He followed her down the hall to her classroom, watching the sway of her hips and catching a whiff of some earthy perfume. The idea of being left alone in her classroom brought inappropriate images of making out with the teacher, laying her across the desk and kissing her like he did in his dreams—no holds barred, utter surrender the goal. Unfortunately, based on her kisses, it wouldn’t take a nanosecond for her to surrender. He’d be hip deep in a relationship he didn’t want and couldn’t make work. He’d wreck a friendship with a partner and friend, Tom, and the family he’d come to treasure.
Nope—no kissing and no touching the teacher.
Bret was stiff and so focused on the task he made her head hurt. Meg wasn’t sure whether it was the uniform or the fact that she’d kissed him twice in a twenty-four hour period causing the difficulty, but he distracted her. Completely.
Annoying man.
He had shown her the list of crimes and the kids involved and, for the last forty minutes, played twenty questions with her knowledge about how they were all associated.
Not one interested look.
Not for one moment did he loosen the hard set of his shoulders.
Was she really going to have to kiss him again to rattle him out of the straight jacket?
“Why isn’t Sergeant Hallam handling this? I thought he was the investigator in the department?” she asked.
“The chief assigned the case to Tom and me months ago. I’ve already established a relationship here at the high school. Spoke to Mr. Spring’s class before Christmas about alcohol and driving.”
She remembered seeing him in the school. His talk had made an impression on the students. She opened her desk drawer, removed a sucker, and put it in her mouth.
He tracked her mouth as she licked the hard candy. Heat flared. He looked away and cleared his throat. “So, if I understand correctly, you’ve had all these kids as students?” He looked at her again, this time with flat cop eyes.
She sighed to herself. Back to business. “Yes. Bret, this is a small high school. I’ve been here for four years. I’ve had most of them in my English class, except the incoming freshman class and a few random kids who’ve transferred in. That, coupled with the fact I’ve lived here all my life, means I’ve gone to school with aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, cousins. I’m not understanding what you’re looking for.”
Bret gaze slid to her mouth, his answer slow in coming. “Commonalities.”
Meg took another long lick on her sucker, puzzling over his deliberate one word statement. “So you want to see which kids belong to which groups?”
“No.”
When he didn’t continue, she looked at him. Was he answering her or denying himself? He seemed fascinated with her sucking technique, mesmerized by the rhythm of her tongue stroking the candy. Yet, he stood there, all pressed uniform and shiny badge, stern and unbreakable. It made her want to jump him, strip away the police veneer and find the man underneath, make him beg for her mouth on him instead of the damn sucker.
He turned away, speaking to a motivational poster on her wall instead of to her. “I want to look at what the common interests all the victims have—the kids whose houses have already been hit. I want to see if you know of any activities, in or out of school, these kids have that would make them targets. Anything that would help me get a handle on how these houses are being chosen and why.”
“Okay. Let me see what I can come up with.”
He faced her again. “We can’t work it through now?”
“No.” Meg propped the sucker back in her mouth, talking around it. “I have papers to grade for the next class and it’s going to take some thought. I can’t blurt it all out. A few of these kids I had a couple of years ago. Some of their activities have changed and I’ll need to check. Call me later.”
Bret eyed her and frowned. “How much later?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Tonight.”
“You’re going out to dinner with a friend tonight.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be home by eight-thirty. I’ll call you. Give me your cell number.”
He hesitated, but she knew she had him. Of course, she could have asked Tom for the dang number, but this way she wouldn’t feel like she was sneaking around behind his back to get the thing. He studied her face for a moment, as if her intentions were suspect. He withdrew a card and wrote on the back. Their fingers touched when he passed it to her and she felt the sizzle clear to her core. She expected him to jerk back, but he didn’t.
His fingers lingered near hers, then he dropped his hands. “Tonight?”
“After eight thirty.” She crossed her heart. “I promise.”
The uniform, the badge, the gun, the muscles—everything about his tall frame—made her classroom shrink. She felt enveloped in his presence, like sinking into a warm bath with all the right scents, knowing she would have sex after she got out. She shivered, stifling the feeling. He inched to the door, too skittish to appreciate her attraction.
Go slow, Meg.
He paused at the door, just as it opened. Five students on the other side of the door froze, stunned by the sight of a cop in her classroom.
“It’s okay, guys.” Hope churned through her. A sultry fire burned, warring with the need to back off and become the teacher again. Teacher won. No choice. She tossed the remains of her sucker in the trash. “Come on in and get seated.”
Bret watched the students find their seats. After a long moment, he looked at her. “Tonight, then?”
“Yes.”
“Later.” He slipped away as another round of students entered the room.
She noted her students’ hyper-awareness of their conversation and realized what the exchange must have translated into for them.
Tonight, then?
Oh boy!
Maybe that was for the best. If her students thought she was involved with Bret, they wouldn’t be aware of the other thing she was doing for him. She fingered the card with his phone number and slipped it into her purse.
Tonight indeed!
