A Season For Grace. Линда Гуднайт
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His shift was long over, and the sun drifted toward the west, but at least once a week he checked and re-checked, just in case he’d missed something the other five thousand times he’d searched.
Somewhere out there he had two brothers, and with the explosion of information on the Internet he would find them—eventually. After all this time, though, he wasn’t expecting a miracle.
His cell phone played the University of Oklahoma fight song and he glanced down at the caller ID. Her again. Mia Carano. She’d left no less than ten messages over the past three days. He had talked to her twice, told her no and then hadn’t bothered to return her other calls. Eventually she’d get the message.
The rollicking strains of “Boomer Sooner” faded away as his voice mail picked up. Collin kept his attention on the computer screen.
Over the years, he’d amassed quite a list of names and addresses. One by one, he’d checked them out and moved them to an inactive file. He typed several more names into the file on his computer and hit Save.
The welfare office suggested he should hire a private search agency, but Collin never planned to do that. The idea of letting someone else poke into his troubled background made him nervous. He’d done a good job of leaving that life behind and didn’t want the bones of his childhood dug up by some stranger.
Part of the frustration in this search, though, lay with his own limited memory. Given what he knew of his mother, he wasn’t even sure he and his brothers shared a last name. And even if they once had, either or both could have been changed through adoption.
Maurice Johnson, staying late to finish a report, bent over Collin’s desk. “Any luck?”
He kept his voice low, and Collin appreciated his discretion. It was one of the reasons he’d confided in his coworker and friend about the missing brothers. It was also one of the reasons the man was one of his few close friends. Maurice knew how to keep his mouth shut.
“Same old thing. I added a few more men with the last names of Grace and Stotz, my mother’s maiden name, to the list, but I’m convinced the boys were moved out of Oklahoma after we were separated.”
Their home state had been a dead end from the get-go.
“Any luck in the Texas system?”
“Not yet. But it’s huge. Finding the names is easy. Matching ages and plundering records isn’t quite as simple.”
“Even for a cop.”
A lot of the old files were not even computerized yet. And even if he could find them, there were plenty of records he couldn’t access.
“Yeah. If only most adoption records weren’t sealed. Or there was a centralized listing of some sort.”
“Twenty years ago record-keeping wasn’t the art it is today.”
“Tell me about it.”
He’d stuck his name and information on a number of legit sibling searches. He’d even placed a letter in his old welfare file in case one of the boys was also searching.
Apparently, his brothers weren’t all that eager to make contact. Either that or something had happened to them. His gut clenched. Better not travel that line of thinking.
“Did you ever consider that you might have other family out there? A grandma, an aunt. Somebody.”
He shook his head. “Hard as I’ve tried, I don’t remember anyone. If we ever had any family, Mama had long since alienated them.”
He’d had stepdads and “uncles” aplenty. He even remembered Ian’s dad as a pretty good guy, but the only name he’d ever called the man was Rob.
A few years back he’d tracked his mother down in Seminole County—in jail for public intoxication. His lips twisted at the memory. She’d been too toasted to give false information and for once one of her real names, anyway a name Collin remembered, appeared on the police bulletin.
Their subsequent visit had not been a joyous reunion of mother and son. And, to his great disappointment, she knew less about his brothers’ whereabouts than he did.
After that, she had disappeared off the radar screen again. Probably moved in with her latest party man and changed her name for the tenth or hundredth time. Not that Collin cared. It was his brothers he wanted to find. Karen Stotz-Grace-Whatever had given them birth, but if she’d ever been a mother he didn’t remember it.
“Do you think they’re together?”
“Ian and Drew? No.” He remembered that last day too clearly. “They were headed to different foster homes. Chances are they weren’t reunited either.”
His mother hadn’t bothered to jump through the welfare hoops anymore after that. She’d let the state have custody of all three of them. Collin, who ended up in a group home, had failed in his promise to take care of his brothers. He hoped they had been adopted. He hoped they’d found decent, loving families to give them what he hadn’t been able to. Even though they were grown men, he needed to know if they were all right.
And if they weren’t…
He got that heavy, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and logged out of the search engine.
Leaning back in the office chair, he scraped a hand over his face and said, “Think I’ll call it a night.”
Maurice clapped him on the shoulder. “Come by the house. Shanita will make you a fruit smoothie, and Thomas will harangue you for a game of catch.”
“Thanks. But I can’t. Gotta get out to the farm.” He rose to his feet, stretching to relieve the ache across his mid-back. “The vet’s coming by to check that new pup.”
“How’s he doing?” The other cops were suckers for animals just as he was. They just didn’t take their concern quite as far.
“Still in the danger zone.” Fury sizzled his blood every time he thought of the abused pup. “Even after what happened, he likes people.”
“Animals are very forgiving,” Maurice said.
Collin pushed the glass door open with one hand, holding it for his friend to pass through. Together they left the station and walked through the soft evening breeze to the parking garage.
“Unlike me. If I find out who tied that little fella’s legs with wire and left him to die, I’ll be tempted to return the favor.”
Another police officer had found the collie mix, but not before one foot was amputated and another badly infected. And yet, the animal craved human attention and affection.
They entered the parking garage, footsteps echoing on the concrete, the shady interior cool and welcome. Exhaust fumes hovered in the dimness like smelly ghosts.
Maurice dug in his pocket, keys rattling. “Did your social worker call again today?”
Collin slowed, eyes narrowing. “How did you know?”
His buddy lifted a shoulder. “She has friends in high places.”
Great. “The department can’t force me to do something like that.”
“You take in wounded animals. Why not wounded kids?”
“Not my thing.”
“Because it hits too close to home?”
Collin stopped next to his Bronco, pushed the lock release, and listened for the snick.
“I don’t need reminders.” Enough memories plagued him without that. “You like kids. You do it.”
“Someday you’re going to have to forgive the past, Collin. Lay it to rest. I know Someone who can help you with that.”
Collin recognized the subtle reference to God and let it slide. Though he admired the steadfast faith he saw in