The Wallflower

by Jan Freed

  Suddenly long fingers were cupping her knee, giving a little squeeze of comfort. She reached blindly for Jack’s hand. It was large and warm, and completely swallowed her own to the wrist. And it gave her the courage to face what she’d shoved aside for months.

  “Jack...” She looked up into his warm hazel eyes. “I killed John MerriL”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SARAH FELT a slight twitch in Jack’s hand, otherwise he showed no reaction to the words festering inside her so long.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he said soothingly, as one would speak to a jumper poised on a skyscraper ledge. “You watched Lester Jacobs knife John in the chest.”

  “Exactly.” She would have to put it in words. Make him understand her contemptible behavior. “I watched him get murdered. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t run forward and bash Jacobs with whatever was handy. I didn’t even scream like the idiot wimpy females I hate in movies and used to make fun of. At least that might’ve distracted him.”

  “It might’ve,” Jack agreed, sinking her stomach lower. “It also would’ve told him he had an eyewitness. You did the right thing, Sari—Sarah,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “You lived to identify him. The guy had a weapon. You had a wrapped present. It might’ve been a power tie, but it was no match for a knife.”

  Sarah had told Jack about delivering the good luck gift to John’s home. She’d been in meetings all that day and had wanted him to have the Nicole Miller tie for an important chamber of commerce breakfast speech. No one had answered the front door. Raised voices had led her to the backyard.

  She stared now at the pothos ivy on the kitchen windowsill because it was easier than meeting Jack’s eyes. “I failed John when he needed me most. And I owed him so much. He was responsible for my promotion to account supervisor, you know.” Rueful pride crept into her voice. “He’d seen the results I got for a pro basketball client, and specifically asked that I work with him until the election. He could’ve asked for one of the agency’s officers, or a more experienced consultant. But he didn’t. He believed in me.”

  “You were good,” Jack said. A statement, not a question. “He didn’t do you a favor. He wanted the best.”

  She laughed bitterly and met his compassionate gaze. “Oh, I was good, all right. I polished his rough edges and made the most of his charisma. I helped him sway public opinion. Maybe if I hadn’t, Lester Jacobs wouldn’t have had a motive to kill John.”

  “Sari—Sarah.” Jack grimaced apologetically, then squeezed her hand. “Are you listening to yourself? The motive had nothing to do with the image you created for John. This guy Jacobs created his own hell, then went up in flames one night. Quit flaying yourself alive.”

  He was trying so hard to make her feel better. But facts were facts. “I’m a coward, Jack. I’m not proud of it, no. But at least I can finally admit it out loud.”

  And the admission lifted a burden so huge she would’ve floated to the ceiling but for Jack’s anchoring support. She looked from their joined hands to his stern face.

  Her best friend had been right. His eyes did change color with his mood. But Donna hadn’t told Sarah anything she hadn’t discovered on her own. When the brown flecks dominated his irises, like now, he was irritated. She much preferred the green-gold swirl of passion...

  He released her hand and scowled. “So, let me get this straight. You’re a coward for identifying the killer in a lineup instead of attending your own funeral. You’re a coward for pulling yourself together after that slaughter in Omaha, and getting yourself hundreds of miles away and into safe hands without falling apart.”

  Sliding off the stool, he grabbed his mug and rounded the bar into the kitchen. “I guess assuming a new identity, plunging into an environment that most adults wouldn’t last a day in—that was cowardly, too.” He stopped at the coffeemaker, filled his mug and turned to lean against the counter. “Hell, you’re hardly a coward. Even the teaching staff is impressed with the way you’ve stood up for Elaine against Wendy. There are a lot of words that come to mind when I think of you, Sarah, but coward is definitely not on the list.”

  What is on the list, Jack? Do you think of me as often as I think of you?

  “And what you said to Bruce...” The hint of a smile curved his lips as he took a sip of coffee. He lowered the mug and shook his head. “I wish I could have seen his face.”

  She caught up mentally with the conversation and straightened. “How could you possibly know what I said to Bruce?”