~~CHAPTER FOUR~~
Two weeks later, the shrilling phone woke Bret from a sound sleep. A dull gray light filtered through his bedroom window, suggesting the predicted clouds and rainy weather had indeed arrived. A typical March event.
He squinted at the clock.
It was his day off. Who would be calling him at seven in the morning? Last night the department had gotten wind of a high school party. He’d tagged along after going off duty to see what went down. No parents at home translated to a big party that filled the house with teenagers spilling out into both front and back yards. Other than arresting a few kids for being in possession of alcohol, it was a typical Friday night. He hadn’t gone to bed until two a.m.
The cell phone buzzed a fourth time. He picked it up and glanced at the caller ID.
His mother. Damnation!
He had no choice but to answer it. He’d been avoiding her for days and soon she’d call him at the station instead, even though he’d told her not to often enough.
Pushing the answer button, he collapsed back against his pillows, closed his eyes and put the phone against his ear. “Hello, Mother.”
“Bret. Finally. I’ve been trying to call you for three days.” His mother’s acerbic tone grated across tired nerves, leaving him clenching his teeth.
“I got your messages, Mother. I haven’t had time to call you back.”
“I guess I’m not important.” She sniffed. Bret sat up and rolled his neck, taking a deep breath as he did so. “I’ve been working odd hours, Mother. What’s going on?”
How she combined her shrill screech with plaintive sobs he never understood. “Your father has gone off again.”
“Where did he go this time?” If Bret had been married to his mother, he would have retreated to a nice peaceful mountain in the Himalayas. Why his parents stayed married was a complex and intricate puzzle. They had separated a half a dozen times, but it never finalized. They continued to mai
ntain a marriage that kept the two at war a majority of the time only because of their business partnership and the vaults full of money. He scrambled to stay out of the middle of it every single damn day.
“He said he was going to Mexico to go fishing. He doesn’t fish. That’s utterly ridiculous.” Her pouty tone was designed to cause agreement, but only made him grip the phone so tightly he thought the case would crack. Too bad he was an only child or he’d insist she call another sibling. Damn them for not having any more kids.
Bret yawned, wishing for a cup of coffee that didn’t require him actually having to get out of bed to make it. “Maybe he’s decided to take up a new hobby, Mother.”
“Well, he could talk to me about these things before he does them.”
Bret pinched the bridge of his nose. His father probably had. His mother wasn’t real receptive to his new hobbies, especially since she refused to acknowledge most of his old ones.
“He’ll come home when he’s ready. He always does.”
“He’s left me here all alone.”
Yes, by herself with ten employees in the house including the gardener, the cook, the butler, and even her personal assistant. He decided to switch to a tactic that usually worked on her. “Well, maybe it’s time to go visit that spa you like and get pampered while he’s gone.”
“I was thinking that it’s time for you come home to visit. We missed you at Christmas.”
His chest tightened. “I can’t, Mother.”
“Nonsense. I know you said you had to work, but you tell your boss that your mother needs you. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
He tried to picture Paul Hudson appreciating his neurotic, spoiled mother’s needs and couldn’t come up with the vision.
“I can’t be spared right now, Mother. I’ve got a serious case that needs my attention. Maybe you could call Helene and go to Paris for a few days.” Her one and only friend was usually good for a trip or two a year.
“Helene went to the Belize with her current lover. Her husband is off in the Orient on business, so she’s fooling around while he’s gone. I should do the same thing to your father,” she huffed.
Too bad you don’t.
It would take the pressure off both him and his father. Bret couldn’t envision her doing that, though. It would spoil her martyrdom. All the woman had to do was open her mouth and everyone within hearing distance ran in the opposite direction which gave her consistent cause for complaint. His long-suffering father ensured that her assistant was paid a grossly large salary. The money was the only way to retain her services and pacify his mother.
He shoved off his plaid green comforter, balanced his cell phone against his ear, and walked naked to the kitchen. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out the can of coffee. “I think it’s time for a cruise, Mother. You haven’t been on one for a while.”
“I really don’t want to travel right now.”
Of course you don’t.
She wanted him to come to her and stay like he didn’t have a life of his own. She wanted his father in a chair next to her so she could bitch and complain to a captive audience. After quickly starting the coffee maker, he walked back to the bedroom for his jeans.
“Are you sure you don’t know where your father went?”
“No, Mother. I don’t.”
They had an agreement. His father never told him where he went, ensuring that Bret wouldn’t be obligated to lie to his mother. Bret liked being ignorant.
“Well then, I guess I will have to hire a private investigator. How do I know he’s not off with some hussy?” Her tone of voice became infinitesimally more prissy.
Bret cringed. She didn’t know that. Neither did he. Bret often thought his father should go off with someone else to get a little happiness. But Bret knew he wouldn’t. He’d once told Bret that he’d honor his marriage vows, no matter what. They were an important part of who he was. What hell it must be for the man to be stuck like that. Watching from the sidelines through year after year, Bret made the vow never to put himself in the same situation. It wasn’t worth it. That’s why he was running so hard and so fast from Meg. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to compromise how he felt, and didn’t trust himself to not do both when he was around her.
