by Alyssa Kress
Gary caught a vision of himself in the reflection off the side glass of the car; the hard, con eyes, the face trained over years in prison to mask all expression from the screws. Just like anybody else. Yeah, right.
In fact, he could still remember what had been said at his last jail cell interview with Rogers. The FBI agent had explained that Gary had been selected by an exhaustive computer search as the man with the talents, intelligence, and basic psychological profile most similar to some lunatic bomber they were trying to catch.
Gee, thanks.
According to Rogers, Gary would attack the problem of getting into the DWP facility in much the same way their Mr. Holiday would. From insinuating himself into the sparsely populated region to figuring out how to break through the numerous security systems, Gary and the lunatic would be thinking along much the same lines. At least, that's what the FBI was counting on. They thought that whatever way Gary found into the place would be the way Mr. Holiday would choose. Then they'd be ready for him.
As with Mr. Holiday's other 'projects,' the psycho had let the authorities know what he was planning. He'd even told them when: Columbus Day. It was damn embarrassing that even with all this information, the FBI couldn't manage to catch him.
So by now Gary figured the feds were as desperate as stags at the end of rutting season. But hell, what did he care? He'd get his ten years, whether or not that madman managed to blow up the aqueduct to Los Angeles ‑‑ and the town of Freedom along with it.
The few lights of Freedom came into view as he drove down the highway. An uneasy sensation curled inside Gary. What would the little girl mayor think of having her happy town blown up? She seemed pretty attached to the place. And the school, Gary remembered, with a deepening of unease, was no more than a couple hundred yards from the aqueduct facility.
Gary glanced to the side, toward the books Kerrin had lent him. He was damn well going to have to make this schoolteacher thing work out. He had to, if he was going to buy the time he needed to figure out what Mr. Holiday was going to do.
Gary Sullivan teaching high school. Right.
CHAPTER SIX
Janet Everly, the proprietor of the WawaNeemah Inn, was a woman Kerrin had formerly considered a friend. Janet now stood on the other side of the registration desk from Kerrin and smirked. Kerrin had been hearing the same smirk in the woman's voice every time Kerrin had called over the weekend asking to speak to Gary. Each time Janet had refused to put her through, acting on direct orders from her paying guest. Goodness, Kerrin had only wanted to know if the man needed help. But Janet acted as though Kerrin were, well, running after him.
"You're in luck," Janet now told Kerrin as they stood in the cozy and cluttered front lobby of the inn on Monday morning. "The butterfly has emerged from his cocoon." Pointing a hard-working finger toward the street, Janet elucidated. "He's at the Lone Trail, getting breakfast."
"Thanks," Kerrin replied.
Janet's smirk broadened into a more generous smile. Put in words, her expression said she thought some kind of romance was going on. Which was ridiculous. Just ridiculous.
Shifting her purse higher, Kerrin decided to explain the circumstances. "We have to talk before he starts teaching class this morning."
"Uh huh," Janet hummed, and turned aside to sort the hotel mail.
She didn't seem to believe Kerrin. Absurd. Hadn't she caught on yet? Kerrin didn't have romances. She was too stupidly nervous.
Besides, she was waiting for her white knight, and that sure wasn't Mr. Sullivan.
Kerrin stepped out to the sidewalk and squinted in the morning sun. No, Mr. Gary Sullivan was no white knight, yet she'd spent an inordinate amount of time over the past few days in useless speculation about him, wondering why he'd turned out the way he had. As if it mattered why he'd become a criminal.
Through the plate glass window of the coffee shop, Kerrin got an advance peek at said criminal, her newest teacher. He was sitting at the counter dressed in a plain white shirt and a pair of brown trousers. A tie. He was wearing a tie, she saw, as he moved his newspaper to take a sip of coffee.
At that moment Carolina, the day shift waitress, strolled by, glass coffeepot held high. Kerrin watched as she apparently asked Gary if he wanted more coffee. He nodded, put down his cup and shot her one of those heart-killing grins of his. Then he said something that made Carolina laugh lustily in reply.
