Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  “First, I’ll save everything without any identifying information. Then we’ll snip the moments where Jorgeson is out of line and put everything together in a short video.”

  “We? I get to help?” Carson’s face lit.

  “Absolutely.” He rested his hand on Carson’s shoulder. “Fighting the bad guys doesn’t always mean violence. This is another method.”

  “Awesome.”

  Later, Holt decided that “awesome” wasn’t the right word. With each recording, his urge to go for a violent resolution grew. Jorgeson was past due for a beating.

  Considering Josie’s elevated color and tensed muscles, she was experiencing the same fury.

  With an effort, Holt smoothed out his expression and looked at Carson. “You said you have a bit of homework left to do before bed?”

  The boy’s wrinkled nose was so much like Josie’s expression that Holt laughed.

  Josie smiled. “Off with you, then. We’re done here.”

  Carson rose and hesitated. “I was mad at Mr. Jorgeson because he’s mean and makes kids cry, but I didn’t see the girl stuff. How they look when he gets too close or touches. It’s kinda worse.”

  Holt looked at him and nodded. “It is, yes.” The boy had a good heart—and the courage to stand up for what he believed.

  Josie felt tears rising to the surface and breathed past them. Her son was growing up—and turning into a good man. “It is. Now you’ll know when you see it again.” She pulled in a breath and added the harder part. “Sometimes it’s not only the girls who get targeted that way…so if it happens to you, you’ll know to tell me?”

  “Yeah, Holt warned me, too.” Carson grinned. “I’ll just tell him, and he can throw the guy over a car like he did that mugger.”

  Although Holt’s lips quirked, his eyes held satisfaction. “It would be my pleasure. I’ll even let you help.”

  As her boy giggled and trotted off to his room, Josie dropped into Holt’s lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Rather than push inconvenient children and women away, he would do anything he could to rescue them. “You are so amazing,” she whispered, “and I love you so much.”

  His brows drew together. He had no clue what he’d done. His arms closed around her.

  She leaned her head against his. “We’ve got enough on this video for any reasonable administration to fire Jorgeson, yet I’m not sure it’s enough. The school board has already heard about his behavior from the students and parents.”

  “True. But physical evidence is more compelling.”

  “Maybe. Bigoted, white male dumbasses. They probably don’t see anything wrong with his behavior.”

  “You know, you might be right.” Holt frowned. “They might not be inclined to rock the boat—or admit they’re at fault—without some incentive.”

  “Incentive? Hmm.” She sat up straight. “What if we found a lawyer to educate them that they could be sued or liable or…”

  Holt considered. “Yes, that’ll work. It will be the perfect one-two punch.”

  “What will?”

  “Threatening their reps and pocketbooks. You’re brilliant.” Holt kissed her.

  She pulled back. “Good to hear, but, Holt, I don’t know anyone the school board would listen to.”

  “You do. But leave it to me, pet. I got this.” The lines around his eyes crinkled. “So, little girl, did you finish your homework? Is the scene in our book done?”

  It wasn’t. “You are being so…”

  When he lifted his chin slightly, in what Gabi had titled “the Dom look”, her stomach dropped.

  Suddenly she could feel how her breasts rubbed on his hard chest, and the heat of his powerful hand on her waist. “I…”

  “Go finish that chapter you’re working on before you get in trouble with your editor. I’ll make a few calls. Trust me, Josie.”

  When he gave her that level steady look, she knew she’d trust him wherever he led her. “I do trust you.”

  “Ah, for that you’ve earned a reward,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure you receive it tonight.”

  Now all her girl bits were tingling.

  Leaning down, she brushed his lips and headed for her office. Her deadline was looming, and she had a chapter to finish.

  And maybe when Tigre stepped in front of one of the reptilian Grestors to save Laurent, she’d let the pretty fire-starter bind up his wound and give him that kiss the two had wanted since the beginning of the book. Josie knew Tigre would be there for Laurent no matter how bad things got.

