Collin had no clue what Adam meant. And he didn’t think he wanted to ask. Especially about the reference to Mia.
They were nearing his truck, and he needed this settled now. “How much, Carano?”
Adam rubbed a hand over his chin as if in deep thought. “Tell you what, Grace. If you really want to repay me, you can do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
Too late, Collin saw the ornery twinkle.
“Come to Mama’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Maurice started to laugh. His partner knew his aversion to large family gatherings. He’d also been on Collin’s case about Mia.
“I think he blindsided you, partner.”
Adam shrugged his wide shoulders and didn’t look the least bit sorry. “What do you expect? Lawyers are supposed to be sneaky.” He pointed a finger at Collin. “You’re going to show up, aren’t you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Actually, no.” Then, with a laugh and a wave, Adam hopped into a sleek SUV and left him standing in the parking lot. To make matters worse, Maurice was still laughing.
Chapter Eleven
Anticipation, sweeter than Christmas morning, filled Mia. She’d had so many failures, but today she felt sure something new would turn up in this stack of records.
With Mrs. Fielding’s information, she had located the placement files of the family that had taken Drew after he’d run away from the Fielding home. Surely some mention of Collin’s brother would be inside this folder.
She rummaged in her desk for a Snickers, but after a glance at her dusty hands, changed her mind. With the holidays coming up, she’d be fighting more than five pounds if she wasn’t careful.
She flipped through page after page, eyes straining at the faded typewritten print until some of her excitement began to fade. The records seemed jumbled, bits and pieces of several files that might or might not relate to Collin’s brothers. Then, as if lit by a neon sign, Drew’s name leaped out at her.
“Yes!” she whispered, barely able to contain her excitement.
Collin knew she and Mama were praying for a breakthrough, and he’d been politely receptive, but Mia was ready for God to show off a little and prove to Collin that prayer really worked.
She quickly perused the document, found nothing of significance and decided to put the sheet aside while she searched for others. If there was one page about him, perhaps there would be more.
But when she reached the bottom of a rather thick file, two yellowing forms was all she had found. Disappointed, but not disheartened, she settled back to read, hoping for any tidbit to share with Collin.
One was a general report concerning the reasons Drew continued to live in foster care. There was a chronicle of his psycho-social problems, his habit of skipping school, and numerous reports for fighting. He’d been removed from any number of places because of the chip on his shoulder and his propensity for running away.
The other was a social worker’s report indicating a placement in a therapeutic group home with six other teenage boys. Her heart fell into her high heels. Drew was fifteen at that point and had been in foster care since age seven. Gone was any hope that he had found a forever family.
She stopped to rub her tired eyes. Thirty was creeping closer and she’d always heard the eyes were the first to go. She needed to schedule a checkup with her optometrist—soon.
After jotting down names and addresses that might prove useful she started to replace the folder in the appropriate box when a newspaper clipping slipped out and filtered to the floor.
The word fire caught her attention. Her heart thumped once, hard. The reaction was silly, she told herself. A newspaper article about a fire wasn’t necessarily about Drew.
But the clipping had been in the same file.
Unable to shake the foreboding, Mia picked up the two-inch column and read. A fire had broken out in a foster home claiming the lives of several teens, though no names were mentioned.
Dread, heavy as a grand piano, came over her. The address matched one of the homes that had cared for Drew. And the timing was perfect.
She rifled through the box, hoping to find something more about the tragedy but came up empty. Finally, she rested her chin in her hand and stared at the clipping, unsure of what to do with this new information. Should she tell Collin right away? Or keep the clipping to herself until she could verify whether Drew had been in that fire?
She rubbed at her eyes again. This time they were moist.
* * *
Collin stood in the doorway watching Mia. Deeply focused on her work, she hadn’t heard him come in.
Her dark auburn hair swung forward, brushing her cheek, grazing the top of her desk. He studied her, remembering the silkiness of that hair, the softness of her skin.
He couldn’t escape the memory of that night. Especially that insane moment when he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back. More than once, he’d been tempted to repeat the performance, but caution won out. She pretended nothing incredible had happened. So would he. But that didn’t stop him thinking about it.
Her mouth was turned down tonight, unusual for Mia. She rubbed at the corner of one eye and sighed. She was tired.
Her regular workload was always heavy and she was involved in church and the community, but for the past few months, she had been committed to helping him and Mitch. In her spare time, if there was such a thing, she searched the records for his brothers. In the evenings, she was now an active participant, along with Mitch, in rebuilding the barn. He’d asked too much of her.
He was suddenly overcome with a fierce need to take the load off her shoulders. To cheer her up. To make her laugh. Mia had a great laugh.
“Got a minute?”
Mia jumped and slapped one hand over her heart. Her red-rimmed eyes widened. “Collin.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped inside the small office.
“What’s wrong?” She didn’t smile her usual wide, happy welcome.
“Why does anything have to be wrong?” Man, she was pretty, even with her hair mussed and her eyes red and every bit of makeup rubbed away.
