Renegade

by Alers, Rochelle

  Head lowered, chest rising and falling heavily, he stared at the satisfied smile on her lush mouth. “I’ll wait,” he gasped.

  Summer opened her eyes, and her smile widened. I know you will, she mused.

  Twenty-three

  Gabriel’s refrain of “let it snow” had become a reality. And it did snow—for three days and two nights without stopping. The northeast had been hit with the storm of the new century with thirty-eight inches of snow, with drifts up to six feet.

  Summer sat in the sitting room, staring at the thin television screen cradled on its own stand, unable to believe the flickering images. The snow had crippled the nation’s capitol. Blowing snow and drifts stretched from portions of West Virginia and up the east coast to portions of Maine.

  This would become the first Christmas that the second generation of Coles, Kirklands, and Grayslakes would not celebrate Christmas and New Year’s in West Palm Beach, Florida. Merrick and Alexandra who were spending the weekend with Michael and Jolene, were now stranded in Georgetown.

  The sound of popping embers and the smell of burning firewood filled the bedroom and several downstairs rooms as Gabriel lit fires in the fireplaces.

  Gabriel sat across from her now, his sock-covered feet tucked under him in a yoga position. He bobbed his head in unison to the music coming through the headset in his ears while he scribbled notes on a staff-lined paper.

  Another image flashed across the screen, and Summer went completely still. “Gabriel, look!” She stared when he did not answer, and she jumped up and pulled the wire on the headset. His head came up quickly. “Come look at this!”

  Shifting positions, Gabriel stood next to Summer as they listened to the news commentator’s voice reporting that the Boston police had found the frozen body of a young boy who had been identified as Omar Knight. His parents had reported that he and several other boys had gone out to shovel snow for several of their elderly neighbors. The boys had returned to their homes later that evening, but Omar had not come home.

  Summer did not realize she was crying until the images on the television blurred. She couldn’t believe it. The frightened young boy whom Dumas had trapped against a bathroom wall was gone. She heard Gabriel mumbled an expletive, redirecting her attention to the news anchor’s voice.

  “Police officials report that the boy, who was reported missing four days ago by his family, appears to have suffered a broken neck. An autopsy will determine the exact cause of death. Omar Knight, who is a junior at Weir Memorial High School, is reported to be well liked and a good student.” The picture shifted to an image of Omar’s mother sobbing in her husband’s arms.

  “Turn it off, Gabriel. Now!” Summer shouted when he appeared transfixed by the report. He picked up the remote, pressed a button, and the screen went blank.

  “Why?” she sobbed against Gabriel’s sweatshirt-covered chest. His arms tightened around her body. “He was so young, so innocent. Why would anyone hurt him? Why? Why?” she sobbed over and over.

  Closing his eyes, Gabriel rested his chin on the top of Summer’s head. “We don’t have any of the answers, baby.”

  “They lost their baby, Gabriel. They had him for a very short time, then he was taken from them.”

  Gabriel felt his self-control tested as he held the woman he loved in his arms to his heart. He knew Summer was reliving her own brother’s death. The grief-stricken faces of the Knights had become the Montgomerys all over again.

  He held her until her sobbing subsided, then he picked her up and carried her to the bed. They lay together in the quiet silence that had become so much a part of who they had become.

  Gabriel felt Summer slip out of bed early Christmas morning, but made no attempt to stop her. In that instant he cursed Nature, which demonstrated her power with delivering three feet of snow to the east coast. If the storm, which had developed in the Ohio Valley, had blown out to sea instead of turning north, he and Summer would be in Florida where the news of Omar Knight’s death would not have reached them until their return. He knew he was selfish and unrealistic, but he wanted to shelter Summer from the pain of reliving the loss of her brother.

  Summer squinted through the lenses of her sunglasses as she jogged along the road. It had been plowed, the snow pushed to one side like a wall of pristine white crystals. Because of its proximity to the ocean, the Cape did not have the monstrous accumulations that had occurred in-land.

  She punched the programmed number for Lucas Shelby. It rang several times, then she heard his voice mail message. “Renegade. Call me.” Pressing a button, she ended the call.

  Three minutes later, the cell phone rang, she answering before it rang again. “Yes?”

  “I guess you heard about that poor kid.”

  “His name was Omar, Lucas, not that poor kid.”

  “I’m sorry, Renegade.”

  “What do you know?”

  “We’ve made inquiries, and the police said that the M.E. found traces of narcotics in his stomach.”

  She frowned. It was apparent the DEA had uncovered information that had not been released to the press. “Did they identify the substance?”

  “Preliminary tests are leaning toward MDMA.”

  “Ecstasy? I thought you told me he was clean.”

  “We didn’t find any evidence of him selling, but that did not mean he wasn’t abusing. We have to identify who was supplying him with the tablets.”

  “School is closed for the week, but once it reopens there’s going to be a lot of grief counseling sessions for Weir’s student body. Remember, this is the third peer they’ve lost in three years.”

  “Do whatever it is you have to do, Renegade. If you feel you need to lean on somebody, then do it. I want Omar Knight to be the last drug statistic at Weir.”

