“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” Tom Jorgen’s secretary leaned across her desk and spoke in a hushed tone. “He’s in one of his moods.”
At sixty-four and holding, Wilma McKenzie was known as the sea of calm in the turbulent waters of the high school office. Serene and unflappable, she rarely frowned, and laughter usually twinkled in her blue eyes partially hidden behind bifocals. She looked, Jake thought, like a kindly grandmother.
“That bad?” Jake paused. Wilma had been Tom’s personal secretary for the past five years and had borne the brunt of his erratic mood swings since Jane had passed away.
“This is one of the worst.” She shook her head. “He seemed okay this morning, but now—watch out.”
“Any idea what set him off?” Jake kept his tone even and his facial expression deceptively composed. Could Tom have discovered that Angel wasn’t eighteen and that Jake had known about it? Was that what was behind this last-minute summons that had left Jake scrambling? Surely, it had to be important for Tom to pull him out of baseball practice with State Tournaments coming up.
The secretary took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with trembling fingers. Jake frowned. This was more serious than he’d thought.
“I’m not sure.” She blinked several times rapidly. “The only thing I can tie it to is the mail.”
Jake raised a brow. “Really?”
“When I brought it in, he was fine. Of course, he looked terrible. I don’t think he’s been sleeping well. But when I came back a few minutes later with some files he’d asked for, he practically bit my head off.”
The older woman’s lips quivered, and even though she ducked her head to pretend to be looking in the desk drawer, he caught a glint of tears in her eyes.
Jake’s lips tightened. Tom had no right to take his anger out on Wilma. No right at all.
“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” Jake laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder.
The secretary drew a ragged breath and straightened in her seat. Within seconds the implacable Wilma McKenzie was back, her face serene and her eyes so clear and dry that Jake wondered if he’d imagined the tears.
“I can handle anything that man can dish out.”
Who was she trying to convince? Jake or herself?
“The point is, you shouldn’t have to,” Jake said softly. It was almost as if Tom had attacked his own mother. “I’m going to have a talk with him.”
“Don’t,” Wilma said quickly. “Please. You’ll only make it worse.”
“He can’t treat you like this.”
“Let it go.” The door to Tom’s office jerked open, and Wilma mouthed “Please.”
“About time you got here.” The principal was clearly agitated, and little beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Rumpled and wrinkled, his normally impeccable suit looked as if he’d slept in it. Dark circles underscored his eyes, emphasizing the thinness of his face and sallow complexion. “I don’t have all day.”
Jake opened his mouth to tell the man he was right on time, but Wilma shot him a warning glance, and he closed it without speaking. Tom was like a wounded grizzly, clearly irritated and ready to attack.
Tom shut the door firmly behind Jake and gestured to a chair near the desk. Jake sat down and pretended not to notice that Tom’s hand shook as badly as that of an alcoholic in the throes of withdrawal.
Instead of sitting, Tom paced the office. “I haven’t slept in three days.”
Jake’s brow furrowed, his anger replaced by concern. “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“Sick?” Tom gave a little laugh. “I’m sick all right, but not in the way you mean.”
The principal stopped in front of his window and rested his hands on the sill, his back to Jake. “I don’t know if you’ve read about it in the papers. But that slime-bag that killed my Jane is up for parole.”
“But it’s been barely two years.” No wonder Tom was upset. The drunk driver that had smashed Jane’s import into an unrecognizable mass of twisted steel had been convicted of motor vehicle homicide. The ten-year sentence the guy had received had given them all some degree of comfort.
“Apparently they’re counting the time he served prior to the sentencing as well as giving him credit for good behavior.” Tom’s fist slammed into the wood sill, and he whirled around, pain etched on every line of his face. “It’s not fair, Jake. He killed her as sure as if he’d shot her with a gun! And now, two years and he’s free?”
“They won’t let him out.” Jake spoke with more confidence than he felt. His faith in the legal system had been rocked by the light sentences his brother’s killers had received. Of course, they’d been tried as minors. The guy that had killed Jane had been an adult. “Not this soon.”
“That’s what I thought. Until I started hearing how people were writing to the parole board in support of his release.” An expression of disgust crossed Tom’s face.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious.” The principal’s voice rose, and his eyes took on a wild appearance. “They’re going to let the guy walk. And that’s not all. Can you believe he had the nerve to ask for my forgiveness? He killed my wife and he thinks I’ll forgive him?”
Forgiveness.
A band tightened around Jake’s chest, constricting his breathing and making talking difficult. “You spoke with him?”
“If I ever got that close to him, he wouldn’t need to worry about parole.” Tom’s voice, though quiet, had an ominous quality. Hatred solidified his face into a stony mask. “He’d be dead.”
Even though Jake had often wondered what he’d do if he ever came face to face with Jim’s killers, he’d never considered murder. He exhaled a long breath. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? What do you think I should do? Shake his hand and say, ‘You killed my wife, of course I forgive you.’” He threw a wadded up piece of paper on the desk next to Jake.
