Kelsey watched him from the bed, where she lounged back against the pillows. She wished she’d worn a sexy nightgown, instead of the cotton pj bottoms and thermal top. But he didn’t seem to care. He stood before her and slowly dragged the green hand-knit sweater over his head. He dispensed with the black T-shirt he wore under it and stood before her, exposing that glorious bare chest; it was sprinkled with just the right amount of dark blond hair to make her mouth water. Her hands fisted in the bedspread, she wanted to touch him so badly.
He grinned, that half-kid, half-man grin that had tortured her for months. “You like what you see, Ms. Cunningham?”
“Call me Kelsey. You did when Webster overturned my desk.”
His face darkened. This was no harmless teenage boy before her. “I could kill him for hurting you.”
She didn’t want to talk about that. “Come over here.”
The grin reappeared.
He swaggered toward her, undoing the snap on faded blue jeans. “What do you want, honey?” He towered over her, then braced a knee on the mattress.
She reached for his hand and brought it to her breast. “Luke...”
Kelsey awoke in a sweat; when awareness dawned, when reality set in, she was embarrassed and ashamed. The dream had come again. She lay back into the pillows and closed her eyes.
Dear God, what’s wrong with me? I’m having sexual dreams about a student.
Okay, she shouldn’t panic. First, Suzanna had told her having feelings for a student was only human. Not acting on those feelings was what was important. And the woman would never do or say anything that wasn’t in her best interests. Also, Kelsey’s psychology courses had taught her that you couldn’t control your dreams; they were like unedited movies, and all parts of your life combined into sometimes bizarre situations. Maybe she was dreaming about Mike Wolfe touching her.
The thing was, she thought, settling back, something about the dream was familiar. As if it had actually happened. Oh, hell, maybe she just wanted it to happen. She moaned aloud, and glanced over at the clock. Five A.M. She’d get up and dress. She was going back to school today. How would she face Luke? Not only after the dream, but after the fuss her father had made.
While Luke was there: Don’t you have any sense, young man? It’s totally inappropriate to be prowling around a teacher’s house like this.
Luke had been contrite, agreeable. Kelsey had wanted to defend him to her father.
And later: Kelsey Lynne, I do hope this was innocent.
What do you mean, Dad?
The kid obviously has a crush on you. He seemed to think he had to defend you to me, for Christ’s sake. He was overly solicitous.
Though she felt guilty about her feelings, she would never let her father know that. It’s not uncommon for kids to get crushes on teachers.
That sounds like the liberal garbage Suzanna Quinn spouts. You shouldn’t be teaching these punks. No telling what they’ll do. Look what that one hoodlum already...and then Reynolds Cunningham was off on a tirade about her whole teaching career.
She’d been too weak from her injury, and feeling too guilty and too confused from her feelings about Luke, to stand up for herself, though she vowed that the next time she would. All in all, she’d been relieved when her father left for Washington.
The only bad thing was that his absence had given her time alone to rehash the events of this weekend. Why had Luke really come here Saturday night? How long had he stayed? Could it be possible that...no, he’d have told her if he spent the night. If his touch had been real, and not a dream...
Oh, God, please don’t let him have spent the night.
Throwing off the covers, she sat up and flung her feet over the side of the bed. As she reached for the crutches, she was not looking forward to today.
Two hours later, she was hobbling to the door of her classroom when she heard, from behind her, “Hi.”
She didn’t have to turn. She knew it was Luke. Over her shoulder, she tossed him an innocent glance. “Hi.” Leaning against a locker, he was freshly shaven and dressed a little more maturely in khaki slacks and a thin navy sweater. He crossed to her. “Let me do that.” He took the key and inserted it in the lock. He smelled so good that her head started to spin, and she grasped the crutches.
Flinging open the door, he turned. “You okay? Maybe it’s too soon to be back.”
She dragged herself inside. “No, I was going crazy at home.” Already exhausted, she dropped her backpack on the desk, took off her coat, and sank down on the chair. Stretching out her leg, she sighed heavily. She hadn’t had much energy to dress, so she’d picked out baggy navy slacks and a striped cotton sweater. Luke followed her across the room, picked up her coat, and took it to the closet, where he hung it up as if he had a right to take care of her. Or was she just imagining things because of her dreams? Because of her feelings?