  She slowed her pace, breathing heavily in the frigid air. “I hear you.”

  “Renegade?”

  “Yes, Lucas?”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  She smiled. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  Summer hung up and reversed direction. Her boss had verbally given her the go ahead to become more aggressive in her search for Weir’s drug dealer.

  Gabriel was waiting on the porch upon her return. She surveyed his tall figure as he stood up. It had become a habit for him to wait for her to come back from jogging. She had invited him to join her, but he said he preferred walking to jogging. Wherein she jogged three miles, he would walk the three miles. What he did do was pushups and sit-ups to keep his body toned.

  Despite the frigid temperature, he wore a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and socks. The wind swept his unbound hair around his face. Their gazes met and fused as she mounted the stairs leading up to the porch.

  Removing her gloves, she placed her palms against his cold cheeks. “What are doing out here half-dressed?”

  He stared at her through his lashes. “Waiting for you.”

  She kissed his cold mouth. “The next time you wait for me, put more clothes on.”

  “Why? I’m not cold.”

  “It’s fifteen degrees, Gabriel. That’s not cold?”

  A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “No.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No. I’m always hot around you. There are not too many men who live in Massachusetts that can say they have summer every day of the year.” Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a silver-foil wrapped narrow flat package. “Merry Christmas.”

  She took the gift, smiling. “Thank you, darling. Let me get yours and we’ll open them together.”

  They went into the house and into the family room where a fire blazed behind a decorative wrought-iron screen. Summer removed several books lining a built-in bookcase and took out the gift she had hidden there.

  “Now I’ll have to a find another hiding place,” she teased Gabriel, handing him his gift. They shared a smile. It was apparent they had given each other jewelry because the shape of the boxes were the same.


  Summer peeled off the paper, gasping loudly when she raised the top on a blue velvet case cradling a bracelet with bezel-set diamonds lining a graceful scroll of vines and flowers and reminiscent of estate jewelry.

  “It’s absolutely exquisite.”

  Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. “I hope you like it.”

  She held out her right arm. “I love it. I love you.”

  Gabriel put the bracelet on her wrist, smiling when she kissed him. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, more than anything and anyone in his life. The item was perfect for her delicate wrist.

  The bracelet was much heavier than it appeared, and Summer knew it had to be platinum. So much for her lover not knowing how to choose bling-bling.

  Gabriel opened his gift, the lines around his eyes deepening when he stared at the sophisticated links. “I suppose we were thinking along the same lines.” It was an ideal match for the stainless steel and gold Rolex watch his father had given him after he’d earned an Oscar for his Reflections in a Mirror movie soundtrack.

  He held out his right arm. “Please put it on.” The deep yellow gold was a warm contrast against his brown wrist. Smiling, Gabriel nodded. “Very nice, Summer. You have exquisite taste.”

  “I know,” she said without a hint of modesty. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

  Reaching for her, Gabriel pulled her to sit on his lap. “Wrong, baby. I was the one who chased you.”

  She affected an attractive moue. “Now you’re the one talking smickedy smack. If I hadn’t wanted you to catch me, then you still would be staring with your tongue hanging out.”

  He winked at her. “My tongue only hangs out when you drop it like it’s hot for me.”

  Looping her arms around his strong neck, she pulled his head down. The light from a table lamp reflected off the precious stones circling her wrist. “I’ll see if I can’t accommodate you later.”

  He kissed the end of her nose. “I can’t wait.”

  It was later that night when Gabriel and Summer celebrated their first Christmas together—their own special way—that Summer decided she did not want to wait for June to marry or have a child. She wanted it now. But more than that she wanted to rid herself of the dangerous masquerade.

  As she lay in Gabriel’s embrace, savoring the aftermath of their passionate coupling, she redefined her role as Renegade because she no longer had six months to identify Weir’s drug dealer. She had given herself three months.

  If she had brought down Richard Robertson who was indicted for money laundering conspiracy in only thirteen months, if she focused, really focused, then there was no reason why she couldn’t stop the drug dealing at Weir.

  And she knew Lucas was right when he accused her of spending more time in Gabriel Cole’s bed than she did collecting evidence. But all of that would change with the second day of January.

  She would give Lucas Shelby what he wanted, Gabriel Cole what he wanted, and in turn she would get what she wanted most.

  Twenty-four

  School psychologists, social workers, and grief counselors were available for the six hundred students at Weir Memorial High School once classes resumed January second. Summer felt the pain and loss of Omar Knight as acutely as she had when she lost her younger brother. The scene of the students at Charles’s school had become an instant replay when tears flowed down the faces of both boys and girls who’d wept openly, unashamedly at the loss of one of their own.

  Patricia Cookman had canceled classes for the day as the students gathered in the auditorium and gymnasium for impromptu memorial services.

  The Knights had opted for a private funeral, which left many students feeling deprived because they had wanted to see their friend for the last time. The elder Knights’ decision had left many feeling angry and alienated.

  Summer had sat in the back of the auditorium, staring at Dumas Gellis. Something silent, unknown, communicated to her that he had something to do with Omar’s death.