Jake stared at the crinkly ball but made no move to pick it up. Before this moment, he hadn’t realized just how much Tom had changed. Lately, there were few reminders of the good-natured, almost jovial, principal who’d hired Jake five years earlier, the man who’d quickly become his friend and his mentor. That man would never have reduced his secretary to tears or wanted to kill another human being. Was this what hatred did?
“Look at it.” Tom shoved the paper into Jake’s hand. “I can’t believe he’d even ask.”
Carlos and Anton have found the Lord. They’re asking for your forgiveness. His response to his mother had been much the same as Tom’s. He’d stared, angry she’d even ask. Angry that her ridiculous request still had the power to stir up all those feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. Angry that he felt guilty over saying what was in his heart: “I can’t believe they’d think I’d forgive them.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Jake said now, shaking his head in disgust. “They think all they have to do is say they’re sorry.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Tom sighed and collapsed into his desk chair.
Jake picked up the paper and tried to give it back, but Tom waved it away. “Read it. It’s good for a laugh.”
Reluctantly, Jake unwrapped the ball, flattening it smooth with the palm of his hand. The writing was clear, written in easily readable print.
“Read it aloud.”
Jake shook his head. “I don’t—”
“Read it,” Tom said sharply. The wild look once again filled the man’s eyes.
If Jake was going to calm his friend down, it appeared he had no choice but to do as Tom asked.
Jake cleared his throat.
Dear Mr. Jorgens,
This letter is long overdue. I haven’t written before because I didn’t know what to say.
Tom snorted and Jake paused, but Tom impatiently motioned for him to continue.
I still don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. If I could exchange places with your wife I’d do it. I had no business getting behind that wheel and trying to drive home. With that one reckless action I deprived your wife of her life and you of her companionship and love. I also deprived my own wife and daughter of a husband and father for these past two years.
I deeply regret my actions that night and will carry the guilt with me until the day I die. I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.
Sincerely,
John Andrews
The simple words rang true and unexpectedly touched a chord in Jake’s heart.
“Can you believe it?” Tom raked his sweat-dampened hair back with his hand. “Sincerely, my—”
“Tom.” Jake raised his gaze from the letter. “Maybe the guy really is sorry.”
Visibly stunned at Jake’s response, Tom could only stare.
Jake decided to take advantage of the opportunity. He chose his words quickly but carefully. “You notice he didn’t make any excuses. He’s had two years to think about what he’s done. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Mistakes!” Tom bellowed so loudly that Jake was surprised the windows didn’t shatter. “The man kills my wife, and you call it a mistake?!”
Jake held out his hand. “Tom, that’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“I thought you of all people would understand.” Tom stood and gripped the edge of the desk. He leaned forward across the surface until he was right in Jake’s face. “So, tell me, Jake. Have you forgiven those two little hoodlums who killed your brother for their ‘mistake’? How are you going to feel when they’re back running the streets?”
The invisible band around his chest tightened another notch. “Drop it, Tom.”
“What’s the matter?” A snarl curved Tom’s lip. “Am I hitting too close to home?”
Shoving his chair back with a clatter, Jake stood. He didn’t have to listen to an obviously irrational man rant and rave. The fact that Tom’s ramblings made some sense was shoved aside. “We’ll talk later. I need to get going.”
When he reached the doorway, Jake couldn’t resist one last backward glance. Tom’s mouth was spread in a thin-lipped smile. His arms were folded across his chest and a knowing expression blanketed his face. This time his voice was calm. “You can’t forgive your brother’s killers any more than I can forgive this drunk.”
Jake jerked the door open.
“Don’t get all high and mighty on me, Jake Weston. We’re two of a kind, you and I.”
Two of a kind.
Jake slammed the door shut.
Tom’s words followed him through the thick wood and echoed in his head all the way down the hall. Tom’s hate-twisted face and empty eyes filled his field of vision.
Once outside, Jake headed for the parking lot. There was no reason to stop at the ball field. His meeting with Tom had taken so long that practice would be long over. He jumped into his Jeep, intending to go straight home. Minutes later, Jake found himself sitting at Big Al’s Burger Palace drive-in, ordering a hamburger and a soda.
How had he ended up here? It was as if the vehicle had had a will of its own. Jake blew out a breath and wondered if there was time to cancel his order. He wasn’t even hungry.
His gaze searched the parking lot for the pony-tailed blond carhop. It stopped abruptly on a familiar low-slung sports car parked in the lot. He recognized Mike Blaine immediately. It took him a few more seconds to recognize Angel Morelli.
Jake tried to quell the anger that was building in him. What was Angel doing with Blaine? What kind of game was she playing now?
The boy was young enough to be her son. Well, maybe not her son, but there was a big difference between an eighteen-year-old kid and a twenty-six-year-old woman. The wave of jealousy that hit Jake nearly took his breath away. Of course, Mike could just be giving her a ride home. Jake knew he should look away, give them their privacy.