“I think a private investigator is a bit over the top, don’t you, Mother? He’ll come home. He always does. You should go to the spa and get pampered. Come home all pretty for him.” He rolled his eyes and juggled the phone to slip into his jeans.
The aroma of brewing coffee wafted into his bedroom from the kitchen, making his stomach growl. God he could eat a stack of pancakes, plus some eggs and bacon. A nice, hearty breakfast at Clem’s beckoned. If only he could get his mother off the phone. This was why he avoided her phone calls.
“You really think so?” Even when infused with hope, her voice lost little of its strident tone.
“Mother, you love being pampered. Go spend some money on yourself. Shop. Then you’ll be all relaxed.”
“Well, I shopped last weekend, but there are still a few spring collections I haven’t seen.”
“You bet. Buy something green for St. Patrick’s Day.”
“Oh, Bret. I look awful in green. But pink might be okay.”
Bret gagged. His mother had a pink nightgown set she wore all the time. She looked like a plastic lawn flamingo in the damn thing. The youthful color made her look twice her age. Wasn’t his problem, though, as long as he could get off the phone.
“I have to go, Mother. I’m late for work.” God would forgive him for the white lie.
“You never have time for me anymore.”
A headache pounded behind his eyes. Get rid of his mother, drink his coffee while driving to Clem’s, get food and more coffee, in that order. He needed it fast. He poured a good amount of coffee into his travel cup and took a sip. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll make some time soon.”
“You promise.”
Double damnation! He didn’t want to promise. Because he always kept his word. “I’ll do the best I can, Mother. Hope you enjoy the spa. Gotta run.”
Then, he did what he always ended up doing. He hung up on her.
Meg took a sip of her orange juice and glanced around Clem’s Restaurant. Every booth and table was full and there was a line out the door to be seated. The enticing smells coming from the kitchen gave mouth-watering evidence that great food could be had here. The family-owned business was the most popular eatery in town. The ivory walls displayed new art from the last time she’d been here—hand drawn pictures from Mrs. Swan’s elementary school class, pictures of serving soldiers, and posters for some of the upcoming community events.
“We should do this more often, Dad.”
“I know, pretty girl, but you’re just as busy as I am.” Bill cut into his omelet. “I understand you’re working with the police department.”
Meg set her orange juice down and picked up her fork. “How did you find out about that?”
“Your mother.” He grinned. “Who else?”
“Is there anything she doesn’t know about what’s going on in town?”
“Not much.” Her father swallowed a bite, groaning in pleasure. “I think Clem got this recipe from your grandmother.”
Meg took a bite of her French toast. “I started helping them a couple of weeks ago, but it’s going slower than I’d hoped.”
“What exactly are you trying to do?”
“I’m trying to find what the kids who were robbed have in common. Bret thinks that will help the police figure out how the houses are being picked and maybe lead them to the suspects. But correlating all the information and making comparisons is a nightmare.”
“I saw Jacob Kramer yesterday. His daughter Gwen is in your class. Their house was robbed over New Year’s. Her room was destroyed. He said she’s hardly slept since, that she’s really bothered by who could have done this.” Bill frowned over his coffee. “I can hardly wait to prosecute these guys.”
�
��You’re still filling in for Daniel Levy?”
“Yes.” Her father rubbed his stomach as if it was bothering him, then took another bite. “He’ll be at least another couple months before he’ll be recovered fully from his heart attack.”
“Well, you shouldn’t work so hard.”
He grimaced. “You sound like your mother.”
Meg smiled at the compliment, then gazed out the window, her mind returning to all the kids on her list who were suffering the trauma of these robberies.
A gunmetal gray truck that looked like Bret’s pulled into the parking lot. She knew it probably wasn’t him, because there were several trucks like his in the county, but her heart jumped anyway.
They’d had lunch a few days ago to talk about the robberies, his investigation, and her slow-moving research. Meg went back to work feeling restless and out of sorts. Bret had been all business. She couldn’t even coax a smile out of him. It had left her feeling vulnerable, like she had torn a strip off her emotions and laid it out for him to step all over. She’d gone home and licked her wounds, wavering on her decision to make anything else happen with the man.
The outer door opened and Bret walked in past the line of people to talk to the hostess. Meg sucked in a breath, her heart soaring, euphoria dancing in her blood. Man! She had it so bad. She couldn’t possibly go back. Only forward.
“There’s Bret.” Her father waved him their direction.
Bret hesitated, looked at the line of those waiting to be seated, then turned toward their table. Meg froze, satisfying a need that was always constant—to watch him move. He wouldn’t be called handsome, but he was striking. The confident way he held himself, the calm that surrounded him, his long, denim-encased legs eating up the distance between them. She stared, absorbed, thrilled to her toes.
“Scoot over, Meg. Let him sit,” Bill admonished.
She swallowed hard, but did as her father asked, almost by rote.
He approached the table. “Mr. Applegate.”
“Bret, that’s a title best left for court. You don’t get to be friends with Tom and Meg and call me anything but Bill.”
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 24