“Because you hate this place. You never come here.” She didn’t look all that happy to see him.
He frowned. What was going on with her tonight? “Want me to leave?”
She rotated her head from side to side, stretching tight muscles. Collin thought about offering a neck rub, but decided against it. Last time he’d touched her, he’d gone nuts and kissed her, too.
“Don’t be silly.”
Which was no answer at all. He shifted from one foot to the other and checked out the messy office. Boxes, bent and aging, lined one wall and stacks of manila folders with glaring white typewritten labels were spread here and there.
“Are these the old records you’ve been searching for me?”
A funny expression flitted across her face. For a second, he wondered if she’d found something. But if she had, wouldn’t she be shouting from the rooftops and talking a mile a minute? Instead, she was abnormally quiet tonight.
“These are only a few of the hundreds and hundreds of boxes in that basement,” she said.
“Maybe I could help.” His offer should have come long before now, but he suspected the files were confidential.
Mia shook her head, long hair swishing over the shoulders of a bright-blue sweater. Blue was definitely her color.
“I was about to stop for the night anyway.” She slid some papers into a folder and looked up at him. “So are you going to tell me why you’re here or can I assume I’m under arrest?”
This time she offered a smile.
This was the Mia he knew and…appreciated.
“I came with some news.” He scraped a straight-backed chair up closer to her desk and sat down. “Unless Adam beat me to it.”
Her smile disappeared and she tensed again. “What kind of news? Did something happen?”
Collin waved away her concern. “No
thing bad. At least, I hope you don’t think so. Adam invited me to your Mom’s for Thanksgiving.”
She studied him for two beats. “So did I, but you said no.”
That wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated.
“I’m coming now.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Your brother is a devious man.”
He expected her to laugh and agree. She didn’t. She seemed distracted, not really into the conversation. Earlier he’d felt unwanted, but now he saw what he hadn’t before. Something was wrong.
He leaned across the desk to tug at her hand. The bones felt small and fine, and her skin was smoother and softer than Happy’s fur. “Let’s get out of here. You’re exhausted.”
“It’s not that, Collin. Oh, I am tired, but I’m also upset about something I found in an old file. I need to tell you and I’m not sure how.”
That got his attention. The desire to tease her about Thanksgiving dinner disappeared. “Whose old files are we talking about?”
“Drew’s. Or at least files associated with Drew. There’s some confusion in them. Several files seem to be jumbled together with parts missing. Maybe a box was spilled somehow and hastily repacked. I don’t know. But I did find some information that may or may not involve Drew.”
He saw the pinched skin around her mouth, the worry around her eyes. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, the news was not going to make him happy.
* * *
The day before Thanksgiving Collin unearthed an ancient police report which identified the cause of the Carter Home fire as an electrical short. Better yet, the report listed several witnesses, one of whom turned out to be another former foster kid, Billy Johnson. Collin needed less than thirty minutes to track down the man’s name, address and place of employment.
“I’m going with you,” Mia said, when he called to tell her of the discovery.
“This is your day off. I thought you and your mom were cooking.”
“We are. We still can. But I’m going with you. Don’t argue. Come pick me up.”
Collin hid a smile. Deep down, he was glad that the bulldog in Mia insisted on going along. Something in him worried that the interview might produce bad news. And though Mia couldn’t stop bad news, she was a dandy with moral support and comforting prayers. He’d come to respect that about her. He’d even tried praying a few times himself lately.
Someone had died in that house fire. That’s when he’d started praying in earnest. Praying that Drew wasn’t the one. He’d even taken to bargaining with God. If Drew was alive, he would believe. If Drew was okay, God must care. He knew such prayers were selfish and unfruitful, but he was a desperate man.
Billy Johnson met them in the grease bay of an auto repair shop on the east side of town, a rag in hand. His blue service uniform was streaked with oil and grease and his fingernails would never see clean, but when he offered his hand, Collin shook it gratefully. This man had known Drew at age fifteen.
“Kinda cold out here,” Billy said. “Y’all come inside the office. My boss won’t care. I told him you were coming.”
They followed the mechanic inside the tiny office stacked with tools and papers and red rags and reeking of grease. A small space heater kept the room pleasantly warm.
“Y’all have a seat.” He shoved a car-repair manual off one chair and swiped the red rag over the seat for Mia. Collin settled onto a canvas camp stool. No one sat around this place much.
“I remember Drew.” Billy rolled a stool from beneath the desk and balanced on it, pushing himself back and forth with one extended foot. “He was a wiry rascal. Liked to fight.”
Collin shot Mia a wry glance. “Sounds like my brother.”
“He was okay, though. Me and him, we only punched each other once. After that, we was kinda buddies, ya might say.” He grinned. “Foster kids, ya know. We sneaked smokes together. Raided the kitchen. Tormented the house parents. The usual.”
“What do you remember about the night of the fire?” Mia asked, and Collin was grateful. His shoulder muscles were as tight as security at the White House. He wanted to get this over with.