  “Get real,” he quoted her earlier taunt wryly. “You slammed him in front of Tony. Those two have competed for head stud of Roosevelt High since Tony became a senior. Tim Williams overheard one of his students talking, then shared the story with me later in the teacher’s lounge.” His gaze sharpened, his interest suddenly keen and personal. “He said Kate was with Bruce in the hallway.”

  Uh-oh. “Yes. He’d pulled her aside.”

  “Did they seem...I don’t know, like girl and boyfriend to you?”

  Sarah shifted on her stool. She didn’t want to put heat on Kate, but still, Bruce was major bad news. “He was acting pretty possessive, but I don’t think Kate was comfortable with it. That’s why I went over to talk with them.” She took a deep breath, knowing she owed this man the truth. “And Jack—he slipped something into her pocket. Probably just a note, but I thought you should know.”

  In the space of a blink, Jack dwarfed the small kitchen.

  “I knew it.” His beard-shadowed jaw bulged, his brown-green eyes hardened to creek bottom stones. He looked dark, menacing and very masculine.

  Sarah experienced an overwhelming craving to harness all that power, and a delicious feminine thrill at the prospect.

  “It wasn’t a note,” he confirmed in a deadly voice. “Mother found two joints in Kate’s room over the weekend. I suspected Bruce, but Kate wouldn’t tall.” He scrubbed his hair, the rumpled result increasing his dangerous appeal. “I thought when new zoning bussed her to Roosevelt, she’d might be safer from that kind of garbage. But most of these kids have too much money and freedom. How can they ‘just say no’ when they’ve never been told that by their parents?”

  That obviously wasn’t the case with Kate. “What happened after your mother found the pot?”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve forbidden Kate to eat lunch or have any contact with Bruce, and she’s grounded from going out with her friends for a month. But I can’t keep track of her twenty-four hours a day.”

  Kate had mentioned her dad had died before she was born. How many brothers would’ve taken on the role of father to an infant sister, much less played it heart and soul for all these years?

  “She resents you,” Sarah found herself saying, sympathetic with the difficulties for both siblings. “That’s only natural at her age. It doesn’t help that other brothers don’t have the power to ‘forbid’ their sisters anything. Can’t your mother do the grounding?”

  His mouth twisted. “You’d think so. She’s never had a problem dry-docking my plans for fifteen years....” He glanced away, as if embarrassed by dragging his problems into the conversation, then took a sip of coffee.

  “Plans?” Sarah was intrigued.

  Jack shrugged. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  But he had, and suddenly she wanted to know everything about him. “You’re not happy teaching? But you’re so good.”

  His startled gaze was almost completely brown. “I love to teach. That has nothing to do with...”

  Your dreams.

  Jack blew out a breath. “Forget it,” he repeated.

  Sarah pondered her new knowledge. This stern unbending man had dreams beyond what the world saw. Dreams, she sensed instinctively, he’d harbored unshared.

  She knew about those. They’d gotten her through a painful adolescence, when she’d envisioned growing up to be admired and accepted...maybe even loved. But she’d often longed for someone to confide in, someone to validate
the possibility of achieving her goal.

  “So, pull out your biggest dream for me now,” she said impulsively. “Let’s go for a sail. A fresh breeze is just the thing I need right now to forget about John.”

  He eyed her incredulously.

  “I know it’s a very personal thing. I’ll understand if you don’t want to share. But I’m serious about needing the distraction. And I love to hear people’s

  “You’re putting me on.” He looked skeptical, and a little wistful.

  She smiled. “Hey, it’s why I chose to specialize in image consulting. That’s my dream, Jack. Equipping clients with the right image to help them, reach for the brass ring. Establishing a successful career for myself—not just working a job between having babies.”

  “What? No yellow house and white picket fence? No pitter-patter of little feet?” His tone was casual, but his expression was oddly intent.

