by Evelyn Glass
Mia was an exceptionally pretty child. She had light brown skin with a reddish undertone, spattered dark freckles over her nose and cheeks, and deep brown hair that fell down to her shoulders in bouncy corkscrew curls. Her mother had much darker skin than her daughter, but the same freckles and curls. Emma was all too aware of the tendency of social and educational workers to stereotype African American families as less likely to be well supported and successful, but she also knew that getting a dark-skinned child, especially a dark-skinned girl, screened for any kind of developmental disability, would be difficult to impossible.
Emma took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. One late pickup, even without a call, was not a reason to get worried. God knew there were other parents within the center who were much less considerate. Her priority right now was to make sure Mia was okay.
She was about to suggest that they go outside to play for a little bit — the October weather in New England was crisp, and it was still light out. There was something depressing and a little bit creepy about being in a school after everyone had left. Before she got the words out, she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. A big engine from the sound of it. She walked over and glanced out — Abbey drove a small hybrid, but this sounded much older and rumbled more. She glanced out and saw a car from her dreams. A 1968 Gran Sport 400 with a convertible top, painted in coal black. When she was a kid, her dad had been into collecting muscle cars. She’d sat on a stack of tires and watched him work on engines and transmissions. He’d never put his hands on a Gran Sport, though. He’d played mostly with old Chevys and Fords.
She’d always had a fantasy about being eaten out in a Gran Sport, her feet up on the dashboard, which absolutely did not go with her teacher-uniform of leggings, mid length skirt, and boxy pullover sweater, but she was soaking wet just thinking about it.
The driver side door opened, and her fantasy got even more explicit. A tall man got out of the car. His features were notably handsome, with black hair that was undercut on the bottom and shaggy long on top. He wore jeans that were caked with dust, and a black T-shirt with the logo of a local garage emblazoned on the chest. He moved with a loose-limbed grace that made her think of a dancer. He looked like a walking bad-boy daydream. If he were walking into a bar, Emma would’ve thrown herself at him. Though, she had to admit that him walking towards her school made her want to lock herself and Mia into the closet.
But Mia was standing up on her chair, clear excitement on her face. “Uncle Dean!” she shouted, waving frantically. The windows were open just a bit, and the man must have heard Mia’s call. His attention focused on their window, his expression relaxing just a little bit. Emma felt the butterflies in her own stomach relax as well.
“You know him?” she asked Mia, just for protocol’s sake. The girl nodded eagerly. Emma turned to meet him at the door.
“Hi,” he said as soon as she appeared. He didn’t try to step forward or inside. She liked that he seemed to know what was up. “I’m here to pick up Mia. My sister-in-law said I was on the emergency list?”
“Yes,” Emma replied. She’d checked the list earlier when she was trying to decide what to do. There definitely was a Dean Grisham listed. “I just have to ask for ID.” She tried not to stare at the way his T-shirt stretched across his clearly well-defined pecs. And biceps. And the impressive definition in his forearms. That would be rude. Of course, maybe it was rude not to look? When someone was this gorgeous, wasn’t it a crime to remain neutral? Down, girl.
“Oh, absolutely,” he said, reaching around to his back pocket. She noticed that he wasn’t exactly being subtle with the up-and-down glances, either. Which was a shame, really. If he’d seen her at a club, she might have appeared interesting — worn out jeans or a leather mini, a metal T-shirt she’d inherited from her dad and cut down to fit her, winged eyeliner and lipstick to match. It would have been a lot more tempting. Right now, she probably looked as cute as his mother. Or his grandmother.
“I’m really sorry Abbey was running late,” he said, pulling his wallet out of a back pocket and opening it to show her a driver’s license. She looked it over quickly, then passed it back.
“Come on in,” she said, pulling the door wide. He gave her a wide smile, but there was something off about it. Something tense. Mia was still in the classroom, gathering her things, and Emma took a moment to step in just a little closer. His entire body came into total awareness. That was interesting. It didn’t seem like a sexual reaction, but it wasn’t really guarded, either. She made herself focus. Not on the thin layer of hair she could see at the neck of his T-shirt, or the subtle interplay of muscles in his neck. Those were clubbing thoughts, not working thoughts.
“Is Abbey all right? Do you need me to prep Mia for anything?”
His eyes were wary, but not unkind. “I’ll take care of it.” He’d said the words in a firm tone that brooked no argument. Emma resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. She’d grown up with a million aunts in the kitchen who wielded spoons like swords. He might be able to cow other women with that kind of alpha male attitude, but he’d have to level up if he wanted to put Emma in her place. Of course, he was probably thinking of her as a kind of quirky school teacher, not a woman who was working her ass off to put herself through school to try and make a difference in her community. She tried to see herself from his point of view, and it was all too easy. She looked like a Spanish girl – pale brown skin, dark amber eyes, curly hair that was too wild to contain in the ponytail she’d used to pull it back this morning – trying desperately to pass for white in her I’m-gonna-fit-in-I’m-not-scary clothes. She looked like a damn clone, and she knew it. He stood out like a sore thumb, and he did it on purpose.