“More than I want to,” Billy said, scratching at the back of his head. The metal rollers on his stool made an annoying screech against the cement floor. “The house was full, seven or eight boys, I think, so I was asleep in the living room on the couch when the fire broke out.”
“But you woke in time to escape?”
“Yes, ma’am. Me and this one other kid.” He rolled the stool in and out, in and out, oblivious to the screech.
“Was it Drew?”
“No, ma’am.” Screech. Screech. “A kid named Jerry. I think he’s in the pen now.”
Blood pulsing against his temples, Collin leaned forward. “What about Drew?”
Billy hesitated. Collin got a real bad feeling, worse than the time he’d walked into a dark alley and come face to face with a double-barrelled shotgun.
The screeching stopped. “Drew slept in the attic. I’m sorry, officer. Your brother never made it out.”
* * *
Mia wanted Collin to get angry. She wanted him to cry. She wanted him to react in some way, to show some emotion. But he didn’t.
With his cop face on, he thanked Billy Johnson and quietly led the way to the car. The drive back to Mia’s apartment was unbearable. She talked, muttered maddeningly useless platitudes, said she was sorry a million times, reminded him that Ian was still out there somewhere, but Collin said nothing in response.
“Why don’t you come inside for a while?” she asked when he stopped outside her apartment. “I’ll make us something to eat. Better yet, my tiramisu brownies are already baked for tomorrow’s dinner. We can sneak one with some fresh coffee. I know brownies and coffee won’t change things, but comfort food always makes me feel better.”
“I don’t think so.”
Her heart broke for him. Lord, hasn’t he had enough sorrow in his life? Why this?
She pushed the door open, hesitant to leave him alone. “Will you call me later if you need to talk?”
For a minute, she thought he might respond, might even smile. He’d teased her so many times about her tendency to rattle on, but this time he was hurting too much even to tease.
“I’ll come out to your place later if you want me to. Or you can come back here. You really shouldn’t be alone.”
He looked at her and what she read there was clearer than words and so terribly sad she wanted to cry. He’d always been alone.
“I’m here for you, Collin. If you need anything at all, please call me. Let me help. I don’t know what to do either, but I want to do something.”
Feeling helpless, she slid out of the truck and stood with one hand holding the door open. Wind swirled around her legs, chilling her. Someone slammed an apartment door and pounded down the metal stairs outside her complex.
“I’m praying for you, Collin. God cares. I care. My family cares. Please know that.”
This time he answered, his voice low, and Mia thought she saw a crack in the hard veneer. “I do know.”
She couldn’t help herself. She reached back inside the cab and touched his cheek. Her heart was full of sorrow and love and the desire to help him heal, but this time she was the one with no words.
Collin reached up and took her hand from his whisker-rough face, gave it a squeeze and let go. “Better get inside. You’ll freeze.”
She backed away, reluctant to let him leave, but having no other choice.
“We’ll see you tomorrow at Mama’s, won’t we?”
“I don’t know, Mia,” he said. “I probably wouldn’t be very good company.”
And then he drove away.
Chapter Twelve
Dead.
The word clattered round and round in Collin’s head like a rock in an empty pop can.
Drew, his full-of-energy-and-orneriness brother, was dead. Long dead.
All the years of searching, hoping, gone up
in smoke in a house where the kids were throwaways that nobody wanted anyway. Nobody missed them. Nobody mourned them.
He lay on his bed in the darkness, staring up at the shadows cast by the wind-tossed maple outside his window. He had used all the energy in him to drive home and care for the animals. By the time he’d dragged his heavy heart inside, he hadn’t had the energy to undress except for his boots.
He’d been alone for years, but tonight he felt empty as if part of him had disappeared. In a way, he supposed it had. The search for his brothers had sustained him since he was ten years old. The hope of reunion had kept him moving forward, kept him fighting upstream when he’d been ready to give up on life in general. The search had given him purpose, made him a cop. Now, half of that hope was gone forever. And with it, half of himself.
He heard the soft shuffle of animal feet on wood floors. The familiar limp and thump that could only belong to Happy.
After the fire, Collin hadn’t had the heart to leave the little guy outside with the others. So Happy had moved into a box in the living room, quietly filling Collin’s evenings with his sweet presence.
But now, he whined at the bedside, an unusual turn of events.
“What do you want, boy?” Collin said to the dark ceiling.
Happy whined again.
Though his body weighed a thousand pounds and moving took effort he didn’t have, Collin rolled to his side and peered down at the shadowy form. The collie lifted one footless leg and pawed at him. When Collin didn’t pick him up, Happy tried to jump, a pitiful sight that sent the dog tumbling backwards.
Collin swooped him up onto the bed. “Here now.”
With a contented sigh, Happy buried his nose under his master’s arm and settled down. Collin had never had a dog. Not as a pet. But Happy was getting real close. Both his legs had finally healed after the second amputation, but a dog with two missing feet wasn’t likely ever to be adopted.
He smoothed his hand over the shaggy fur, glad for the company of another creature, especially one that didn’t talk.
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