He turned and folded his arms over his chest, outlined by the thin sweater. He was muscular, just as she’d imagined. “Your father leave?” he asked pointedly.
She nodded. “I’m sorry he gave you a rough time.”
Luke’s hazel eyes danced. “I’ve had fathers say worse to me.”
“I’ll bet.”
His brow furrowed, once again making him seem older. “I’m sorry I caused you trouble, though. Did he take it out on you?”
“A bit.”
“You should call him on that. You know, like we talked about that day in the weight room. How you wanted to be honest with him.”
“I didn’t feel good enough to do that.” Deciding to bite the bullet, she focused in on him. “Luke, I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you...did you leave my house Saturday night?”
Jamming restless hands in his pockets, he said, “What do you mean?”
“I have a feeling that, I don’t know, something happened. Like you stayed. After I fell asleep.”
“At your house?”
“Yes. Did you?”
“Kel—”
“Oh, you’re here.” Suzanna spoke from the doorway, then entered the room, followed by good old Uncle Joe. Even though he’d catch hell from Stonehouse about being with Kelsey, Luke was grateful for the reprieve. Kelsey wasn’t quite as unaware of what had happened Saturday night as he’d thought. Did that mean she remembered...? His hand flexed again.
“What are you doing here, son?” Joe’s tone was strained.
Like the kid he was supposed to be, he rolled his eyes in disgust. “What’s it to ya, Unc?”
Suzanna addressed Kelsey. “We just came down to see if you were all right.”
“I’m fine,” Kelsey said. “Luke and I were just catching up.” She smiled at him, and his heart did a funny flip-flop in his chest.
Ever so slightly, Suzanna and Joe stiffened. Luke shrugged, threw his “uncle” a long-suffering look, and sat on the edge of a desk.
Crossing to her, Suzanna lifted Kelsey’s chin and examined her face. “You look tired.”
“I, um, didn’t sleep well.” For some reason, Kelsey blushed like she’d been caught in flagrante delicto.
“You’ve had quite a week.” Suzanna’s voice was sympathetic.
Joe added, “You sure you should be back?”
“Yes. It would drive me crazy to sit home and think about things.” Her gaze slid to Luke. He knew now that he was one of those things. He couldn’t help but like that.
“If you’re sure.” Suzanna backed away, close to Joe. Kelsey’s eyes narrowed at the gesture. Luke knew it was part of their act, that they wanted people to think they were a couple. “If you get too exhausted, let me know, and I’ll call in a substitute.”
Joe said, “Come on, Luke, I’ll walk you to your first class.”
Under his breath Luke mumbled, “Like a freakin’ prisoner.”
Indulgently, Suzanna smiled. Stealing a glance at Kelsey, Luke could see she’d hoped to continue the conversation.
Thank you, Uncle Joe. Luke wasn’t sure he could keep lying to her about everything.
As it happened, he had a chance to find out. After the last class of the day, Psychology, where—ironically—they were studying pathological liars, she asked him to stay afterward. Had Luke been thinking straight, he would have found an excuse not to. But he’d been worried about Ben Franzi, who looked like Dracula’s cousin today; he’d dressed all in black, had bleached his hair a funny orange-blond, and wore black nail polish. The boy seemed morose. Luke had asked him to jam tonight, and Ben had mumbled, “Maybe.”
Max had been preoccupied, too. Though they did set a date to visit the gun club, Luke was worried about him. It was all swirling like an emotional tornado in his brain when Kelsey asked him to stay after the bell.
She was clearly exhausted. Her face was pale, and there were smudges under her eyes. Luke had been on crutches several times and knew the effort to get around was draining.
“You look tired,” he said softly. “You should go home.”
“I will, in a few minutes.”
I could drive you. I’d take you home, carry you inside, and put you to sleep. His mind—twenty-six, not nineteen—conjured up images of removing the sweater that clung to her, undoing her bra, and clasping those breasts, bare this time...
“Luke? I asked you to close the door.”