She forced herself to back down. Verbal sparring was her favorite form of foreplay, but that wasn’t how things were going to end today. She was at work, and she was a professional. God knew there were plenty of part-time teachers at different centers around the city who were eager to make the leap from after school care to nanny, and from nanny to trophy wife, or at least kept mistress, but that had never been Emma’s game. Not that she cared, if that was how other people made their way through the world. They weren’t hurting her, and she wasn’t hurting them. But now that she’d let the thought in, she couldn’t shake the idea of this whipcord strong man pressing her up against a wall, pulling up her skirt and pushing down her leggings, plundering her body and finding out just how wet she already was.
“See something you like?” he asked, his voice lower and more dangerous.
“It’s all right,” she replied, and his mouth widened into a grin. He lost that gonna-hurt-you appearance when he grinned. He looked her age all of a sudden - mid-twenties - and interested. He shut down the expression as fast as he let it out.
“Another time,” he said. “But right now, I gotta take care of the girl.”
“Of course,” Emma said, stepping back. She could feel heat flooding her skin, and wondered if he’d noticed her blush. She was way out of line, and if he complained to Abbey, it could mean her job. She needed to be more careful. “This way.” She stepped back into the classroom, and then her heart absolutely stopped. The room was empty.
###
Dean
Dean forced himself to breathe as the pretty teacher turned away from him, her hips swaying gently as she walked. He didn’t know who she thought she was fooling, dressing all neat and prim – he could sense the wild girl underneath the layers. She was at home here, that much was clear, and he admired her for that. But she would have been just as at home dancing on a table, slinging booze behind a bar, or bent over a table riding his hand while he slapped the shit out of her round, plump ass. God, she was a looker, and she kept looking at him.
It wasn’t that he lacked female company when he wanted it. But having your high school sweetheart die on you, especially in a gory and tragic fashion, just kind of sucked the will away. Especially because of Mia. She was his top priority, his number one secr
et, and there was no way he could have a serious relationship with a woman and fail to tell her about Mia. There would be too many giveaways, too many little things.
He’d sworn to Sam that he’d give up riding when the baby was born. He had gone out for one last ride with Connell, just after Sam got home from the hospital. She’d gone out for a gallon of milk. A car jumped the curb while she was walking in, and crashed into her. She’d hemorrhaged, badly. She’d already bled after the baby, and the way the EMTs explained it, they couldn’t get it to stop because it was all internal and happening too fast. She’d bled out at the scene.
He couldn’t give up riding after that, but he could keep the baby safe. The car hadn’t stopped after it had hit her, and no one had ever been blamed for it. Her story was tragic but ultimately it was easier for the cops to just shrug their shoulders at another dead black girl than it was to really investigate and find out what had happened to her. Abbey moved to town and Mia became hers. The kid called Abbey, Mommy, and called him, Uncle Dean, and he was okay with it. He wouldn’t be any good in her life as her father. He couldn’t keep her safe that way. But he still wanted to be close to her. How could he ever expect a woman to measure up to that when he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her what was going on?
He fucked a few women here and there, always keeping things safe, though he used his hands more often than not. No risk of causing himself more problems that way. But this girl in front of him, she caught his attention in a way that no one else had in recent memory. Maybe it was because she was close to Mia? Or maybe he was just on high alert, worried about what might have happened to Abbey. Both were very possible.
The teacher froze, and every nerve in his body fired at once. Instantly, without hearing her speak, he knew something was wrong.
“Mia?” she called, and there was something very wrong in her voice. He stepped closer, half expecting to see a man with a gun to the little girl’s head, but the room was empty. Somehow, that was much, much worse.
The teacher moved into the room, and he followed her.
“Mia?” he called. “It’s Uncle Dean. Where are you hiding, baby?” He didn’t know this room, the exits or entrances, and his desire to start tearing things apart wasn’t going to help them figure out what was going on. Maybe the child was playing hide and seek? Maybe she needed to pee? There was a backpack on a table, and he recognized it from Abbey’s house.
“Mia!” the teacher called out again, and her voice was firm now, instead of nervous. “Where are you hiding?” The teacher opened doors to small bathrooms in the back of the classroom, then opened another door to what looked like a bank of offices. “Where did you go, sweetheart? Your uncle is here for you.”
Dean stood still, his hands clenching and unclenching at his thighs as the pretty young teacher turned back to him, panic in her eyes.
“She’s gone,” the woman said, and he was already reaching for his phone. “I have no idea—”
He held up his hand for silence as he tapped Connell’s contact number. He was surprised it worked. He watched as she went to the small backpack and started to sort through it. Probably looking for anything out of the ordinary? He wouldn’t know what should and shouldn’t be there. That thought twisted him up more than he expected, so much that when Connell came on the line with his typical, “Yap?”, Dean choked for a moment before he could speak.
