If I Belong With You: A Sweet and Engaging Christian Romance (Seriously Sweet St Louis Book 1)

by Cindy Kirk

  The waitress had refilled her water glass three times, the last time casting a pointed glance at the people waiting to be seated.

  Angel decided to give Mike five more minutes. This would be her first drug buy from the boy, and she couldn’t afford to miss this chance. If he hadn’t shown by then, she’d have to consider her options.

  “Hey, Mike. Over here,” a voice across the room yelled.

  “I’ll catch you another time, man.”

  Angel looked up.

  “Sorry.” Mike slid into the seat opposite her. “Coach Deeter kept us late.”

  “What happened to Coach Weston?” Angel lowered her gaze and pretended to study the menu she’d already memorized.

  Mike shrugged. “Someone said he’d gotten tied up in a meeting.”

  Angel’s mind raced. From what she knew of Jake Weston, he rarely missed practice. What kind of meeting could have detained him?

  “That Deeter, I can’t believe the guy. He said we weren’t taking practice serious enough.” Mike snorted. “As if we’re going to have any problem with TJ this weekend. They stink.”

  Thomas Jefferson High School was a rival, and even Angel, who didn’t follow baseball, knew TJ sat at the bottom of the league standings. She smiled at Mike’s cockiness. Never had he sounded more like a high school senior and less like a drug dealer.

  “Did Ja—” she caught herself just in time “—Coach Weston ever show up?”

  The boy’s eyes turned sharp and assessing, and she knew he’d caught her gaffe. She braced herself for his questions, but they never came.

  Instead Mike tossed his menu to the table, and, as if on cue, the waitress appeared. Only this time her manner was much more accommodating and all sense of urgency had vanished.

  Angel stared. She could have sworn the girl’s hair had been pinned back when she’d filled the water. Now the dark strands hung in loose curls around the elfin face and the lipstick looked to have been freshly applied.

  The girl was in her chemistry class, and although she was one of those who’d never given Angel the time of day, from the undisguised interest that shone in her dark brown eyes, she appeared ready to give Mike the whole clock.

  “Hi, Mike. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Caren.” Mike shot the girl a dazzling smile, and Angel could immediately see why he had such a reputation with the girls. “Bring us two cheeseburgers and fries. I’ll have a large chocolate malt and—”

  Angel shook her head. “Water is all I want.”

  Caren slowly printed their order on a pad, all the while casting repeated adoring glances at Mike from beneath her lowered lashes. The task that should have taken only seconds stretched into minutes. Angel was thankful she and Mike had ordered the same thing or the girl would have been with them all night. Just when Angel was ready to suggest Caren pull up a chair, the girl flashed Mike a regretful backward glance and headed to a nearby table that for five minutes had been loudly demanding their bill.

  Angel waited until she was sure the girl was out of earshot to speak. “Did you bring the stuff?”

  Mike smiled. He reached over and grabbed her hand. “My dad says you shouldn’t discuss business at the table.”

  She answered his smile with a sweet-as-pie one of her own and pulled her hand from his. “Yeah, and mine said to never mix business with pleasure.”

  The full-throated laugh that burst from the boy’s lips took Angel by surprise. Those at nearby tables turned to look, but Mike didn’t seem to care. Obviously he was used to being the center of attention. She decided to join in the fun and tossed in a girlish giggle of her own for effect.

  By the time they’d stopped laughing, the waitress had returned with his malt balanced on a round tray. She handed him the tall glass, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary, her gaze plainly adoring. Unfortunately for her, Mike didn’t even glance up. Instead he murmured an under-the-breath “Thanks,” and kept his gaze fixed firmly on Angel.

  Despite the fact that the girl had been downright rude to her in Chemistry, Angel almost felt sorry for her. The key word being almost. She couldn’t resist giving the snobbish Caren a smug smile. After all, playing an immature teenager should have some advantages.

  Oblivious to the girlish antics, Mike raised the glass to his lips and took a big swallow. “Man, that’s good.” He glanced at Angel’s water. “Sure you don’t want any?”

  “Positive.”

  He gave Caren a dismissive glance. “That’ll be all for now.”

  The girl turned in a huff, and Angel hid a smile. This was turning out to be a drug buy unlike any other.

  When she’d first contacted Mike about buying some stuff for a “friend,” he’d stalled, saying he’d have to get back to her. Then, when they’d finalized the arrangements, instead of meeting at a quiet out-of-the-way location, he’d not only picked the ultra-popular Burger Palace but had insisted they meet right after practice, a time when the place was always packed.

  Now, he’d surprised her again. There was no sense of urgency, no rushing through the deal. He sat sipping his malt, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world—or a gram of crystal meth—in his pocket.

  She wondered if Crow could be right. When she’d expressed her puzzlement over the meeting time and place, her partner hadn’t thought it strange at all. He’d seen it before. For some, he said, the risk was the real high.

