She didn't give up easy. She even knew the cops' favorite hamburger joint.

He didn't know why, but he said, "Make it forty-five minutes and a hamburger, onions fried."

She laughed and the sound was light, musical. He liked it. It was her occupation that turned him off.

"I'll even throw in some cheese fries," she added.

"Be still my heart." He couldn't believe he'd said that. Regardless of her sweet voice, he didn't know this woman and didn't particularly want to.

"I'll sit in the first booth so you'll recognize me."

"What if it's occupied?"

"I'll buy them a burger, too." She laughed again. The sound ran over him like fresh summer rain. "See you in forty-five minutes."

The phone went dead and Collin stared down at it, puzzled that a woman-a social worker, no less-had conned him into meeting her for what was, no doubt, even more of a con.

Well, he had news for Mia Carano with the sweet voice. Collin Grace didn't con easy. Regardless of what she wanted, the answer was already no.

Mia recognized him the minute he walked in the door. No matter that the hamburger cafe was littered with uniformed police officers hunched over burgers or mega-size soft drinks. Collin Grace stood out in a crowd. Brown eyes full of caution swept the room once, as if calculating escape routes, before coming to rest on her. She prided herself on being able to read people. Sergeant Grace didn't trust a soul in the place.

"There he is," the middle-aged officer across from her said, nodding toward the entrance. "That's Amazin' Grace."

Mia fixed her attention on the lean, buff policeman coming her way. With spiked dark hair, slashing eyebrows and a permanent five o'clock shadow, he was good-looking in a hard, manly kind of way. His fatigue pants and fitted brown T-shirt with a Tac-team emblem over the heart looked fresh and clean as though he'd recently changed.

Officer Jess Snow pushed out of the booth he'd kindly allowed her to share. In exchange, he had regaled her with stories about the force, his grandkids, and his plan to retire next year. He'd also told her that the other policemen referred to the officer coming her way as Amazin' Grace because of his uncanny cool and precision even under the most intense conditions. "Guess I'll get moving. Sure was nice talking to you."

She smiled up at the older man. "You, too, Jess."

Officer Snow gave her a wink and nodded to the newcomer as he left.

Collin returned a short, curt nod and then jacked an eyebrow at Mia. "Miss Carano?"

A bewildering flutter tickled her stomach. "Yes, but I prefer Mia."

As he slid into the booth across from her the equipment attached to his belt rattled and a faint stir of some warm, tangy aftershave pierced the scent of frying onions. She noted that he did not return the courtesy by asking her to use his given name.

She wasn't surprised. He was every bit the cool, detached cop. Years of looking at the negative side of life did that to some social workers as well. Mia was thankful she had the Lord and a very supportive family to pour out all her frustrations and sadness upon. Her work was her calling. She was right where God could best use her, and she'd long ago made up her mind not to let the dark side of life burn her out.

Sergeant Grace, on the other hand, might as well be draped in strips of yellow police tape that screamed, Caution: Restricted Area. Getting through his invisible shield wouldn't be as easy as she'd hoped.

He propped his forearms on the tabletop like a barrier between them. His left T-shirt sleeve slid upward to reveal the bottom curve of a tattoo emblazoned with a set of initials she couldn't quite make out.

Though she didn't move or change expressions, a part of her shrank back from him. She'd never understood a man's propensity to mutilate his arms with dye and needles.

"So," he said, voice deep and smooth. "What can I do for you, Mia?"

"Don't you want your hamburger first?"

The tight line of his mouth mocked her. "A spoonful of sugar doesn't really make the medicine go down any easier."

So cynical. And he couldn't be that much older than she was. Early thirties maybe. "You might actually enjoy what I have in mind."

"I doubt it." He raised a hand to signal the waitress. "What would you like?" he asked.

She motioned to her Coke. "This is fine. I'm not hungry."

He studied her for a second before turning his attention to the waitress. "Bring me a Super Burger. Fry the onions, hold the tomatoes, and add a big order of cheese fries and a Mountain Dew."

The waitress poised with pen over pad and said in a droll voice, "What's the occasion? Shoot somebody today?"

One side of the policeman's mouth softened. He didn't smile, but he was close. "Only a smart-mouthed waitress. Nobody will miss her."

The waitress chuckled and said to Mia, "I never thought I'd see the day grease would cross his lips."

She sauntered away, hollering the order to a guy in the back.

"I thought all cops were junk-food junkies."

"It's the hours. Guys don't always have time to eat right."

"But you do?"

"Sometimes."

If he was a health food nut he wasn't going to talk to her about it. Curious the way he avoided small talk. Was he this way with everyone? Or just her?

Maybe it was her propensity for nosiness. Maybe it was her talkative Italian heritage. But Mia couldn't resist pushing a little to see what he would do. "So what do you eat? Bean sprouts and yogurt?"

"Is that why you're here? To talk about my diet?"

So cold. So empty. Had she made a mistake in thinking this ice man might help a troubled boy?

