Every Minute

by C J Burright

  Eight signatures short. With the exception of the Sullivans, she’d personally gone to every student’s house, talked to each parent in depth, and tonight she’d come very close to pleading. It was a good thing she didn’t go to law school. Her persuasion skills apparently sucked.

  She shrugged out of her raincoat and left it in a wet heap on the floor. The bond wouldn’t pass. She’d gleaned that much in her canvassing. No one wanted to fork out more money for what they believed they’d already paid for.

  What a disaster. She sank onto the couch and stared blankly at the papers scattered on her coffee table, evidence that no plan guaranteed success. She’d been so sure she could make it happen, that she could save her job. Some people thought music was more important than people. More important than her.

  Her phone buzzed. Garret.

  I’m coming over to help you celebrate your victory.

  Her heart squeezed, and the tears she’d been controlling pricked her eyes. She didn’t want to share her defeat, let him see her weakness, and there wasn’t anything he could do to change it. Better to make an excuse and face him tomorrow, when her emotions were more in check.

  Too late. We’ll talk tomo—

  Before she could end the text, an alert came through her phone. A car in the driveway. A few seconds later, Beethoven thundered through her house. Perfect. She was too slow to ward him off, and now she couldn’t nurse her failure alone in her preferred method, with tissues and chocolate.

  Adara trudged to the door, took her time with all the locks and alarms and let him in.

  Garret’s smile was brilliant, at first. As he studied her, that light faded. “What happened?”

  There was no use hiding it. He’d know soon enough. “Music lovers happened.” She closed the door behind him and plodded back to the couch. “Thirty-three percent of Graywood Elementary School parents prefer music over a live body teaching, which means a month from now, I’ll be…” She gave a strangled laugh. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

  “I do.” Garret pulled her against his chest, and she let him, too tired to protest. “You’ll be with me.”

  “Really not in the mood to have that particular argument right now, Ambrose.” She pulled out of his loose grasp and flung herself onto the couch. “I don’t have magic violin fingers or pirate charm to win me my next gig, and I certainly don’t have the financial resources to float around musically harassing people for free until I find something else.” At the flash of hurt on his face, she sighed and slouched. “Sorry. Your situation has nothing to do with mine. I know that. I’m sucky company right now.”

  “Apology accepted.” He fingered the papers on her coffee table, keeping his smile contained, considerate of her defeat. She wasn’t sure she’d be as accommodating if their roles were reversed. “What can I do?”

  She clenched her teeth to contain the tears and managed to keep her voice free of any mushy emotion. “Nothing. I went to every house, talked to every parent. It’s a done deal.”

  He crouched between the coffee table and the couch, close to her knee. “Maybe the school board will find that the signatures you have are enough.”

  “No, they won’t.” She closed her eyes and laid her head back. “They were very firm on that. No less than seventy percent.”

  “You should still go to the meeting tomorrow.” His voice was soft, joined by the rustling of papers, the whispered song of her failed plans. “Make a final stand.”

  “Already on my itinerary.” Not that it would make a difference. The board had made both its specifications and its reluctance of her proposal crystal clear. There was no backup plan. Still, if she was going down, she’d go with a boom.

  “Good.” His big, warm hand rested on her knee for a moment then squeezed gently. “You know I want to stay. I’d do my best to distract you from everything for as long as you want, but I understand if you need some time alone. Just tell me what you need.”

  Sparks flickered in her belly, not enough to fully respond, and she was too mentally worn out to question why he suddenly had respect for her alone time. As tempting as it was to let him divert her with his sexual coercion tactics, curling up in bed and hiding under the covers until morning tempted her that much more. He’d join her if she asked, another temptation, and one she couldn’t entertain. With her emotions so close to the surface, she might break, tell him things she couldn’t take back.

  Adara faked a yawn. “I need sleep.”

