Cuffed & Claimed

by Lori King

  The faint floral hint of her perfume wafted between them as she juggled her folders again.

  “Jose was assistant football coach. You covering for him there, too?” she asked,

  Now that he could look forward to. “You guessed right. I went to UW on a partial football scholarship. Let’s hope I’m more help than a hindrance and Coach Parker doesn’t bench me after the first practice session.”

  Her mouth turned down. “Coach Parker cares about winning. If you can assist him to achieve his goal, he’ll be happy to have you around.”

  “Football’s an important morale builder for the school, Mercy.” Principal Frasier’s tone held a note of reproach.

  “Sure,” Mercy agreed with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I just wish sometimes the guys on the team were encouraged to give as much value to their academic achievement.” Her chest rose and fell with her sigh. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to get myself ready for my first class.” With a glance at both men, she turned and headed toward the front of the classroom, the long, shining layers of her blond hair flowing down her back as she moved away.

  Dismissed.

  Not a fan of football then. Or maybe just Coach Parker? Or both?

  Be a damn shame if it was football, but her loss.

  Aidan stepped back and gestured for Principal Frasier to precede him.

  Two doors down, the older man showed him his new classroom before making a welcome exit. Principal Frasier offered little encouragement and besides, this wasn’t Aidan’s first visit to the school. He’d first inspected this room on Sunday, three days ago, with Hernandez giving him a tour of the school and his classroom. No way he’d go into this case unprepared, especially in front of a bunch of teenagers, who seized on any visible weakness in a teacher like sharks tasting blood in the water.

  He was no wounded seal waiting to be devoured.

  And there were real victims in this case. Like Heather Raynard. Aidan had visited her family in the hospital with the goal of asking some questions. He had stood in the doorway to Heather’s room as the student, a senior, lay in a bed with tubes down her throat helping her breathe. Two ecstasy tablets were all it had taken to wreck such havoc on the girl. Her parents had looked up from their bedside vigil, the mother’s gaze filled with a desperate hope, as if Aidan might somehow have news to make everything better. The girl’s father sat with his shoulders hunched, his expression blank, as if mirroring his shock that something so horrible had happened to his little girl.

  Aidan clenched his jaw as he drew out one of the lesson plans Hernandez had provided. He’d never forget the sound of the mother’s crying as he left them to their vigil.

  If being at Macarthur High helped catch the bastards behind the drug network here, he’d swim with as many deadly creatures as the case needed.

  Right on cue, a group of four teenage boys, seniors by the looks of their builds, entered the classroom. They spied Aidan and moved to a cluster of desks at the back.

  “Morning.” He walked forward, stopping a few feet from the kids, two of whom nearly matched him in height, and although muscled for their age, they didn’t have his bulk. The kids wore t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers, typical attire. “I’m Mr. Gallagher. Substituting for Mr. Hernandez for the next three months.”

  “Coach Parker told us yesterday you’d also be taking Mr. Hernandez’s place as assistant coach.” The tallest boy, his blond hair shaved short on the sides and an inch long on the top, raked his gaze over Aidan.

  One of his players. Hernandez had said there were fifteen of the boys spread over two of Aidan’s five American Government classes.

  Aidan met the boy’s stare and didn’t look away. He needed to establish top dog status from the start. Seconds later, the teenager blinked, and Aidan didn’t miss the way the student lowered his chin a fraction.

  “That’s right.” Aidan switched his gaze between all four kids and noted the way the others hung back. So the blond was their leader. “I’ve been studying the team roster. Looks like a strong outfit.”

  That small insight earned him a flash of respect in the gazes of all four young men.

  “Cole Hunt.” Their leader extended his hand, and gestured with a nod to his friends. “We’re all on the team.”

  Progress.

  “Cole,” Aidan accepted his firm handshake and repeated the gesture for the other boys as they introduced themselves. Evan, Justin, and Tyrone, the latter boy’s broad smile stark against his darker-toned skin. “Good to meet you. I’m due at training this afternoon.”