  Uncomfortable, she snorted. “Hardly. When the murder trial is over, I’ve got a lot of lost ground to make up. Twelve-hour work days don’t leave much room for kids.” Realizing she’d gotten off track, she steered back to the subject. “Okay, fair is fair. I told you my dream. Now you tell me yours. C’mon, we’ll work out an image plan.”

  “You think I need a new image?”

  “Well, maybe only an update.” she said tactfully, slanting up a teasing glance. “I guess it all depends on your dream.”

  He pulled a wry face. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

  “Not a chance,” she confirmed, grinning.

  “It can’t leak to students and faculty,” he warned.

  “Like I can’t keep a big secret? Gimme a break.”

  Raising his mug, he mumbled against the rim, “I want to sell screenplays.” He studied her closely over a long slow sip.

  Whoa! “Is that what you do in that spiral notebook you scribble in? Work on your screenplays?”

  He lowered his cup and nodded warily.

  “That is so-o-o cool!” She broke into a delighted grin, his obvious relief making her go soft and tender inside. “Have you completed one yet? An entire screenplay, I mean. Or are you still, you know, learning how to write one?”

  “I’ve completed several. But I’ve only submitted one.” Pushing off of the counter, he walked to his bar stool and sat facing her, his coffee perched on one thigh.

  For someone hesitant to pull his dream out of dry dock, Jack was an enthusiastic sailer, once launched. The change in him enthralled Sarah. His expression grew more and more animated, he used his hands expansively, he looked happier than she’d ever seen him in class. The man had a big dream, and he’d worked years to reach the point of being accepted by a top agent for representation.

  Thirty minutes later, she was genuinely impressed by his dedication and accomplishment. “But what happens if Free Fall sells? Will you still teach?”

  His animation dimmed. He looked down and plucked at his sweater sleeve, hitched his wristwatch into position. “Yeah. I promised myself I’d be there for Kate until she graduates. Since she hit her teens, Mother’s at a loss how to cope. Not that I do much better.” His gaze lifted, filled with concern. “This drug thing really threw me. It’s not like I haven’t talked to her about the dangers of experimenting. I have.”

  “Do the both of you talk together. Jack...or do you lecture?” Oops. Wrong question, if his immediate stiffening was any indication.

  “Sure I lecture her,” he said coldly. “Then I lock her in her room and shove stale bread through the door once a week.”

  She offered an apologetic little smile. “No daily water ration?”

  His expression relaxed a bit “She’s got a cup. It rains. Her hand fits through the bars on her window.”

  Sarah laughed, an unfettered natural sound she hadn’t realized until now she’d suppressed for months. Sharing her burden of guilt had lifted a tremendous weight from her spirits. Sharing his dream had reminded her of the good things about her profession. Not all images she polished hid a tarnished soul. She reached for her tea, glanced at Jack and caught him staring.

  Gone were the creek bottom stones. His gaze was the rushing water above. Glittering. Elemental. And swirling with green-gold flecks.

  Her heart lurched into heavy ponderous beats.

  “You should laugh more often,” he said, his voice low and intimate.

  “Yeah, well—” she lowered the hand still hovering over her tea “—I’ll remind you of that in class.”

  He didn’t smile, but then, neither did she. Her nerves were thrumming in awareness. Of the denim knees almost touching hers. Of the heat emanating from his big body. Of the eyes that made it hard for her to breathe.

  This was not good.

  “Thank God you’re twenty-seven,” he said fervently. “I was beginning to think I was depraved.”

  This was not good at all.

  “You were so self-assured, so articulate—I knew there was more to you than the normal eighteen-year-old girl, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  “I might not’ve dug for answers if you hadn’t debated me in class on Steinbeck. You slipped up big time there.”

  Yeah, that’d been dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  “What color is your hair?” he asked in a lightning switch of topics.

  “Wha—?” She raised her arm and patted the stuff vaguely. “My hair?” Du-uh. “It’s red. Well, red-orange. The package calls the color Outrageous Red and I thought that fit Sarina. I know it’s pretty awful, but Donna agrees that I should try to look—”

  “Sarah.”