  He took her hand and pulled her close against his heat and strength. “While you dream, spin a speech that will make the board members second-guess letting you go.” He brushed his mouth over hers, a barely-there kiss that made her breath catch. “Whatever you do, don’t give up, neshama.”

  * * * *

  No brilliant plans or words came to Adara in dreams, and the day passed by in a blur, every minute laced with the knowledge that tonight she’d get the official confirmation. Job over. Good luck in the unknown future. Even Garret allowed her the courtesy to mope without harassment, consigning himself to small smiles and a steady presence in the classroom. It was surprisingly comforting, if useless to her cause.

  Waiting outside the closed door of the board room, she blew out a breath, unable to hear the discussion going on inside. The file held against her chest, containing the too-few signatures she’d finagled, felt weightless, a mark of its deficiency. It would be nice if they’d just let her in and get the unpleasantness over, so she could go back to…

  Her heart convulsed, as if suddenly realizing the enormity of her situation. Without her job, she had nothing to get back to doing. Her life would be as silent as her house, as empty as the solitude she’d sought.

  Out of sight, two halls away, the main school door squeaked open and slammed shut, followed by rapid footsteps.

  “Miss Dumont?” One board member stuck his head out of the cracked boardroom door. “The board is ready for you.”

  She nodded and followed him inside. The idea of walking back out, what she’d leave behind, made her want to retch.

  “Adara, wait!” Garret’s familiar voice pulled her slowly around. He ran toward her, his hair loose and flying behind him. He skidded to a stop, only a little breathless, and shoved a folded paper at her. “You might find this useful for the meeting.”

  She was too shocked to do anything but unfold the smeared and wrinkled paper. All thoughts drained from her head. Signatures. Nine of them, supporting the elimination of the music program, of parents who had originally rejected the idea. The last two stole her ability to speak. Bob and London Sullivan. She lifted her gaze to his.

  Garret was biting his lip, clearly having difficulty reining in his sunshine, so adorable she would’ve kissed him if not for the waiting school board.

  “Why?” she managed to say.

  “The best things in life are worth the sacrifice.” With a nod at the waiting board member, he stuffed his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “Good luck at the board meeting, Miss Dumont.” He turned and strolled away, taking another sliver of her heart with him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Too wired to sleep and bored of counting uncooperative sheep, Adara settled back against her bed headboard and powered up her laptop. One twenty-one a.m. Snoozing should come easy. Whether or not the bond passed now, her job was secure, and the last three weeks had passed like a dream on the edge of waking. Her minutes were spent teaching, along with an hour of unnerving silence while Garret took her kids to their private music practice, and each of those empty minutes reminded her what she had to lose—or what she had to give up. Weekends she pretended to be busy and wound up sucked into Garret’s gravity anyway. They found books for his library. He cooked. They argued over the musical capabilities of third-graders. He pressed her to listen to his songs. She refused.

  The siege was on full force.

  A small, cold chord twisted in her gut. Without realizing it, she’d realigned to his rhythm, and like all dreams, this one drew close to its end. It
was barely a week before the recital and Garret’s mentorship finale. He hadn’t disclosed his plans and she didn’t have the guts to ask, not with her indecision. But part of her, a much larger part than she wanted to admit, believed in all things Garret Ambrose. He made everything seem possible.

  She gazed out of the window to the darkness beyond. As much as she longed to stay in his world, losing him now would leave a bearable scar. Six months down the road, a year or five? Her blood iced, and she pushed the thought deep down in the pit where it belonged. She was stuck on a bungee jumping bridge, peering over the rail, wanting to take the plunge and unsure if she’d survive the ultimate fall.

  The computer switched screen savers, waiting patiently while she procrastinated. On a whim, she searched for ‘Belgian Beauty’. If there was proof on her blog that Bella was back in Belgium, everyone would feel better, and maybe Garret would cave on his no-running-outside rule. She missed her trails. A treadmill workout made her want to kill something.

