“Why me?”
“You know why, Ms. Finch. Now if you would please sit down, I will explain more fully.”
Kelly Finch sat heavily in the leather chair across the desk from her boss, Mr. Hallstrom. As principal of Lowell High School, Mr. Hallstrom had a lovely corner office complete with not one, but two big windows allowing copious amounts of natural light to shine on the large wooden desk and dark brown leather office chairs. She could see a few January flurries flying about outside.
Kelly, on the other hand, would have killed for one lousy peephole to the outside world in her fluorescent hell of an English classroom. Her metal teacher’s desk was so battered and beaten she would swear it had gone ten rounds with George Foreman and, as a result, only two of the four desk drawers closed completely. Her desk chair was the straight-back wooden model with no wheels. Every time she stood up, it scraped across the vinyl floor with an ear-piercing shriek that made her teeth ache. And with the lack of windows, she never knew what the weather was. Hell, a monsoon could hit and she wouldn’t know.
“Mr. Hallstrom,” she began, but her comments were cut short by the look of impatience on her usually mild-mannered principal’s face.
“Kelly.”
Oh shit. That was a sure sign she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this argument. Mr. Hallstrom never used anyone’s first name. He didn’t feel it was professional. The faculty liked to joke that he probably even called his wife Mrs. Hallstrom in bed at night. Turn off that light and give me a kiss, Mrs. Hallstrom. Kelly attempted to stifle her grin at the thought.
“I know you are well aware of our problems with gang activity within the school,” he continued.
She simply nodded. She’d have to be a fool not to know about the gangs taking over the hallways. In the last week, she’d broken up two small skirmishes outside her classroom. Another teacher had been injured badly enough breaking up a fight three weeks ago that he’d had to be taken to the hospital and treated for a sprained wrist and mild concussion.
“The superintendent is breathing down my neck to get the situation under control. The best way to do that is to bring in people who are more experienced in dealing with gangs.”
“I understand that, sir,” she answered. “But that doesn’t explain why I have to play host to a cop in my classroom.”
“Ms. Finch,” Mr. Hallstrom answered sternly. “By your own choice, you teach most of the students we suspect are taking part in these illegal activities. Quite frankly, I don’t know how you deal with all of them but that’s neither here nor there. Lt. McNally will be placed in your classroom under the guise of student teacher. No one will know he’s a police officer except you, me, the superintendent and the gang task force he’s working with. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” she grumbled.
“Ms. Finch.” Mr. Hallstrom returned to his usual stoic self now that he had secured her agreement. “The gang task force was opposed to you being privy to this investigation, but I insisted upon your involvement. I hope you will not disappoint me in trusting you with this extremely sensitive information.”
“No sir,” she answered. “I won’t tell anyone. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it though.”
“I didn’t think you would be,” her principal admitted. At the sound of his tired voice, she looked—really looked—at his face for the first time since entering the room. No doubt his claim about the superintendent’s anger was true. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tightness around his mouth that wasn’t normally present.
It wasn’t his fault the composition of the student body had changed so rapidly. Rising housing costs in the nearby city had driven folks out into the suburbs, bringing with them the gangs so typically associated with much larger urban populations. As a result, Lowell High School, her alma mater, no longer resembled the small-town school she’d loved as a teenager.
“He isn’t a teacher,” she argued, though she knew it was a lost cause.
“No, he isn’t,” Mr. Hallstrom added. “However, by posing as a student teacher, he can get away with observing for a few weeks. If it’s necessary for him to remain longer than that, perhaps you can walk him through a few easy lessons for appearance’s sake. The students won’t suspect anything and it shouldn’t really affect your teaching at all. Do what you would normally do.”
“While the good lieutenant sits in the back of my classroom like a spider collecting flies?” she asked, her temper rising. Maybe her students weren’t saints but she thought if she had enough time, she could pull some of them back from the lure of gangs. Most of her kids came from broken homes with oft-absent parents and unbelievable poverty. It was only natural they would flock to a group that promised them a loyal family and the chance to make money. Most of them were hungry and would do anything for a full belly and a little bit of attention.
As a result, she’d specifically requested the high-risk students be placed in her English classes and had begun an after-school tutoring program. She knew the hours right after school were the times when kids were at the highest risk because most parents, if they worked, were still toiling away. She was able to entice students to remain at school by feeding them. Her motto with the kids was simple. “We don’t eat, we don’t meet.” By providing snacks, she ensured her room was usually packed with kids who were willing to discuss an extra poem or read silently for another hour if it meant they got a peanut butter and banana sandwich or giant chocolate chip cookie.
“Ms. Finch.” Mr. Hallstrom rose from his chair and moved to stand before her. “No one knows better than I do how hard you work for those kids, but the fact of the matter is we are losing this battle.”