  Because Tigre was just like Holt.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The middle school’s small conference room was air-conditioned to a polar ice cap’s temperature. Between the chill and her nerves, Josie was shivering.

  She wasn’t the only one scared. In the rear of the room, Carson, Yukio, Juan, and Ryan sat in a fearful cluster. Josie and the other parents were seated around the rectangular table. Last night, they’d had a conference call about what recourse they had if the administration decided to be harsh.

  Despite trying to look calm, Josie felt her teeth clenching with her frustration. Things were not going well. The science teacher was blatantly targeting Carson and his friends with his venom. Every time she’d talked with the principal about it, he’d blown her off. Sadly, the school board was listening to him.

  The door opened. His face jowled like a bloodhound, the principal, Mr. Purcell, walked across the room and took a seat at the head of the rectangular table.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” When he shook his head, her hand itched to slap the phony expression of concern off his face. “I’m afraid the school board has decided—”

  The door opened again.

  Josie stared as Master Z strolled in. He wore a white shirt and tie…and the materials and tailoring were as exquisite as that of his usual black club attire.

  After him came Gabi in a conservative beige dress and dark brown blazer, then her husband, Marcus, in an impeccably tailored dark gray suit.

  Entering last, Holt took a position against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

  The principal rose to his feet. “Excuse me, but this is a private meeting. If you wish to speak with me, please talk with my secretary and—”

  “I believe we have the correct room,” Master Z said. “I’m Dr. Zachary Grayson, a psycho­logist…special­izing in children.”

  Purcell shifted his weight uneasily. “Dr. Grayson, I know of you, of course. Your research is well respected in academic circles.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Z said smoothly and turned. “I’d like to introduce Gabrielle Renard, an FBI Victim Specialist, and Marcus Atherton, one of our state attorneys.”

  The principal’s color faded slightly.

  Carson slipped over to kneel beside Josie and surreptitiously slipped his hand into hers. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  She bent and whispered with only a breath of sound, “Something Holt arranged to go with the video we made.”

  “Holt did this? Oh, man, the principal is screwed.” The hope and confidence in Carson’s voice lifted Josie’s heart.

  As her boy slipped back to his friends, Josie turned to Holt and mouthed thank you.

  He winked.

  Purcell resumed his seat as if establishing his territory. “Why are you here?”

  Rather than taking a seat, Master Z leaned a hip against the low bookshelf to the right of Purcell. Josie almost laughed. Owning his space—and standing. Had he learned the tricks of taking control from being a psychologist or being a Dom?

  Master Z answered, his tone even. “The school has received numerous complaints about a teacher, Mr. Jorgeson, but ignored them with the excuse that the reports came from students.”

  Having taken a seat at the table, Gabi made a low sound of disgust. “When victims are dismissed as unimportant by those in authority, it can be very damaging.”

  Master Z continued, “Since their reasonable grievances wer
e ignored, the children moved to another method to protest.”

  Purcell’s face reddened with his indignation. “Vandalism isn’t another method, it’s—”

  “Illegal,” Z said. “I’m aware. Is ignoring severe, persistent abuse also illegal?”

  Josie’s eyes widened at the edge in his smooth voice. If she were the principal, she’d be crawling under the table. Around the table, the other parents had frozen.

  Marcus’s blue eyes were colder than ice, and anger hardened his slow drawl. “I do believe under federal civil rights laws, schools are obligated to address such conduct…as well as conduct that creates a hostile environment, which detrimentally impacts a student’s ability to benefit from the opportunities offered by a school, as well as abusive conduct based on a student’s race, color, sex, and/or disability.”

  The principal flinched. “There…there is no proof of that.”

  “It appears that the students, having been ignored over and over”—Z’s grim tone was chilling—“took matters into their own hands. And phones.” He glanced at Holt.