Kerrin felt something turn under the center of her breastbone. But of course Gary was flirting with Carolina. Didn't all the men flirt with her? Built along voluptuous, generous lines, Carolina was the epitome of female. And as everyone well knew, the promise of that body was not kept locked in miserly chastity but was dispensed with a frank and joyous cheer. For a man in Gary's position, Carolina could have been made to order.
Kerrin looked down at her own girlish figure clad in a fringed denim skirt. There was no comparison. But now hadn't she known that all along? Hadn't she warned herself, the few times Gary had looked at her in that...hungry way, that he would have looked that way at any woman, any woman who'd happened to be around?
For about the millionth time, Kerrin shoved all of her wants and desires into the secure little cage she'd built for them. She had everything that was necessary in life: she was fulfilled. Please. Given the awkward way she acted around men, it was obvious she didn't even want one. With a cool and indifferent smile then, she pushed open the glass door of the coffee shop.
Gary turned to look at her and all of Kerrin's cool indifference shot up in a hiss of steam. She felt his eyes like they were a pair of heat-seeking missiles and she was a little bi-plane.
After taking her in, from shoulder epaulets to cowboy boots, he smiled, that audacious smile with the dimple in his left cheek. What was left of Kerrin's composure evaporated.
She took the stool to his side, gnashing her teeth. It wasn't fair he should have this effect on her ‑‑ especially when he was in the middle of pursuing Carolina. "Good morning, Mr. Sullivan. It's good ‑‑ finally ‑‑ to see you again."
He turned to face forward and picked up his coffee cup. "Nice to see you, too, Mayor Horton." His smile remained, as at some private joke.
Kerrin gave a hasty glance to either side. They were alone at the counter. "I, uh, thought you might like to go over your lesson plan with me this morning before you start class."
Gary took a sip of coffee. "Nope. Not necessary."
Kerrin gaped. "What do you mean, it's not necessary?" Kerrin was sure the man had never taught a class in his life, and he was going to be starting out with teenagers ‑‑ teenagers! They were bright, observant, critical. Didn't he realize he could get flayed alive?
Gary set his cup down with deliberate care and turned to face her. His smile disappeared. "Sweetheart, we need to get something straight. You gave me a job. I'm gonna do the job, but I work alone, see. That's how it is."
Kerrin wanted to retort that if he worked in such independent solitude, then why had he called her to jump out of bed in the middle of the night to help him? But she didn't say a word because that night made her think about unwanted, unallowable emotions. Her hand twisted the paper napkin on the counter in front of her.
"You understand now?" Gary sounded mockingly polite.
Kerrin nodded.
"And now." Gary leaned closer. His voice was a whisper gauged to reach her ears alone. "And now, if you could stop looking so scared maybe everyone in here might not get the impression I'm some kind of ax murderer."
Kerrin's eyes flicked up from their downcast position. "Don't be absurd ‑‑ " She stopped before she managed to blurt out the rest of it. It's not that you're a criminal but because you're an attractive man. I always act like an idiot with one of you. "I'm...known as a nervous person," Kerrin said instead. "Don't worry about it."
Gary sighed and stood from his counter stool. Taking a wallet out of his back pocket, he threw a few bills onto the counter beside his plate. "Honey, you're the one who looks worried. Me," he claim
ed with a shrug, "I haven't a care in the world."
A lie. And Gary wondered, looking down into those amber-and-jade eyes of hers, if she guessed as much. Probably not. She was too busy being scared of him to notice the way he had to keep his fingers from shaking on the dollar bills. He hadn't gotten much sleep this hellish weekend, between going through all those books, slipping out at night to ponder the fenced facility of the DWP, and simply worrying about all the responsibility that he now, suddenly, shouldered.
In prison, Gary realized, he hadn't had to worry about a thing. No one depended on him. His actions didn't affect anybody but himself. Here that was all turned around. Everyone was counting on him.