  And after she cyber-stalked Bella, she’d finally look up the definition of neshama.

  The home page of Belgian Beauty popped up, boasting a new picture collage. Of Garret. Recent, because he was wearing the same flannel shirt and black beanie he’d worn at her house—her stomach dropped—the previous night. She leaned in closer, and all the blood rushed to her head. One picture was the inside of her house. Last night.

  Her hands shaking, she called Garret. Each unanswered ring tightened the noose around her throat more. Right when she thought she’d get his voicemail, he picked up.

  “I was dreaming of you too, neshama.”

  “Check out Belgian Beauty,” she whispered, every shadowed bedroom corner seeming to watch her. “Tell me the picture on her home page isn’t from last night.” She waited while he obeyed, her heart rattling her ribs.

  “Ben-zonna.” His sexy, just-woke-up voice changed to a snarl. “Stay put. I’m coming to get you. Don’t hang up. I’m texting Roman right now. Keep talking so I know you’re okay.”

  “Okay.”

  He made a strangled noise. “I need more than that, Adara.” A rustling came through the phone. “Jeans on, feet in slippers. Got my keys.” A jangle joined his voice. “I’m out of the door. Do you hear anything suspicious?”

  “Give me a sec.” Silence throbbed through her house, nothing more sinister than usual. Then again, Bella must be a skilled stealthtician to hide out in Joey’s room without her knowing. “Nope. And zero suspicious activity from the alarm system.”

  The hum of a motor followed by a screech of wheels filled the phone, and she would’ve smiled if she’d had it in her. Apparently, Garret could go faster than an old biddy with a cane. She scooted off her bed and gripped Joey’s softball bat from beside her dresser. Holding some type of weapon made her feel better.

  “Roman’s on graveyard, so he’ll be there soon. If she happens to be hanging around, he doesn’t want to scare her off, so he’s cutting lights and siren, but I don’t care. I’d rather see you safe now and catch her later.”

  A tingling swept the back of her neck, and the darkness beneath her bed stared back. Bella wouldn’t get past the alarm system, but too many scary movies and CSI episodes said otherwise. Her breath sawing in and out, she slowly crouched and flicked her phone to flashlight mode.

  Nothing.

  She nearly collapsed in relief. If she’d found eyes staring back at her, red, glowing or human, she would’ve freaked.

  “You’re too quiet.”

  “Never been a chatterbox like you.” Adara perched on the edge of her bed, stiff and straight. The window burned her back, an unseen presence watching her through the glass, but no way was she going to turn out the light. “Are you almost here?”

  “Two minutes tops. Fair warning. I’m keeping you with me from now on. Hellion agrees.”

  “Appreciate the offer, but I refuse to let a violinist-obsessed blogger dictate my life.”

  “What about a teacher-obsessed violinist?”

  “Is that any better?”

  “Depends on the viewpoint.” His smile leaked through the phone. “I’d be okay with a particular third-grade teacher obsessing over me, violinist or not.”

  She refused to mention that she’d been more than a little obsessed, trying to figure out what to do with him. Her phone hummed, showing footage of Garret’s Maserati pulling into her drive.

  “I’m here.”

  “I know.” She raced down the hall, each doorway dark and ominous. The alarm system was disarmed, all locks undone in record time. She threw herself into Garret’s arms—or maybe he threw himself at her. Wrapped in his heat and strength, she didn’t care.

  A patrol car slid up to the curb at the end of the street, its lights off. An officer in a black uniform, his hair equally black, slipped out and crept toward her neighbor’s gated yard.

  “Roman,” Garret whispered in her hair, his arms still tight around her. “He wants us to stay on the porch like this as a distraction, in case she’s still close.”

  “No problem.” She pressed her cheek against his chest, his skin warm and smooth on hers, his citrusy scent reassuring. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

  “I was in a hurry. I should’ve brought my violin and went for the new brand of half-naked violinist. Think it would give the nude bagpipe guy some competition?”