On the other hand, Grandma Carano said still waters run deep. Gran had been talking about Uncle Vitorio, the only quiet Carano in the giant, noisy family, and she'd been right. Uncle Vitorio was a thinker, an inventor. Granted he mostly invented useless gadgets to amuse himself, but the family considered him brilliant and deep.

Perhaps Collin was the same. Or maybe he just needed some encouragement to loosen up.

She pushed her Coke to one side and got down to business.

"For some reason, Mitchell Perez has developed a heavy case of hero worship for you."

The boy was one of those difficult cases who didn't respond well to any of the case workers, the counselors or anybody else for that matter, but something inside Mia wouldn't give up. Last night, when she'd prayed for the boy, this idea to contact Collin Grace had come into her mind. She'd believed it was God-sent, but now she wondered.

"More and more in the social system we're seeing boys like Mitchell who don't have a clue how to become responsible, caring men. They need real men to teach them and to believe in them. Men they can relate to and admire."

The waitress slid a soda and a paper-covered straw in front of Sergeant Grace.

"How do you know I'm that kind of man?"

"I checked you out."

He tilted his head. "Just because I'm a good cop doesn't mean I'd be a suitable role model to some street kid."

"I'm normally a good judge of character and I think you would be. The thing here is need. We have so many needy kids, and few men willing to spend a few hours a week to make a difference. Don't you see, Officer? In the long run, your job will be easier if someone intercedes on behalf of these kids now. Maybe they won't end up in trouble later on down the road."

"And maybe they will."

Frustration made her want to pound the table. "You know the statistics. Mentored kids are less likely to get into drugs and crime. They're more likely to go to college. More likely to hold jobs and be responsible citizens. Don't you get it, Officer? A few hours a week of your time can change a boy's life."

He pointed his straw at her. "You haven't been at this long, have you?"

She blinked, leaned back in the booth and tried to calm down. "Seven years."

"Longer than I thought."

"Why? Because I care? Because I'm not burned out?"

"It happens." The shrug in his voice annoyed her.

"Is that what's happened to you?"

A pained look came and went on his face, but he kept silent-again.

Mia leaned forward, her passionate Italian nature taking control. "Look, this may not make any sense to you. Or it may sound idealistic, but I believe what I do makes a difference in these kids' lives."

"Maybe they don't want you to make a difference. Maybe they want to be left alone."

"Left alone? To be abused?"

"Not all of them are mistreated."

"Or neglected. Or cold and hungry, eating out of garbage cans."

Collin's face closed up tighter than a miser's fist. Had the man no compassion?

"There are a lot of troubled kids out there. Why are you so focused on this particular one?"

"I'm concerned about all of them."

"But?"

So he'd heard the hesitation.

"There's something special about Mitch." Something about the boy pulled at her, kept her going back to check on him. Kept her trying. "He wants to make it, but he doesn't know how."

Collin's expression shifted ever so slightly. The change was subtle, but Mia felt him softening. His eyes flicked sideways and, as if glad for the interruption, he said, "Food's coming."

The waitress slid the steaming burger and fries onto the table. "There you go. A year's worth of fat and cholesterol."

"No wonder Chick keeps you around, Millie. You're such a great salesman."

"Saleslady, thank you."

He took a giant bite of the burger and sighed. "Perfect. Just like you."

Millie rolled her eyes and moved on. Collin turned his attention back to Mia. "You were saying?"

"Were you even listening?"

"To every word. The kid is special. Why?"

Mia experienced a twinge of pleasure. Collin Grace confused her, but there was something about him...

"Beneath Mitch's hard layer is a gentleness. A sweet little boy who doesn't know who to trust or where to turn."

"Imagine that. The world screws him over from birth and he stops trusting it. What a concept."

The man was cool to the point of frostbite and had a shell harder than any of the street kids she dealt with. If she could crack this tough nut perhaps other cops would follow suit. She was already pursuing the idea of mentor groups through her church, but cops-as-mentors could make an impact like no other.

She took a big sip of Coke and then said, "At least talk to Mitch."

The pager at Collin's waist went off. He slipped the device from his belt, glanced at the display, and pushed out of the booth, leaving a half-eaten burger and a nearly full basket of cheese fries.

Mia looked up at the tall and dark and distant cop. "Is that your job?"

He nodded curtly. "Gotta go. Thanks for the dinner."

"Could I call you about this later?"

"No point. The answer will still be no." He whipped around with the precision of a marine and strode out of the cafe before Mia could argue further.

Disappointment curled in her belly. When she could close her surprised mouth, she did so with a huff.

The basket of leftover fries beckoned. She crammed a handful in her mouth. No use wasting perfectly good cheese fries. Even if they did end up on her hips.

Sergeant Collin Grace may have said no, but no didn't always mean absolutely no.

And Mia wasn't quite ready to give up on Mitchell Perez...or Collin Grace.

Chapter Two.