced at the house situated on a spacious corner lot behind a gated, woven-wire fence. White frame with a charcoal roof and a wraparound porch, it was the epitome of Victorian flavor on a small scale. Came complete with an adjoining half acre or so of fenced garden space, a detached garage and shed. Admittedly, the overgrown yard could use some work, and Gray couldn’t help but long to get his hands on it.
“Too far to commute from Fort Worth or to keep an eye on renters.”
“But ideal if you join the sheriff’s department. Takin’ applications as we speak. I think that little lady I suppose you have back in Cowtown would love to call a place like this home.”
Gray’s mind flew to Elise as he pictured her seated next to him on the porch swing and Cory playing in the shade-dappled yard. Both the elementary school and the business district were a few blocks away. No traffic or crime to speak of. Kind of like the idyllic days he’d spent in Appleton as a kid.
But he wouldn’t be seeing Cory again. Or Elise.
“Nobody’s living in it,” George persisted. “Been empty all year since Myrtle went to live with her niece in Lubbock. Call that number on the sign there, and Buster can let you in for a look around.”
The police radio crackled. “The Colbys have long had a fine reputation in these parts. From what I hear, the Wallace name is the same. Just between the two of us, I have a feeling this deputy opening has your name on it.”
Grayson cracked a smile. “You do, do you?”
The radio sputtered again and a dispatcher directed the sheriff to a stranded motorist north of town.
“Give it serious thought, son. And prayer if you’re the prayin’ kind.” George lifted his hand in a parting gesture, then headed the vehicle down the street.
The job had his name on it? Not in a million years. Couldn’t hurt, though, to give Buster a call just to take a peek at a fine-looking piece of architecture. But first he’d drop by the church to leave a few things Violet had given him for the office secretary. Sadie, was it?
In fact, he might have a chat with the local pastor. He’d met him during his first visit, and he seemed like a decent sort. Maybe he could help make sense of the chaos surrounding the Wallace-Colby clan in recent days.
As he opened the door to his SUV, he had second thoughts abo
ut driving. It was a nice day. He’d walk. Snagging a paper sack and tucking it into the crook of his good arm, he set out along the black-topped street. Although a warm, sunny day in early October, an undercurrent of autumn touched the air.
He soon found himself walking by the storefronts on tree-lined Main Street. Past Grasslands Coffee Shop and the Ranch House Bakery. Sally’s Barbecue, Grasslands Bank and the Corner Drug Store. A little antiques shop. But what caught his eye well before he reached the four-way stop intersection was Grasslands Community Church, situated on a pecan-treed, small-town green.
It looked like a picture postcard with its white steepled frame. As he approached the modest building, he noted the neatly clipped lawn and the graveled path winding to the back where he glimpsed shrubs, rosebushes and flowerbeds. Seeing a white cross rising among crepe myrtles, he suspected the foliage might shelter a prayer garden.
Trotting up the painted concrete steps and through the white-painted door, he then stepped into the shadowed interior, the wooden floor creaking under his weight.
“May I help you?”
Grayson swung around to a young woman peering up at him through oversize glasses. Sadie, from the way his sisters had described her. Small and slightly built and not at all fashionably dressed, she nevertheless had amazing green eyes.
“Ma’am.” He nodded and held out the brown paper sack. “I’m Grayson Wallace, Violet Colby’s brother. If you’re Sadie, she asked me to drop this off for you.”
The woman made no move to take the sack. Her eyes flickered over him uncomfortably, not a look he was accustomed to getting from the fairer sex. Maybe it was the look-alike thing. He’d had more than one local give a double take when they spied “Jack” strolling down Main Street—with a haircut and minus the Western hat and boots.
“Yes, I’m Sadie,” she said at last, although it didn’t sound like she wanted to admit it. “Nice meetin’ you, Mr. Wallace.”
“Same here. But call me Grayson.” He held up the sack. “Did you want me to put this someplace for you?”