  She huffed a laugh. “Totally. I’d throw a buck in your violin case.”

  “Only a buck?” He sounded offended. “I’m worth at least a buck fifty.”

  “Matter of opinion.” She relaxed against him, her arms a loose grip around his waist. Even though Bella was still out there, possibly close, his very presence made her feel safe. “Thank you for coming for me.”

  “Adara.” He said her name as if it pained him and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll always come for you.” He eased back and cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “I want to be where you are, every minute. We don’t need a Bella scare to make that happen.”

  She bit her lip, wanting to reassure him and unable to. Garret deserved an unswerving decision, all in, no reservations. She wasn’t there.

  “The premises are clear.” Roman clicked off his flashlight and trotted up the stairs.

  Adara had met Roman only briefly at Garret’s, when he’d taken her statement after the Bella invasion. Under the porchlight, surrounded by gloom, Roman reminded her of a gargoyle, tall, dark and grim. With his death-black hair, pale skin and ebony uniform, he easily fit into creature-of-the-night mold. She wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.

  His hand always close to his holstered gun, his shadowed gaze pinned her. “I found footprints in your neighbor’s yard, behind a boxwood. The grass was still compressed, and I presume she planted herself there, long enough to leave a lasting imprint. I’ll talk to your neighbors in the morning, keep patrolling the area. No alerts in your alarm system?”

  She disentangled herself from Garret’s embrace, at least as much as he allowed. He kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Not until Garret showed up.”

  Roman nodded and handed her his business card. “Call me right away if you notice anything out of place or suspicious.”

  Garret pulled her into his side. “I’m taking her home with me.”

  As tempting as that was, she shook her head. “I need to stay here.”

  “Adara—”

  “I’ve already rearranged my life for someone I don’t even know, and I won’t surrender more ground to her.” At his worried expression, she added, “Roman can double-check everything before he leaves, make sure it’s safe and sound. My alarm system can do the rest, and I promise to call you both if anything weird happens.”

  Roman shifted past them and slid smoothly inside with only a nod, a predator ready and willing to protect and serve. Adara almost felt sorry for Bella if he found her.

  Garret took her face between his hands. “I can stay on your couch. No matter where I am, I won’t sleep, especially knowing you’re alone.�
�� He gave her puppy dog eyes. “I’ll cook breakfast.”

  Since she was ninety-nine percent sure Garret was Bella’s target anyway, she didn’t argue. Having him close instead of secluded by ten acres of trees would make her feel better, and having him in her house might ease whatever paranoia solitude and silence inspired.

  “All clear.” Roman stomped onto the porch. “Windows and doors are all secure. You’re good to go.”

  “Thanks, Roman.” Garret shook his hand. “Appreciate it.”

  Roman smiled tightly, jerked his chin at her in his way of goodbye and silently returned to his car.

  Adara didn’t sleep that night, and for once, it had nothing to do with Garret.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The booming song of her doorbell jerked Adara to awareness. She peeled her face off the couch cushion and set aside the personal budget she’d been working on before unintentionally falling asleep. She must have left her phone in the kitchen and missed any alarm signal of unexpected company. After the Bella weirdness the night before, she hadn’t slept more than an hour, and despite Garret’s power breakfast and an extra shot in her coffee, she could barely function.

  She shuffled to the door and dutifully checked through the peephole. Garret. Her heart did that now-familiar fluttering thing. Disarming her alarm and all locks, she opened the door and a cold, barbed wire coiled through her. Face-to-face contact revealed what the peephole glass had warped. Garret’s face was pale, his smile gone.

  He briefly closed his eyes and his throat worked. “Bella has Tatum.”

  Ten minutes later, they gathered in Roman’s tiny corner office of the police station. Adara squeezed onto a bench between Garret and Bryan. London and Bob clung tightly to each other by the door. Nothing felt real or solid, as if time passed underwater, fluid and lawless.