  Holt placed a portable projector on the table and set his phone into it. Displayed on the blank white wall, the video opened with the teacher standing beside a seated blonde student, so close his groin was almost in her face.

  “Invasion of personal space,” Gabi murmured.

  The clip changed to him, his finger belligerently pointing in a brown-skinned boy’s face. “Can’t figure out the carbon cycle? Maybe you should get your tail back to Me-hi-ko where you belong.”

  Another clip showed him fingering a girl’s curly hair as she cringed away.

  “How can you be so stupid?” This one showed Jorgeson leaning down, his glaring face no more than two inches from Juan’s. The child looked terrified. “Can’t be bothered to do your homework? Because you’re stupid. Stupid and lazy.”

  Clip after clip flicked by. Different students. Different classes.

  Purcell said faintly, “Recordings in the classroom aren’t allowed. Florida has a wiretap law.”

  “Wiretap statutes apply when a person has a reasonable expectation of privacy, not in a classroom,” Marcus said firmly. “But I can understand why you wouldn’t want this video made available to the news media…or playing on Facebook.”

  The principal went totally white.

  Master Z said, “I viewed this recording several times. The instructor’s behavior is blatantly abusive. There is not only bullying, but also predatory sexual behavior, as well as racism and bigotry. You’ve opened your school to a wealth of civil suits.”

  Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. “Criminal ones as well. I can take this to a jury, sir, and I can win.”

  “The teacher has to go.” Gabi gave the principal an icy stare. “The students in his classes are victims of abuse. You will see that they get counseling—at the school’s cost.”

  “Yes.” The principal’s shoulders sagged. Then his mouth flattened. “But whoever took the recording is—”

  With a laugh, Holt turned the projector off. “I think about half of Jorgeson’s students recorded him at one time or another, especially after they and their parents were ignored because the school officials needed ‘proof’. Since you asked for proof, a court might see your demand as giving permission to obtain it.”

  The principal’s mouth closed. After a second, he pointed to the boys. “Nonetheless, they committed vandalism.”

  “They did.” Josie squared her shoulders. She, Holt, and the other parents had discussed what would happen if they reached this point. The fight was in her corner now. “It’s appalling that children in this school have learned that the authorities who should have been their advocates were, instead, their adversaries”—the principal winced—“still…we agree they’re old enough to have considered the ramifications before acting. Doing the right thing can still come with consequences.”

  “Exactly.” The principal started to look more cheerful. The asshole.

  “So we think the children should work with the maintenance crew in washing windows since that was what they broke. At minimum wage. They will work until they’ve repaid their portion of the window’s replacement.”

  Purcell nodded and then frowned. “And?”

  “They broke it. They’ll work to pay off the replacement cost,” Josie said firmly. “Punishing them further because you and the school board failed to protect vulnerable minors from an abusive adult? Absolutely not.”

  A tiny whisper came from her son, “Go, Mom.”

  The principal looked at her, at the three “experts”, and took in the resolute expressions of the other parents. After a long moment, he scowled. “All right.”

  He glanced at Holt. “The recordings…I don’t suppose…”

  Holt simply stared at him…and pocketed his phone.

  Master Z looked at Josie and inclined his head an infinitesimal amount. Gabi winked, and Marcus gave her a small smile before they all headed for the door.

  With a smile back, Josie felt her muscles start to relax.

  Carson was whispering with his friends when one of the strangers stopped in front of them. The doctor one. The guy had black hair with gray at the sides. Gray eyes.

  To Carson’s surprise, the man crouched down. “You’re Carson, I believe?”

  Carson nodded.

  When the guy had been talking to old Purcell, he’d looked really scary. Now, he smiled and looked different, almost as nice as Holt.

  “Yukio, Juan, Ryan?”

  His gaze showed he could tell them apart, and the others nodded.

  “Sometimes when children go through tough times, it can be a struggle afterward. My job is helping kids work through what’s happened. Help them figure out what they can do now, what they might have done better, and how to talk with parents or friends about it. Or anything.”