Distracted by the hardening of his body, he coughed to clear his head. “How are you gettin’ to and from school, anyway?”
“Um, Mr. Wolfe picked me up.”
“I got the impression he was majorly pissed off Saturday night.”
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly at his tone. “He was. He got over it.”
What the hell, he’d go for broke. “It wouldn’t have been a big loss. I think he’s—”
“Did you spend the night Saturday?”
Teenager. You’re just a cocky teenager. And remember what she confessed about her feelings. Remember that she’s hurt by them. Do what you have to do to fix this, Ludzecky. “What makes you say that?”
“Just answer the question. You avoided it this morning. It’s almost like you’re trained to deflect information.”
I am. He kept himself rigid.
“Luke, what’s going on with you? I have a feeling you’re not, I don’t know, what you say you are.”
Give the lady a cigar. Oh, God, he had to thwart this. Quick.
Try to alienate her, Joe had said. “Maybe you don’t want me to be what I say I am.”
She looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Dontcha, Teach?”
A beautiful flush crept up from her neck.
“Kelsey—” He didn’t say it like a lover. He said it like a kid on the make.
“Don’t call me by my first name. I don’t allow it.”
He smirked.
“Luke, I like you. But you’re out of line here.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m bouncin’.”
Her pretty face paled, and those gorgeous eyes got so bleak he almost couldn’t stand it.
Good job, Ludzecky. She probably hated him now. No matter what she felt, she’d stay far away if she thought he was putting the moves on her.
He got to the door and was about to exit, when he heard behind him, “You didn’t answer my question. Did you stay at my house all Saturday night?”
Yes, and you were dreaming about me. You wanted me to touch you. And I wanted to touch you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
Because of that, he said, “Nope. I got better things to do with my time.” Without looking at her—surely she’d see the truth in his eyes—he left the room.
o0o
Fairholm High School was nearly empty at 6 A.M. on a Thursday. Suzanna’s heels clattered on the vinyl floor and echoed in the halls as she made her way to her office down the deserted corridor.
“Morning, Suzanna.” The small, dark-haired Italian custodian, who reminded her of Danny DeVito, smiled warmly at her.
She returned his smile. “Hi, Tom. How’s it going today?”
“Good.” He indicated the vinyl. “Careful, we’ve got slippery floors again, ’cuz of the rain.”
Nodding to the twenty-five-year veteran, she said, “Have a nice day,” and continued down the hall. Her eyes were gritty and her shoulders ached. Unbuttoning her raincoat, she sighed wearily. She hadn’t slept well for the past few days—just a couple of hours each night. She was worried about Josh.
First, his reaction to the Webster thing.
He’d been shocked when they’d called him down Tuesday night to tell him about finding the yearbook and what it might mean. “Really? You think, like, somebody might pull a Columbine?”
Suzanna’s legs had started to buckle. Joe grabbed for her. Upset, Josh hadn’t noticed Joe’s solicitousness.
“No, not a Columbine.” Joe’s voice was calm, steadying her as much as his firm grasp on her arm. “We just thought you should be aware that this could be considered a threat to you.
He’d looked keenly at Joe. “How come you’re in on this?”
“For one thing, I found the yearbook.” Casually, like a liar of the first order, Joe eased away from Suzanna and slid his hands into his pockets. “Also, I worked as a psychologist with the Department of Education and the government in Washington on some security issues. Right before I came here, as a matter of fact. Your mom and I are thinking about doing some safety training for students and staff. Can’t be too careful these days.”
Struggling to conceal her concern, Suzanna had crossed to Josh. She brushed back his thick blond hair. “I want you to be careful, honey. Try not to be alone anywhere until Webster is apprehended.”
“How do you know it’s Webster?”
Joe had answered. “We don’t. But we brought the yearbook to the police. He seems the most likely candidate.” Joe smiled. “And he has reason to dislike both you and your mother. So in any case, you need to...” Thorough yet concise, Joe had given Josh a litany of safety practices that had made Suzanna’s palms sweat.
Then yesterday, she’d had to explain to Josh that she and Joe were dating. Joe had provided the perfect opportunity when red carnations had arrived at her house at five in the evening.