But he kept his gaze fixed, even while tossing a few bills on a tray and grabbing his burger and soda from the blonde who’d finally showed up.
The two heads drew closer. Jake narrowed his eyes.
Mike slipped his arm around Angel’s shoulder. A bite of hamburger stuck in Jake’s throat.
Angel’s hand rose and pushed against Mike’s chest. Jake’s hand moved to the door latch.
Suddenly the door on the passenger side of Mike’s car opened. Angel hopped out, her dark hair gleaming in the sunshine.
He swallowed and leaned back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the sports car round the corner and disappear in traffic.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?”
He bolted upright at the cocky voice. A slice of pickle felt as if it dropped straight to his lungs.
Jake turned and looking into laughing brown eyes. “Angel!”
Without waiting for an invitation, Angel pranced around the front of the Jeep, opened the door and hopped into the passenger seat. “Give me a ride home?”
With her saucy smile and devil-may-care attitude, the girl looked like an impudent sprite against the cream-colored leather interior. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face in clips and hung in loose curls to her shoulders. Her white cotton shirt was dotted with tiny spring flowers and her short denim skirt barely reached mid-thigh. Today, even Jake found it hard to believe she was a day over eighteen.
“Now, why would I want to do that?” He raised a brow.
“Because.” She smiled. “You’re a good guy.”
“Yeah, right,” he said with a wry grin. “If I was a good guy, I wouldn’t be hanging out here with you.”
He’d meant the words to be a condemnation of himself—a teacher consorting with a supposed student—but the look that skittered across her face told him she had taken it far differently than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I think I’ll catch a ride with Jarvis.” She reached for the door latch.
“No.” Jake practically shouted the word. Thoughts of her in the same vehicle with Big J sent a chill down his spine. He’d overheard Jarvis bragging in the locker room about his conquests one too many times. “I don’t want you in a car alone with that guy. Understand?”
Angel paused and slowly turned back toward him. Her hand lingered on the door handle, but she no longer seemed in a hurry to leave.
Jake knew if Amanda had been in Angel’s place, she’d have immediately puffed up and told him in no uncertain terms that she’d ride with whom she wanted, when she wanted. But Angel was not as impulsive as Amanda, not so prone to speak first and have regrets later.
She studied him for a moment until her tense expression eased. Then her lips lifted in a slight smile, and Jake sighed in relief.
“I was only looking out for you.”
“I realize that.” In spite of her youthful appearance, there was maturity in Angel’s gaze. “I didn’t want to go with him, anyway.” Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t like Beemers.”
Jarvis’s new BMW convertible had been the talk of the school last month. With its mirror ebony finish and its sporty styling, there had been no shortage of Woodland Hills students wanting to take a spin—most of them female.
“Lots of girls think Jarvis is the man.”
Jake groaned to himself. He spent every day with teenagers. Now he was starting to sound like one!
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Angel said lightly. “I’m not like the other girls.”
“That’s right.” Jake let his gaze drop, focusing for a moment on her lips. “You’re more mature.”
Jake couldn’t help but remember how sweet those lips had been. How close he’d felt to her that night on the Ferris wheel. His eyes explored her face; the gleam reflected in her eyes told him she remembered, too.
The brisk north breeze had turned the outside air unseasonably cold, but in the Jeep the temperature shot upward. Jake’s breath grew ragged.
“We had a good time together the other night.” Her dark eyes glittered. “Why haven’t you called me?”
Jake stalled. She wasn’t really a high school senior, but seeing her every day in his classroom made it hard to remember that fact. “I’m your teacher. Teachers don’t call students for dates, no matter how mature they are.”
For an instant, a flash of something that looked like approval crossed her face. But when she snorted and heaved a theatrical sigh, Jake was sure he’d been mistaken.
“Oh, brother,” she said. “A man of conscience.”
Jake laughed. She made integrity sound like a dirty word. “It’s hard, but somebody’s got to take a stand.”
“Enough already. I just ate.” Angel rolled her eyes. “Just tell me this isn’t your way of getting out of giving me a ride.”
“Angel.” He pinned her with his gaze and spoke the words slowly and distinctly. “I want to give you a ride.”
“You do?”
He nodded. God forgive him, he did. There were a thousand reasons he should keep his distance. She’d lied to him. He couldn’t trust her. None of it mattered. He couldn’t help wanting to be with her. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said simply. Her face reddened the instant the words left her lips, as if she, too, had revealed more than she’d intended.
“Jake—”
Her husky voice sent a shiver racing down his spine.
She lightly rested her hand on his forearm. “One more thing?”
A horn blared, and Angel shot a quick glance out the window. Jake kept his gaze fixed on Angel and ignored the irritating sound.
He moved his arm so her hand slid down to his, and he gently locked their fingers together. “What is it you want, Angel? Tell me.”
“Can I have a sip of your soda?” Her lips tilted upward in the barest hint of a smile. “I’m really thirsty.”