“The battle,” she interrupted, “not the war. Wars take time. Battles—mere minutes.”
Mr. Hallstrom continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s time to ask for help. Lt. McNally and his team can provide it. Later this week, we’re having a faculty meeting in which some members of McNally’s team are going to help us identify gang clothing, symbols, etcetera. We’re going to crack down on dress code rules that prohibit bandanas, hats and other gang-related attire. We are adopting a zero-tolerance attitude. In a couple of weeks, there’s a one-day conference in the city for educators and the police. It discusses ways to eradicate the threat of gangs in schools. I want you to go.”
“Me?” she asked, startled.
“You’ll be our faculty liaison. Go to the conference with Lt. McNally, learn all you can, then come back and do a presentation for the faculty.” He smiled kindly at her, as if by treating the idea like a privilege she would be fooled into thinking she hadn’t just had a ton of extra work dumped into her lap.
“I hate Mondays,” she muttered, wondering why she’d bothered to get out of bed.
“Excuse me?”
“I said why me?” she asked, repeating her earlier question.
“You know why, Ms. Finch,” he replied again. “Because you really care about the kids here and I know you want these gangs stopped as much as I do. I’ve certainly noticed your efforts toward that goal.”
A knock at the door stopped her from responding to Mr. Hallstrom’s unexpected praise. She’d always suspected she was actually a bit of a thorn in her harried principal’s life. She tried to be a team player, but more often than not she found herself in the role of protector, coming up against administration time after time in order to help one of her kids.
She’d spent her entire planning period earlier in the day trying to get Maria, a pregnant teen in her third period, out of a one-day suspension. The pregnancy had so far been a difficult one for the young girl in terms of morning sickness. For weeks she’d begged Kelly to keep her pregnancy a secret, which she’d agreed to only on the condition that Maria see a doctor. Maria did, but despite her embarrassment over the situation, her blossoming midsection was going to give her away very soon. After receiving her fifth unexcused tardy to school, Maria was issued the suspension. Kelly had finally convinced the girl to explain her condition to the guidance counselor and the school nurse—then pleaded with the assistant principal to forgo the suspension, given the fact her tardies were due to morning sickness.
Voices at the doorway disrupted her thoughts as she watched the most stunning man she’d ever seen walk right out of her dreams and into the principal’s office.
Ooh la la!
He had light brown hair—a bit long and tousled in a just-rolled-out-of-bed look—and his face had a five o’clock shadow. He wasn’t what she would call a pretty boy, but he had a chiseled jaw and honest-to-God green eyes. His breathtaking face, however, was just the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae that was his body.
Holy mother.
Tall and muscular and built exactly the way a man ought to be.
Man, oh man.
Scratch the dream part—she would never have been so bold as to create this Greek god in any of her suddenly lackluster fantasies and she silently prayed she wasn’t drooling.
Mr. Hallstrom turned to introduce her.
“Kelly Finch,” he began, “this is Lt. Jared McNally.”
“You’re the cop?” she blurted in disbelief. This perfect specimen of a man was going to be sitting in the back of her classroom for God knew how long and she was supposed to teach as if she weren’t thinking incredibly naughty thoughts? Yeah right.
The lieutenant had the audacity to merely smirk at what must have seemed like a rude remark.
“Yes, Ms. Finch. He is,” Mr. Hallstrom said rather sharply, but McNally extended his hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Finch.” His voice was smooth as silk and made her feel like an even bigger ass. “Your principal speaks very highly of you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Lieutenant.” She took the hand he proffered, but she didn’t expect the firm handshake to rattle her the way it did. Touching this man was like touching a live wire. Electricity sparked throughout her body and she wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about spontaneous combustion.
Criminy. When was the last time she’d had sex?
Oh yeah, that’s right, I live in Loserville.
She thought it had been at least a year, but in reality it may actually be closer to double that. No wonder the sexy cop was getting to her.
“That’s Mr. McNally,” he corrected her. “It’s very important that you never refer to my rank, Ms. Finch. I’m just a poor, lowly student teacher.”
“Of course.” She quickly pulled her hand away when she realized she was still clinging to his.
“I assume Mr. Hallstrom briefed you on our operation.” He was attempting and failing miserably to hide a smug grin that let her know he knew exactly how much and in what way he was affecting her. She cursed her flushing cheeks.
Cocky bastard. She hated him already. Could you hate someone in a lustful way?
“It’s imperative that you keep the true reason for my presence in your classroom a secret. No one must know—not your mother, your best friend, your husband.”
Ah, smooth. She noticed his brief hesitation as he asked about a husband. Maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling the heat between them.