Including little miss lady mayor, although she didn't know it. Hell, she'd probably still think he was an ax murderer, even if she knew his real goal in the town. Gary wished, as he left her sitting there at the counter, that his parole officer, Marty, had taken the trouble to point out to her that in his long and eventful criminal career he had never, not even once, not even close, hurt another living being. Maybe then she wouldn't nearly collapse every time she got within touching distance of him.
Gary blithely dismissed the fact he'd deliberately set out to intimidate the woman, and that his motivation had been to keep her safely out of his lustful reach.
Gary crossed the street to get his jacket from the hotel. Perhaps he was overdoing the formality of the role of teacher but he didn't think so. The con men he'd met had always stressed the importance of good research in undertaking a scam. Second on the list was careful attention to one's appearance.
Gary had done his best at the first, the research, this weekend. Lying on the bed, the floor, curled up in that garage sale wood chair ‑‑ anywhere he could find some human comfort in that funky little room ‑‑ he'd devoured the books Kerrin had lent him. Gary had always felt comfortable around books. Libraries were places to which he'd often retreated, both in prison and out. Guys who wanted to beat you up generally didn't think to look in a library.
And reading was a funny thing in itself, Gary thought, as he climbed the stairs to his room. It was...like stealing. Yes, that's what it was. You could pick up a book, read it, and come away with something that no one could take away from you. But teaching, well, that seemed to be the opposite of stealing, from what Gary could figure out. And the opposite of stealing was something with which he had very little experience.
~~~
The summer school teacher was going to be late. From his position slightly off the arcade walkway, Matt checked his watch and silently ticked his tongue. Kerrin wasn't going to like that. Matt didn't like it much, either, because every minute he sat there in his wheelchair he had to find something to look at other than the kids who were leaning against the lockers, sitting cross-legged on the concrete, or simply chatting and waiting for the teacher to come.
Matt had a pact of mutual consent with the other kids. They didn't look at him and he didn't look at them. Although, frequently, Matt did take peeks at the girls. Today Cheryl Bloch once again didn't know he was alive. She was dressed in another set of cut-offs, a pair even shorter than the other, on the verge of riding up her ass.
Guess she meant to make a play for the summer school teacher. Matt felt dismayed. Considering Cheryl's tits, his sister didn't stand a chance with the guy ‑‑ unless, of course, he was a truly discerning character, one who could see that Kerrin was about a hundred times more interesting than Cheryl Bloch, tits and all.
At eight-thirty sharp, the teacher came striding up the arcade. He was wearing a brown and gold herringbone sport jacket and a darker brown silk tie. He moved with the assurance and pace of someone who knew how to take charge. He spared a brief, observational gander at the kids lined up along the walk as he passed them to open the classroom door. He didn't smile, but he didn't look particularly sour, either. He just looked...all business.
It was while his key was in the lock, just as he was turning the knob that he happened to glance in Matt's direction. Matt tensed, expecting any number of unwanted reactions: surprise, pity, fear. He got nothing but the same cool, dispassionate observation. Kid in wheelchair: noted.
The guy opened the door and everybody filed into the room, their conversations muting as they gave surreptitious glances toward the new teacher. Matt waited until everyone had gone through the door before wheeling himself through. He gave a shove and rolled across the width of the room. He executed a neat turn and landed in the spot he always used, in the far right hand corner of the room. Everyone knew to leave him that spot.
The teacher stood at the head of the class, his hands on his hips in a gesture of mild impatience, watching as everyone found seats. He didn't say a word and yet the conversation dwindled to nothing. Within less than a minute, the twenty-five students were in their seats, facing front and utterly silent. There was a hard, almost brutal quality to his stance that made it difficult to ignore his unspoken command. At the same time, Matt couldn't shake the impression that somewhere under that hard exterior was a silent wellspring of...amusement.
Matt's gaze dropped to the notebook in his lap. Hot damn! This guy was going to be perfect for Kerrin. He was exactly what she needed.
"The name's Gary Sullivan," the teacher said, his voice low and rasping. It was the same voice Matt had heard on the telephone that time he'd answered it for Kerrin.