  Without warning, he turned and stared at her. A hint of a smile touched his mobile mouth, and her gaze narrowed. The SOB was playing a cat and mouse game with her! He knew she knew and he was sitting there like a pompous Cheshire cat cheesing at her.

  Anger radiated from her. I’m going to get you, Dumas. One of these days it’s going to be just you and me.

  Dumas Gellis had become all of the other men she had taken down and out! Names, places, and faces merged into one as she closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes the seat where Dumas had sat was empty.

  Early February, Summer began setting up rehearsal schedules for her spring concert, rescheduled for mid-April and a week before the beginning of spring recess. She had divided the students who would participate in each skit by centuries, then, once she reached the twentieth century, by decades.

  Meanwhile, Gabriel had begun introducing the musical selections to his students, while Desiree had designed various set decorations with her art students. However, she was reminded of Omar Knight every day whenever she saw his smiling photograph behind a case in the main floor hall, along with the two other students who had died, and the one still comatose from their drug overdoses.

  There were a total of nine photographs of students who had lost their lives in traffic fatalities, swimming accidents, and a house fire. The banner in the case announced: GONE, BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN.

  The elderly were living longer, and the young were dying at an alarming faster rate. Whether it was drive-bys, or drunk driving, raves, or binge drinking, it appeared that today’s young adults were on a fast track to an early grave.

  Dumas Gellis walked into the auditorium, taking a seat in the last row. His penetrating gaze was fixed on Summer as she demonstrated the samba for a group of students sitting on the stage floor. Her voice, though soft, carried easily to the back. His gaze narrowed when he saw Gabriel Cole sitting on a chair off to the side, a conga wedged between his knees.

  “It’s a quick shuffle with African roots,” she said, her bare feet skimming the smooth wood floor as her hips swayed sensuously. “And when a woman is being exceptionally flirtatious, she can lift her skirt and snap it back and forth in a fanning motion.” The students giggled as she peered at them seductively over her shoulder. “The samba and the tango are dances of desire.”

  “Are we going to do the tango, Miss Monty?” asked a girl who was a serious dance student.

  “Yes.”

  “Show us the steps.”

  Summer smiled. “I need a partner. Can I get a volunteer?” None of the eight students stood up. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

  “Why don’t you dance with Mr. Cole? You two dance good together,” said another girl.

  Summer affected what she hoped was an intimidating stare. “Don’t even go there, Ivette.” What she had tried to do was live down her less than dignified dance exhibition at the Halloween Ball, but the students refused to let her forget it.

  Slapping their palms on the floor, they chanted in unison, “Mr. Cole. Mr. Cole.”

  Gabriel put aside the conga, and rose to his feet to their unrestrained cheering and applauding, while Summer put on a pair of ballet slippers. “I’ve danced this once, so don’t snap on me if I make a mistake.” He walked over to Summer and held out his arms. She moved into his embrace.

  She smiled sweetly up at him. “You’re going to pay for that maneuver, Mr. Cole.” She had threatened through clenched teeth.

  “How?” he whispered against her ear.

  “Concentrate, Mr. Cole,” she chastised loud enough for everyone to hear her.

  Gabriel executed a smooth step, Summer easily following his strong lead. He spun her around, she keeping her balance as she danced on her toes. They moved across the stage as one. The quick spins and his lifting her leg as they leaned into one another had every eye watching the moves that had become a tangible dance of desire.

  Dumas did not move, not even to blink, as the woman on stage held his rapt attention. It wasn’t Summer Montgomery dancing with Ga
briel Cole, but his Beverly, his beautiful Beverly who had deserved more than he had given her. She was his angel—his queen—and queens lived in castles not prefab split-levels.

  He had saved enough money to give Beverly what she wanted, but she’d called him last night to inform him that she had gotten engaged. It was Valentine’s Day and she had accepted another man’s proposal to marry.

  Everything he had worked for, risked, had fallen apart with her, I’m getting married, Gellis. Beverly had refused to call him Dumas.

  He had planned to wait until the end of June, and then he would leave Weir Memorial High School and everything it represented. Besides, it was time for Patricia Cookman to run her own school. At first he had been flattered by the extra responsibility, but after his first year as assistant principal he’d recognized that Patricia wasn’t a hands-on administrator. That’s when he decided to make Weir his school.

  It was under his helm that test scores improved, school-based violence was almost non-existent, and he had gotten the full support of parents when he sought to institute a school uniform policy. He’d run his school in a modified boot camp fashion with degrees of detention meted out accordingly.

  The basketball team was third best in the state last year, and had continued their winning tradition with the new school year. They were currently 6-0. Yes, he was very good for Weir, but after eight years, two as an administrator, it didn’t mean spit because he had lost his wife for the second time. Lost her to another man.

  He’d congratulated her, wishing her much happiness, then hung up and cursed her. He’d used words he did not even know he knew. There was no way he was going to permit another man to play “daddy” to his sons. They already had a daddy—Dumas Gellis!

  He stood up and walked out of the auditorium. He had seen enough!