“My mother is in Florida, my best friend is a cat and I’m not married.” This time her answers were cool and she felt as if she’d redeemed herself a bit. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping a secret, Mister McNally,” she said, stressing his title. “If you were so concerned about my involvement, I’m surprised you bothered to tell me at all. Why not keep me in the dark?”
Mr. Hallstrom answered quickly, his voice soothing as he replied. Obviously he sensed the tense undertones between her and Mr. Arrogant. “As I said earlier, I insisted you be included, Ms. Finch. There was no way, given Lt. McNally’s lack of educational training, that he would be able to fool you for long.”
“Besides,” McNally added, “I need to time to focus on my investigation and not waste it planning lessons to con one teacher.”
“Planning lessons to educate children isn’t a waste of time.” She was painfully aware of how bitchy she was coming off in this whole conversation, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Mr. Lieutenant was making her so hot, she was sweating.
McNally’s retort was calm and non-confrontational and once again, she cursed her wayward tongue. “Let’s just say I’m here for another purpose and leave it at that.”
Frustrated with the whole situation, she saw an out and took it. She looked at her principal. “If you have nothing else for me, I have some papers to grade in my classroom.”
“Actually,” McNally said, “I was hoping to spend some time briefing you in more detail about how I plan to proceed.”
“Why don’t you accompany Ms. Finch to her classroom?” Mr. Hallstrom was clearly seeing his own way to escape the entire scenario. “If you need anything else, Lt. McNally, please feel free to ask.” He walked them to the door. “Ms. Finch, I’ll e-mail you more information about that conference. Have a good afternoon.”
With that, he closed the door to his office, leaving her alone with McNally in the hallway.
“Looks like we’ve been dismissed,” McNally joked.
She merely raised her eyebrows at his words before turning and walking toward her classroom. If he wanted to continue their discussion, it would have to be somewhere much more private, even though the thought of being sequestered in her small classroom with the hot cop left her cheeks flushed and her insides squirming.
God, she really needed to get laid. Her reaction to this man was overblown, ridiculous.
Catching up to her, he kept pace and continued talking as if unaware of her attempts to lose him in the hallway.
“My friends call me Mac.”
“How nice for your friends, Mr. McNally.” She was unwilling to give up her immediate dislike of the man and the entire situation, although she knew she was fighting a losing battle.
He seemed unmoved by her frostiness. “And your first name is Kelly?”
“My friends call me Ms. Finch.” She struggled to contain the slight grin crossing her lips but it escaped before she could call it back.
“Kelly will be fine then.” He flashed an all-too-charming smile and she knew she was lost.
Hell and damnation.
“Mr. McNally—” she started.
“Mac,” he insisted, cutting her off.
“Mac, then. I don’t want you to misunderstand me when I say—”
Again she was interrupted. “I would prefer we not continue this conversation until we get to your classroom.” He was looking around the hallway. There were still a few students lingering by their lockers and two math teachers talking outside their classrooms.
“Fine.” She picked up her pace. The sooner she said her peace, the better.
As they approached her room, she unlocked the door before entering.
“Do you always lock the door when you leave?”
“Yes,” she answered. “My desk won’t lock and I leave my purse in the bottom drawer. I’m not rich, so I generally like to hang on to the couple of bucks I’ve got.”
He smiled at her response, closing the door as he followed her into the room. She sat on her desk chair and then gestured at one of the student desks for him. Rather than attempt to fold his tall, muscular frame into the tiny seat, he perched himself on top of it, leaning against the writing surface. She silently admired the way his strong thighs were encased in tight-fitting denim.
Geez, the man is built.
Glancing up, she realized he’d caught her staring at him. Damn, if she was this distracted by his body and that chestnut-colored hair that just begged for a haircut—or at least her hands running through it—how was she going to keep her hormone-driven teenaged girls under control?
“Listen,” she sighed. “I’m sorry to come off like a grade-A bitch here. It’s not you personally.”
“Glad to hear it.” Once again, he graced her with that charismatic smile she was becoming all too fond of.
“It’s the situation,” she continued. “I’m uncomfortable with the thought of you holding a stakeout in my classroom.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. As I said, I’m here to observe the kids, not you or your teaching.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she quickly corrected. “I don’t care who watches me teach. What I do care about are these kids. Having you come in here undercover is a bit like inviting the fox into the henhouse. That’s what I don’t like.”
“By referring to me as the fox,” he said, eyebrows lowered, “it sounds as though you consider me to be the bad guy.”
“I’m not saying my kids are saints, but they aren’t exactly living ideal lives. I don’t think we’re doing them any favors by throwing them in prison or juvenile detention.”
“Listen, Ms. Finch. I think maybe we need to clear up a few misconceptions here.” Mac’s use of her title clued her in to his offense at her words. “Despite what you think, I’m not the criminal here. I’m not trying to trap or trick these kids. The fact of the matter is, some of your students are doing some pretty shitty stuff and one thing we don’t have is the luxury of time—time for you to save them all with your feel-good books and chocolate chip cookies. I live and work in the real world, Pollyanna.”