“Hey, Mom,” Josh had said, wiggling his brows as she ripped off the green paper. “Got a secret admirer?”
She was stunned by Joe’s gesture. “No, not exactly secret. Come and sit down, honey, I want to tell you something.”
Without much fuss, Josh had accepted that she and Joe were interested in each other. “It’s cool, Mom. You need somebody in your life. I’m leaving for college in a few months.”
She’d smiled and tried to broach the subject of Josh continuing to talk to Joe, but her son sidestepped it. She’d need to deal with that today. Damn, this was getting so complicated.
When she reached her office, she unlocked the first door and entered the large secretarial area. Neither Pat nor Nancy, her secretary and the school financial secretary, was in yet. The room was dim, and furniture shapes lurked eerily before her like surreal objects in a Dali painting.
Reaching for the light switch, Suzanna started a bit when it didn’t turn on. After a moment, she picked her way through the area. When she bumped into Pat’s desk, she swore. It took her a while to find her keys in the faint light filtering in from the hallway. Finally she had her own office door open.
She fumbled for the wall switch. Her hands were shaky. Damn, she was spooked by this whole thing. She breathed a sigh of relief when her office lights flickered on.
Everything looked familiar. But today, the stark reality of what was happening in her building hit her with sledgehammer force. And, as she removed her coat, she wondered, for the very first time, if she really wanted to be a principal, really wanted to work in one of today’s high schools. She remembered the first highs of teaching, of helping kids reach their potential. She recalled being a novice principal and thinking she could change the world. Now, she wondered if it was worth risking her son’s safety. Her own.
And the safety of two agents who’d put their lives on the line for her. What if something happened to Joe while he was protecting her? She’d tried to broach that, too, last night when he’d come over for dinner, as planned.
They’d been in the den, seated close and comfortable on the tapestry couch with the door wide open. Joe had brought her there after dinner, and sank onto the sofa with her. “I’m trained, Suzanna. I can take care of myself.”
She’d scowled. “You’ve gotten shot before, damn it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He draped his arm around her. His eyes had sparkled with mischief when she’d looked at him questioningly. He’d leaned over and whispered, “We’re playing a part, Suzie Q. Josh has got to see some affection.”
She thought about the nickname this morning. Suzie Q? So unlike the conservative, staid widow she’d become. How would she be in bed with Joe?
Groaning, she put her head down on the desk. She was losing it. She was so tired, she couldn’t control her fantasies. How would she ever survive pretending to be his girlfriend? Just being in his presence unnerved her. If he began touching her for show, spending more time with her, exactly how would she handle his proximity?
You’re dead meat, Kelsey would say.
Kelsey, whom Suzanna had told yesterday that she was seeing Joe socially. The girl had been okay with that, but had been out of sorts, still, about her feelings for Luke. Suzanna was worried about her—beyond the betrayal of trust issue. She was so sensitive, so caring. Her feelings for Luke—more understandable than she would ever know—were chipping away all her self-confidence. Damn it to hell!
Stop worrying and do some work. First, she called the custodian to come fix the lights, but no one answered. She went online and pulled up a folder on the school musical and was perusing it when she heard the outer office door open. She glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Still too early for her secretaries, though sometimes Nancy came in before work to walk around the building as her daily exercise. The door squeaked, then closed. Had she relocked it? Suzanna couldn’t remember.
She rose and circled the desk. Trying the lights again—no luck—she waited till her eyes adjusted. She didn’t see anybody. Carefully she listened. A locker slammed in the hall. Her heartbeat escalating, she made her way through the semidarkness. Had someone seen her light and come in? Or had someone entered because the office was dark, then seen her light and taken off? Swallowing hard as she eased open the door, she stepped into the corridor.
And ran smack into Max Duchamp.
“Oh.”
Automatically, Max reached out to steady her. Kids often did that without thinking when they bumped into a teacher, but for some reason, the gesture calmed her.
“Max?”
“Sorry I bumped you.” His voice was gravelly. His eyes bloodshot. And he reeked of cigarette smoke.
“Did you just come into my office?”