  Since the guy seemed in no hurry to get down to business, Angel filled the silence with a topic near to the boy’s heart. “Sounds like the baseball team will be going to state.”

  “Give it up, Angel. You’re so transparent.” His smile softened the harshness of his words. “You don’t care about baseball. The reason you’re interested in the team doesn’t have a thing to do with the game.”

  “Really?” Angel rested her head on her hand and widened her eyes, pretending to hang on his every word. “Tell me more, oh wise one.”

  “It’s not the game that turns you on.” Mike leaned back and took another sip of his malt. “It’s Coach Weston.”

  For a second Angel’s breath caught in her throat. Then she quickly recovered and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “The guy’s practically ancient.”

  Mike shrugged. “Deny it all you want. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  Angel groaned to herself. Surely, she hadn’t been that obvious. She chuckled. “What can I say? He’s hot. A girl can’t help but notice.”

  The boy raised one eyebrow and shot her a wicked grin. “Or touch?”

  His gaze riveted to hers. She swallowed hard, raised her chin. “I admit I’m hot and bothered, but it’s not over something Jake Weston has.” She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “Honey, you’ve got what I want.”

  The look of surprise that flashed across the boy’s face was quickly replaced by one of pure masculine interest. She gave herself a mental pat on the back. This was too easy.

  Mike leaned closer, and the chocolate scent of the malt mingled with his designer cologne. “I’ll give you whatever you want, baby.”

  She smiled at his arrogance. “Are you sure?”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Their heads were now so close that her hair brushed his cheek. She spoke slowly and her lips barely moved. “Give me my crystal.”

  He jerked back and stared dumbfounded. “Is that all you want?”

  “You’re my best friend’s guy.” Angel kept her voice light. “I’m afraid even if I wanted to—” she traced a line down his cheek with her finger “—touch, I couldn’t. You’re off-limits.”

  Though he couldn’t quite hide his disappointment, he seemed to understand. And Angel had achieved her purpose—she’d gotten the topic off Jake Weston.

  The waitress brought their food, and though Angel had had a big lunch, she dove into her cheeseburger as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. At least when your mouth was stuffed with food you couldn’t talk. She’d grown tired of the banter and
tired of the games. And mostly, tired of the wait.

  The last bite of the greasy burger had barely cleared her lips when she made a big show of glancing at her watch. “Look at the time.” She wadded up her paper napkin and tossed it on her plate. “I need to get going.”

  “You brought the money?” he asked quickly, his voice all business.

  She was thankful that he now seemed ready to get this show on the road, too.

  “I’ll walk you out.” He laid a twenty on the table and followed her through the cluttered throng, greeting most of their fellow students by name, some with slaps on their backs.

  Angel could sense their curious stares, and she made a mental note to give Emily the scoop before some well-meaning “friend” did. Not that she thought Emily would care at this point. Kenneth had started calling, and the girl was ecstatic. It appeared Ken was now “in” and Mike was on his way “out.”

  Crisp and unusually cool, the outside air was a refreshing change from the stifling warmth of the crowded Big Al’s. Angel stopped on the sidewalk and waited for Mike to make his move. What was his plan? Surely even a risk-taker wouldn’t do the exchange in broad daylight in full view of passersby.

  Mike cupped her elbow in his hand and pointed to a jet-black sports car across the parking lot. “C’mon.”

  They walked past the busy drive in an area where carhops in short pink dresses brought the orders out to those who preferred to eat in their vehicles. The girls were cute and adorable in their 1950s-style outfits. Mike didn’t give them a second glance.

  Angel climbed into the passenger seat and waited while he went around the front. He slid in on the driver’s side, but instead of starting the engine as she expected, he sat there.

  “I brought the money.” She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the bills.

  It was almost as if she’d offered him a tissue, a napkin or something else of little value. Without a word or a second glance, Mike took the money and dropped the bills into a compartment filled with CDs.

  “Aren’t you going to count it?”

  A little smile played at the corners of his lips. His arms slipped companionably around her shoulders, and he pulled her close, tucking a postage-stamp-size packet into her front shirt pocket in the process. “Why should I count it? You know better than to cheat me.”

  She gazed into his boyishly handsome face. The laughing eyes were now dead serious. Suddenly he looked too much like the kids of her youth, the ones on a fast track to nowhere. A wave of sadness swept over her. Mike had too much going for him to be wasting time heading down the wrong path.

  She reminded herself that the sooner he was caught, the sooner he could turn his life around. She smiled up at him and pushed lightly against his chest, putting some distance between them. “The money’s not the problem, Mike, my man. The problem is, you’ve only given me enough for one little party and that’ll be gone after tonight.”

  His gaze sharpened. “How much do you want?”

  “An eight-ball should do it.” She flashed him a bright smile. “At least, for starters.”

  Yes, the sooner she could bust this case, the better for them all.

  Chapter Twelve

  “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.”

  “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! 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. Un
til 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. 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.”