  Carson narrowed his eyes. One thing still bothered him more than the rest. “How ’bout figuring out when someone isn’t really a friend.”

  “Ah.” The gray eyes softened. “We all get played sometimes, Carson. However, I can show you a few things to watch for that will cut down on the chances.”

  “Yeah?” Ryan leaned forward. “Can I come, too?” Of them all, Ryan had felt the worst about Brandon’s behavior and…betrayal. They’d been friends a long time.

  “Yes, Ryan.” The man tilted his head. “Since you all went through this together, I think it might go well if you all visited me together.”

  Yukio stilled. “You’re a psychologist.” He shook his head. “I don’t think my parents can pay for something like—”

  “Josie is a friend, and this is a way I can help,” the man said gently. “There won’t be a charge for any of you. I’ll talk to your parents next, but I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “See how screwed up we are,” Ryan muttered.

  The man’s quick laugh was almost as good as Holt’s.

  Carson grinned.

  “Are we screwed up?” Juan asked, almost in a whisper.

  “Not even close.” The psych person smiled slightly. “But you could be more comfortable about what’s happened. I can help with that.”

  Comfortable. Carson nodded. When he thought about the fire and Brandon, it was like scraping his fingernail over a cut. “Yeah.” He looked at the others. Would they call him a pussy like Brandon had? “I want to—if you guys will.”

  But they were all nodding. Ryan’s eyes were red.

  Carson let out the breath that he’d been holding. All right.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Freshly showered after a rousing backyard soccer game, Holt opened the dresser drawer for a clean T-shirt. Soon after the fire, Josie’d cleaned out half her dresser and closet space for him, because he’d pretty much ended up living over here. When his lease was up, he’d move in formally. When they’d discussed it with Carson and Stella, the boy had cheered. And Stella had made Holt a huge cake to take to the firehouse. It’d been her way of saying she approved. Damn,
he loved this family.

  “Mo-o-om, what’re they going to do? Are they going to stick me?”

  Pulling on his shirt, Holt chuckled at the question coming from Carson’s bedroom. It was good the boy’d returned to being an exasperating pre-teen.

  Sitting on their bed, Josie grinned at Holt and called to Carson, “The lab will swab the inside of your cheek. No needles.”

  “Holt says it’s a syringe, not a needle.” After the grumpy correction, Carson kept going. “Why are we doing this, anyway? I already know ol’ Everett’s my father, and he knows, too. He just doesn’t wanna say so.”

  Josie closed her eyes. She was still sensitive about Everett and his rejection of Carson.

  Holt wasn’t sensitive at all. He gripped her nape and put their foreheads together. “I got this, pet.”

  Her relieved look was all the reward he needed. Holt headed down the hall, pleased he was here for this discussion. “You’re right, ace. Everett doesn’t want to admit the truth.”

  In his debris-strewn bedroom, Carson sat cross-legged on the floor. His mouth twisted into a lopsided frown. “Because he’s a douche.”

  Smothering a grin at the word, Holt joined the cat on the bed. “Hey, Poe.”

  After a narrow-eyed stare, the cat stalked onto Holt’s lap. Running his hand down Poe’s soft fur, Holt turned to Carson. “You asked about the DNA test. It’s like this: In the eyes of the law, each person must take responsibility for his actions, even if he didn’t intend for something to happen. Like, if you break a window, you pay for the window.”

  Carson gave him a wry grin. “Guess I know that one.”

  “Yep. You had a nice straightforward consequence. Things can get complicated though.” At breakfast, they’d discussed a Tampa news story about a drunk driving his pickup through a restaurant window. That’d be a good example. “If you run your car into a restaurant, you pay for the building as well as the hospital costs for whoever got hurt and their bills until they return to work.”

  Carson’s eyes widened. “You mean that boozer’ll have to take care of everybody he hurt.”