His light complexion blushed. “No.” A belligerent chin jutted out, and he straightened. For the first time, Suzanna realized how much bigger he was than she. He was so tall, she had to look up at him. She remembered something from her reading...Kids who bring guns to school often go after the people who meted out the discipline.
“Why’d you think I was in your office?” he asked.
Smiling, she shrugged. “I thought I heard the door open.”
He glanced over her head. “Looks like nobody’s home.”
She thought about his and Webster’s website. It made her afraid, but she said, “Max, you know, if you ever did want to talk to me, about anything, I’m here.”
Briefly—but it was there, she was sure—need flashed in his eyes. Then he snuffed it. Kids like him didn’t talk to teachers.
Suzanna remembered Joe’s point about the young shooter in Alaska. When we asked him what he would have done if a principal or counselor had called him in and asked him about what kids had been hearing about him, he said he would have told them the truth.
She leaned against the wall of lockers in a show of her willingness to prolong the discussion. Nervous, she jammed her hands in the pockets of her brown silk skirt. “I have a son. I know boys are private. But I thought maybe—” She smiled soothingly at him. “I know your mom is dead. I think sometimes a teenage boy might need to talk to a woman.”
This time, his whole face revealed naked longing. “I got my dad.”
“I know. And I know how important that is.” She indicated the office. “Would you like to come inside? Classes don’t start for another hour. We could chat.”
His eyes were bleak. “Maybe—” he began, then looked past her. Suzanna tracked his gaze. A teacher was coming down the hall. Mike Wolfe.
Max stepped back.
“Hey, Duchamp,” Mike yelled. “Where were you during Phys Ed yesterday?”
A sneer came to Max’s face. The aggressive stance returned.
“I was sick.” He pivoted and, without a word to Suzanna, took off the other way.
Mike came even with her. “Nice way to start your morning.”
With a heavy heart, Suzanna watched an opportunity disappear down the hall like snowflakes in spring. She remembered one of her favorite quotes: Teachers change the world one kid at a time. She’d almost had Max convinced to talk to her.
“We gotta do something about kids like him, Suzanna. Look what happened to Kelsey.”
Suzanna sighed. Schools did have to do something for kids like Max, only not the way Mike meant.
“Let me deal with the class-skipping issue,” she said simply.
He held up a referral. I was just going to hand this in to Lester.”
“Give it to me.”
She took the paper and turned to go back to her office.
o0o
The high school cafeteria was a sea of faces, some angry, some bored, some laughing.
And some dangerous. Big gatherings in schools like this set off Joe’s trouble radar; as he stood scanning the area for Josh, he pictured how this room could be divided. If they split it in half and walled it off in sections, lunch periods would be safer. But one side would end up without windows, and it would be like eating in a cave. Joe made a mental note to talk to the government’s architect consultant. He hadn’t told Suzanna this, but there was a special grant for schools to improve the safety of their buildings, and he’d applied for the money for Fairholm.
Meanwhile, Joe had problems closer to home. “Afternoon, Dr. Stonehouse. Looking for your nephew?” The supervisor, Tom Gannon, a sober man who seemed to belong in a previous century, stood guard at the door. Many schools employed trained security to monitor these difficult areas. But the Fairholm student council had thought that too jail-like, and Suzanna had gone along with their decision. He’d argued over that with her.
Now, things were different.
Way too different.
Last night, she’d fallen asleep nestled in his arm while they watched TV in the den. They’d been trying to do normal date-like things for show. Even today he remembered the feel of her weight against him, the smell of the shampoo she used. Deep inside, he’d longed for the right to pick her up and carry her off to bed. With her son in the house, it was impossible, of course.
Shit, it was impossible for more reasons than that.
“He’s over there with Mr. Duchamp.”
Joe came out of the fantasy. “Pardon me?”
“Your nephew. He’s over there with the Duchamp boy.” Tom’s tone was critical.
Matching it, Joe nodded. “I see. Not really happy about him pairing up with that one.” His statement couldn’t be more false. Joe had strategized with Luke on how to get closer to Duchamp.
Now, Max and Luke sat alone at a table’s end, looking up to something. Maybe Joe should add some fuel to the fire. He sauntered over. Luke stiffened, and Joe admired how he stayed in character. “Hi, Luke. This isn’t your lunch period, is it?”