“Henry,” he said, knowing that using the man’s given name would get his attention in a way that nothing else really would. “Shit just got worse.”
Chapter Three
Emma
Emma’s pulse throbbed in her ears and throat as Dean picked up his phone and dialed. She assumed he was calling 911 until he said someone’s name, and that things were getting worse, like some kind of movie villain. She thought of walking to the staff room, grabbing her own phone and calling the police, but his gaze was fixed on her in a way that made her wary making of any sudden moves. She wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. He’d had the right ID, and he was on the emergency list, but ID could be faked. The list would be harder, but not impossible. Abbey had never mentioned Mia’s father, other than to say that he wasn’t in her life. Could this be some kind of custody kidnapping?
No, that didn’t make any sense. Dean was on the list. More likely, if the father was suddenly back in the picture Abbey was caught up with him, and Dean was here to make sure that Mia was safe. But if they thought she’d been kidnapped, surely the first thing to do was to notify the authorities?
Emma needed to think. How could someone have gotten Mia out of this room? The staff offices were closed off, and there was only the one door, unless…
She grabbed Mia’s backpack — she didn’t know if Dean had noticed, but Mia’s inhaler was still in the bag, and that was potentially a real problem for the girl — and headed back into the staff offices. She didn’t have asthma flares often, but when she did, they were intense. Emma hadn’t been working at the center at the time, but she knew that last year, someone had to call an ambulance because Mia’s breathing had turned to wheezing so quickly.
She’d glanced around the staff room quickly, looking for a little girl who might be hiding to play a silly game. Now, she looked more closely — and, yes, the table in the corner, which they used for meetings and which blocked the unused door to the playground, was out of alignment. As if someone had tried to pull it back when they had closed the door, but there was no way to get it all the way shut, not in a hurry.
“Dean!” Emma shouted and heard his footsteps behind her. She went to the door, hauling the table out of the way. The door was unlocked and the screws that had held it shut previously had been removed. At a quick glance, she couldn’t tell when it had happened, but that didn’t matter right now. She pulled the door open and glanced around the playground. Yes — there. Across the long field, she could see someone running, a small bundle tossed over their shoulder.
There was a small bloom of fear in the center of her chest, but most of her body was consumed by anger. Someone had taken a child, a child who was under her care, and from the limp way that the small body was bouncing, she had probably been sedated. Emma didn’t know a ton about asthma, but she knew that when her older brother had been sedated for surgery, the anesthesiologists had to give him different meds because sedation and asthma combined could lead into a deadly situation. Whoever that person was, did they know? Were they going to take care of Mia? It certainly didn’t look like it from here.
She was already running before she had the conscious thought to give chase. She heard a male voice shout behind her, and assumed Dean was close on her heels.
The jerk ahead of them had too much of a lead, though. He skipped through the gate around the fenced in playground and ducked into a waiting car — new model and dark paint, something American, but she wasn’t sure from halfway across the field — and sped off. She sagged, her breath ragged from the run. She was never a sprinter, although she’d been built for it: small and lithe. She was better at yoga, and endurance events when she did track, and why in the name of all that was holy was she thinking about this right now.
Dean pulled up next to her, his eyes were sharp. He was still on his phone, and his breath was quick, but not ragged like hers. “Late model Ford, Explorer, black. Yeah, I know, nothing really distinct.” A pause. “No, you shithead, there’s not an airbrushing of the Death Star on the side.” A laugh that carried nothing like humor. “Okay. Get to work. I’ll see you soon.”
He clicked the phone off, and she found herself looking at him, waiting for him to dial the police. He looked back at her. The moment grew and grew until it was awkward and uncomfortable.
“Aren’t you going to call the police?” she finally said. Her tone was snappish. His eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened.
“No,” he replied. “And it would be best if you didn’t either.”
“I—” she sputtered for a moment, then forced herself to refocus. “I didn’t really introduce myself be
fore. I’m Emma Mills. I’m one of the care providers here, and as such, I’m responsible for the kids until they’re picked up by their representatives. I’m a mandated reporter in this state. Do you know what all of that means?”
He watched her, clearly waiting.
She forced herself to keep going, pretending it was just one of her aunties glaring her down. She’d mastered that at sixteen years old. Some super-gorgeous man with stunning eyes the color of bronze was absolutely not going to convince her to back down. “It means that I’m legally liable for her. If I don’t call the cops, it’s not just that I could lose my job, I could be prosecuted for all kinds of things. Interfering in an investigation, child endangerment — they could even decide that I was an accomplice.”
He nodded. “I understand,” he said, but his tone didn’t convey much in the way of understanding. “Go back inside. I’ll call the police. You just go ahead and go home.”