She exploded, furious at his belittlement of her attempts to help her students. “How dare you make fun of me! You don’t have a clue what I’ve been accomplishing with these kids. You wanna call me Pollyanna? Fine! I’d rather be thought optimistic than walk around with your ‘attack first, ask questions later’ approach to life, Attila.”
“Optimistic?” he ground out. “Oh no, sweetheart. When I said Pollyanna, I meant naïve, and I’m not sure how you can call me Attila for simply doing my job.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. And given that your job consists of judging kids at first glance, according to attitude and attire, and then ruining their lives without a backward glance then yes, I think I’m merely calling it as I see it.” Her temper was rising to dangerous limits. The idea of this man sitting in her classroom passing judgment on her kids was more than she could tolerate. “Have you ever stopped to consider the factors that lead these kids to gangs? You think I’m naïve because I concentrate my energy on finding them more positive outlets for their time?”
“I think you may have blinders on where some of your students are concerned.”
“And I think you are willing to believe the worst in all of them without giving them the benefit of the doubt.”
“In my experience,” he replied, “the worst is usually true. I spend my days tracking down thieves, rapists and drug dealers and nine times out of ten, the culprit is a teenager in a gang who does his hustling at school. These are some pretty upstanding citizens you’re teaching.”
“This isn’t going to work.” She slammed her hand down on her desk as she rose to leave the room. “I’m going to tell Mr. Hallstrom to find another class for you to observe.”
“Oh no, you’re not.” Mac grabbed her arm as she passed him. “No one else is going to be privy to this investigation. You’re the teacher he blabbed the truth to, so that’s it—you’re the teacher. Besides, given your attitude toward my job here, I don’t intend to take my eyes off you for one minute. There is no way I’m going to let you jeopardize my work. I have a feeling you’d start slipping warnings in their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches just to thwart me.”
Startled by his grasp on her arm and by how much he knew of her work, she stumbled in her attempt to break loose. He pulled on her arm to stop the fall, directing her until she tumbled into his chest before wrapping his arms securely around her back.
Her fists gripped his shirt for a moment before she loosened them and pressed against his chest with the flat palms of her hands. Looking up, she was unnerved by how closely the lieutenant was holding her. For a second, she thought she could see undisguised lust in his pale green eyes and she felt herself answering the pull before she could think.
She fought the overwhelming desire to lean forward just a bit and kiss him. Instead, she pushed away from him—hard. Turning back toward her desk, she sat heavily in her chair, unable to look him in the eye, her now-lucid mind screaming Idiot!
She wasn’t this kind of person. She was usually so easygoing, friendly, nice.
Well, okay, she did have a bit of a temper, but she could usually keep it under control. Most days anyway. And “easygoing” might be pushing it as she did tend to be a bit stubborn about getting her way, but she was definitely friendly. Sort of.
Now in the course of less than an hour, she’d insulted and been insulted by this man and then actually considered kissing a virtual stranger. Her whole world felt like it had tipped on its axis and she couldn’t quite determine what to do next.
“Kelly…” There was a kindness in his tone that was mixed with confusion and, strangely, it comforted her. She wasn’t alone in her feelings.
It was her turn to stop him. “No,” she started. “Forget it. Mr. Hallstrom made it perfectly clear that he fully supports you being here and I’m obviously not going to change his mind. I suggest that we start over and pretend the last hour never happened.” Rising, she was pleased by the steadiness of the hand she extended.
“Hi,” she said with a strained smile. “I’m Kelly Finch.”
“Jared McNally.” He approached her and accepted her proffered hand—before surprising her by using the handshake against her. He continued to pull her across the desk and didn’t stop until their noses were nearly touching. “I think we should start over too.”
“Mac.” She tried to pull back, but his strength and size were far superior to her own.
“Kelly,” he murmured. “I think I’m going to enjoy teaching you a few lessons for a change.”
Uncomfortable by his smoldering look and infuriated by his smug words, she stopped trying to escape his grip and instead moved closer, allowing her lips to barely brush against his.
“Careful, Lieutenant.” Her whisper was husky and she could sense his growing arousal at her sensuous tone. “As someone with educational training, I’m the one who has every intention of instructing you about a few things.”
“Is that right?” he murmured.
She let his words linger and felt his hot breath wash across her face. She gave him her sexiest smile before pulling away. “Do me a favor and lock up on your way out.”
She giggled at his annoyed groan as she quickly escaped to the hallway.
“Child’s play.” She was actually looking forward to tomorrow and to giving him a run for his money. Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad Monday after all.