The proverbial teenage sigh escaped his lips. “Old Man Jenkins kicked me out of chem lab.”
“Why?”
“I dunno.” He exchanged an arch look with Duchamp. “I was just askin’ what would happen if I combined two of the elements we were using, and he got pissed off.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole story.”
“So ground me.”
“Maybe I will. We’ll talk at home tonight.”
From the corner of his eye, Joe saw Josh get up and leave the cafe. Joe said good-bye and followed the boy out. He caught up to him in the hall. “Josh, wait.”
Josh halted. Dressed like many of the other preppy kids in blue jeans and a brand-name sweatshirt, he turned. His face reddened the way his mother’s did when she was embarrassed. “Hi.”
“Didn’t you have an appointment this period with me?”
“Yeah. I was...um...just headed down.”
“Fine, I’ll walk with you.” Even if you are lying through your teeth, buddy. Joe would bet his Ph.D. the kid had no intention of coming down to see him. Josh had skipped yesterday’s Boys’ Concerns group, too.
They were seated in his office with the door closed before Joe addressed the issue. He removed his navy sport coat and loosened his tie to make the meeting seem more casual. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You weren’t coming to see me today.”
Josh looked him in the eye. “No.”
“Because of what your mother and I told you the other night.”
After hesitating, Josh nodded.
“Do you want to talk about that again?”
“What’s to say? You like each other. You should see each other. I don’t fit in the equation.”
“You know,” Joe said steepling his hands, “your mom didn’t want to see me socially because she was afraid this would happen.”
Hot emotion suffused Josh’s face. “No, Dr. Stonehouse, don’t let her do that. My mother needs company. She never complains, but I know she’s lonely as hell.” He shook his head. “She even reads those freakin’ romance novels at night before she goes to bed.”
The image of Suzanna cuddled up on fluffy pillows reading some steamy sex brought a smile to his lips.
But he needed to address what Josh was really saying. “It must be hard, being her son.”
“Because of the principal stuff? Nah, that’s okay.”
“No, I mean because your dad is dead. You’re more responsible to your mother than most kids with two parents.”
Josh’s ears turned red. “Um, it’s okay.”
Joe continued as if Josh hadn’t spoken. “Responsible in the sense that you probably feel you have to be home more, do more things with her because she’s alone. Not to mention living up to her standards and beliefs.”
The kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Ordinarily Joe would have drawn this out, but he sensed he might not get another chance to work with Josh.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
A long and thoughtful pause. “I don’t want her to know I feel this way. She’d be hurt. It’s why I don’t want to tell you these things.”
Joe faced the boy squarely. “I don’t know how to say this other than the way I explained it that night, and at our groups. Things haven’t changed because I’m seeing your mother. I swear by every degree on that wall I won’t reveal what you tell me in confidence.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “It isn’t even that bad.”
“I don’t expect that it is. I’d guess it’s pretty normal stuff teenage boys go through. I was one once, you know.”
“Did you have a girlfriend in high school?”
Joe dug back into a nightmarish past he preferred not to think about. “Yes. Sarah Summers.” He shook his head. “She was gorgeous.”
“What happened to her?”
“She went to Yale to become a doctor.”
“Why’d you break up?”
Joe’s throat felt tight. “I had issues as a kid. My upbringing was unorthodox. My views weren’t like hers.” In truth, Sarah was a partier in the broadest sense of the word. She’d wanted to have sex and do drugs and Joe had shied away from both since his childhood. “High school was a tough few years for me.”
“That why you took in your nephew?”
“Yeah. Though I’m not helping him much. I don’t like seeing him with Duchamp.”
“Duchamp might be okay if he’d stay away from that creep Webster.”
“So, back to you, Josh. What can I do to convince you that I’ll keep everything from your mother except if I think you’re dangerously depressed or that you’re going to hurt yourself?”
“Hurt myself physically or emotionally?”
“Are you planning to hurt yourself emotionally?”
Josh stood, crossed the room and stared at the degrees. When he turned around, he said in a very adult voice, “No, I’m planning to sleep with Heather in Italy when we go there for spring break.”