Someone raised his hand. "Uh, Mr. Sullivan, could you please spell that on the board?"
Sullivan hesitated, his graceful body poised. "Sure," he then said, turning to grab a piece of chalk.
That small hesitation accomplished much. For that split-second of time the whole room collectively held their breath, knowing he was considering the possible clown value of the question. And everyone immediately understood that he would show no mercy to a clown.
Sullivan wrote his name on the board in a scrawl most unlike the neat blackboard writing Kerrin used. "Fine," he stated, brushing his hands. "We have a number of business matters to take care of this morning. First of all, roll call." He pronounced this as though it were something nasty.
But Matt didn't have much time to ponder this oddity. There were too many other things to observe about Gary Sullivan. For example, when he went down the list of names on his roster, he paused at each one. For a second or two he looked up and gazed at each responder. 'I'll know you again' was written in his features. But when he got to Matt's name he didn't look up.
"Horton. Any relation to Kerrin Horton?" He kept his gaze down at the roll sheet.
Matt straightened in his chair and wished it wouldn't give too much away to clear his throat. "Brother," he managed to get out, only a little gruffly.
Looking up, the man searched Matt's face briefly but thoroughly. There was speculation in his eyes and also, though Matt couldn't figure why, a healthy dose of irritation. Then he looked down, made a note in his book and went on.
Sullivan's brand of education was unique, to say the least. No holds barred frank. First thing he did was write on the board the units they were supposed to cover over the next eight weeks:
Hygiene
Diet
Dentistry
Communicable Diseases
Sex
Then he looked in his book, as though checking there for what to write next. He turned back to the board and put a hyphen after the title of each unit. Following the hyphens he wrote:
Hygiene - BORING
Diet - BORING
Dentistry - BORING
Communicable Diseases - BORING
Then he drew a line before the last unit and wrote:
Sex - FASCINATING, BUT VERY EMBARRASSING
There was a giggle around the room and Matt stifled a grin. Frank all right.
"As you can see we got a problem here," Sullivan announced, pointing back to the board. "Six and a half weeks of boredom and only one and a half weeks of fascination, tempered by the discomfort of what will be, believe me, some excruciating embarrassment.
"Now, frankl
y, I don't care to be bored, and I doubt that you do, either. So this is what we're gonna do." He paused and seemed to do a quick head count. "There's twenty-five of you and four units. So that'll make four groups of about six each. Each group gets a unit. Each group has to study the unit, learn it, and then teach it to the class."
A statement like this would have resulted in a moan of lazy reluctance in front of any other teacher. No one said a word. No one even coughed.
"Naturally, given that the topics are inherently dry and uninteresting," Sullivan went on, "part of your grade will be the entertainment value you give to your group's presentation."
Again, there wasn't the predictable moan. In fact, most everybody kind of perked up.
"Now this unit," and here Sullivan slapped the part of the board where he'd written 'Sex.' "I'm going to handle myself." His underlying amusement sprang free as his teeth flashed in a broad grin. "Naturally."
His grin gave Matt a twinge of unease in the plans he'd made involving his sister with the guy. Perhaps he was a bit too advanced for her in the physical department. Matt didn't think Kerrin had a whole lot of experience that way... Come to think of it, probably none. But maybe if the guy were kind, and patient...
"Starting tomorrow," Sullivan went on, unconsciously belying Matt's hopes in the direction of his patience. He straightened from his position leaning against the edge of the teacher's desk at the front of the room. "For the rest of today's session we're going to the library where you can start on your research. And, oh yes, your groups."
A part of Matt relaxed. Sullivan was going to assign who was to be in which group. Matt wasn't going to have to suffer the indignity of going begging. Sullivan went back to his roll call list and began calling out names of who would be in which group. He didn't do it in alphabetical order and he didn't do it by the order in which people had sat in the classroom. Nor, Matt was quite sure, was it arbitrary. No, Sullivan picked the groups so that they split up the cliques in the class, so that friends weren't working together, nor all the beautiful people in one group and all the nerds in another.