  She stopped babbling, heat rising up her neck at the knowing gleam in his eyes, the smug cant of his lips. He had a gorgeous mouth. Sin in the flesh.

  This was very bad.

  “What color is your hair, naturally?”

  Of course. She’d blushed more around this man in two weeks than she had her entire adult life. “It’s dark. Like my eyebrows. I didn’t dye them.”

  He nodded as if to himself. “Your hair is black, then. Liz Taylor black.” His voice was rich with satisfaction. “You must get that comparison a lot.”

  His gaze traveled lazily, yet intently, over her face. When it reached her mouth and stopped, so did her heart.

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “Do I...?”

  “Do you get that comparison? Do people say you look like a young Liz Taylor?”

  Sarah, Sarina, Liz Taylor, whatever. Who could think with those eyes making love to her mouth? But she was supposed to remember something. Oh, yeah. Almost four months left to face Jack in school and pull off a student-teacher relationship. This was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong man.

  Donna’s man.

  She drew a shaky breath. “Sometimes Mark used to say that, if I was dressed up, or if he needed a favor.”

  Jack’s gaze lifted alertly to hers. “Mark?”

  “Mark Granger. A city councilman in Dallas. We’re...” She couldn’t quite make herself say engaged. “We’re dating.”

  “Dating casually?”

  Casually. Conveniently. He means nothing to me. His eyes do nothing to me. Sarah wavered, the green-gold creek promising to sweep her away to a place she’d never been, would never visit with Mark.

  “No,” she said tightly. “We’re serious. We’ll probably get married.”

  For a breathless instant she saw honor struggle with his fierce male desire to challenge another’s territory.

  Then his gaze shuttered. “You missed your calling, Sarah. I’ll keep you in mind when they cast my first movie.”

  It hurt. More than it should have on two weeks’ acquaintance. Unable to answer past the regret clogging her throat, she stretched to hook both mug handles in one hand, then headed for the kitchen. The sudden shrill ring of the telephone made her glad the mugs were empty.

  Her heart still racing, she changed directions and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

 
“Oh, thank goodness you’re all right,” Donna said without preliminary. “I called Gram but got her message machine on the first ring. She’s probably only asleep, but it worried me.”

  “She wasn’t feeling well, so she went to bed early,” Sarah confirmed, frowning. “You sound more than worried. What’s wrong?”

  “Sarah...did Gram mention anyone coming by the house to ask questions about you?”

  Sarah’s gaze snapped up to meet Jack’s. How had Donna known? “No,” Sarah hedged truthfully. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I just spent the last twenty minutes talking to some guy from the justice department. I’m pretty sure I convinced him he was on a wild-goose chase. But if he came snooping around for you...”

  Sarah’s grip on the phone tightened. “Then so will whoever tried to kill me,” she finished grimly.

  FOUR NIGHTS LATER, Jack tucked in his silk-blend charcoal gray T-shirt, an exact match to his doublepleated wool flannel slacks, then shrugged into his loosely constructed black three-button blazer. Funny, he’d always thought clothes were just clothes before talking to Sarah. Stepping back from the dresser mirror, he studied his expensive new reflection.

  Too cosmo. He felt ridiculous. Like he was trying to be Don Johnson, or something. Jack never should’ve let Sarah’s gentle comments about his outdated wardrobe get to him. But then, everything about her got to him. That was the problem. And the reason he was taking Donna to dinner and a play tonight.

  He needed a distraction. The date gave him an excuse to attend The Alley Theater’s new production with a pleasant companion. Jack met his eyes in the mirror and grimaced.

  Right, pal. Showing Sarah you don’t give a flip about her relationship with Mark Granger doesn’t have a thing to do with this.

  Frowning, he gathered up change, keys and wallet from the dresser and slipped them into his pockets. Sarah’s unavailability was damned fortunate for his career. He’d decided to keep quiet about her “Sarina” scam, since it appeared to be her best option for safety. Donna had stayed away from her grandmother’s house all week, and the deputy marshal hadn’t returned for more questioning. The coast, for now, was clear.