  Aidan, or should he say, Sean, would meet Coach Parker next period. So much rode on his impressing or, at least, not pissing off the older teacher. Parker was a twenty-year veteran at Macarthur High, and his influence on the kids was unquestioned.

  More students filed into the classroom. Aidan nodded to the boys. “Better take your seats and we’ll get the lesson started.”

  The next forty minutes passed in a blink for Aidan. Hernandez had provided lesson plans up to the end of the month. There was no questioning the man’s dedication and his concern for his students, or the fact that same concern for detail saved Aidan hours of preparation time for class.

  As the bell rang for the end of the lesson, he reminded the kids, “Don’t forget next class, have your citizenship speech ready.” He grinned at the students’ good-natured groans and caught chin nods from the four footballers as they headed out. After stacking his papers, he locked the classroom door. Hernandez was a tenured teacher and had an assigned classroom of his own. The Principal had decided to keep that room tied to the position for now, so Aidan didn’t have to change classrooms for different lessons.

  His long stride ate up the distance between his classroom and the school’s gym, which housed Coach Parker’s office. The large, square-shaped brick building had a good-sized front meeting room, then individual offices off to the left. The sound of weights clanking against bars came from further down the corridor.

  Aidan knocked on the door with the sign ‘Coach’ stenciled on the front.

  “Enter.”

  He opened the door to find a man sitting behind a desk. “Coach Parker?”

  Fit, maybe sixty, the man wore his gray hair cut short. His white polo shirt bore the insignia of the football team’s Cougar mascot.

  The man’s assessing light gray gaze studied Aidan. “Correct. You are?”

  “Sean Gallagher.” Aidan extended his hand. The coach’s handshake was firm. Always a good sign in Aidan’s mind. “I had a free period. Sorry I couldn’t introduce myself before now.”

  “No problem.” Coach waved toward one of two seats opposite his desk and sat down. “Hernandez taking family leave was a shock. But emergencies happen. A champion team adapts.” He paused, staring at Aidan a moment longer. “Principal Frasier tells me you were on UW’s player roster.”

  “I was. It was fun, but college football was beyond my skillset. After my second year, I decided to concentrate on my studies.” Criminology in particular. Coming from a family of firemen and cops, the decision seemed almost pre-ordained. “Decided to try teaching.”

  Parker nodded, but his hard gaze swept over Aidan as if taking inventory. “A good assistant is always welcome, but in case you’ve got ideas, I’m not retiring for another five years.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “The only competition I’m interested in is on the field. Are we clear?” The older man spoke with the finesse of a sledgehammer smashing rocks.

  Aidan had no problems with a straight shooter. Made his job easier. “I’m here on a three-month contract, Coach. Got plans to be somewhere else in the new school year.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded toward a folder sitting in front of Aidan. “There’s the team roster and information. Get yourself familiar with as much as you can before training this afternoon. We’ve been regional champions the last three years in a row. I aim to make that four. Be good to have your help getting us there.”

  “I
look forward to doing so.” Aidan grabbed the folder. “I had some of the boys in my first class. Cole, Evan, Justin, and Tyrone.”

  Coach Parker’s face broke into a smile. “Hunt’s odds on for a scholarship to UW. Well...” He broke off, a frown drawing his brows into a deep V. “...if that AP English teacher minds her damn business, he will.”

  “Mercy Jones?” Aidan asked.

  “You met her?” His tone held a hint of sympathy that rankled Aidan for reasons he’d leave unexplored for now.

  “Yeah, only for a minute.” But long enough for the image of her full lips and curvy figure to remain etched in his memory.

  “She’s making noise to Principal Frasier. Hunt needs to lift his grades in English.” He sighed. “Not saying the kids’ grades aren’t important. But thank God Frasier understands star players are important to a school, both for morale and the sponsorship dollars they provide for our gear.”

  Obviously the ability to read and write was secondary to yards rushed in a season.

  He shrugged. “I can keep an eye out for Hunt, and make sure he understands he needs to improve.”

  “Humph.” Coach rolled his eyes. “That’d be good. At the same time, maybe you can have a quiet word with Miss Jones, too. Every time I talk to the woman, it seems to antagonize her. Make sure she knows what’s at stake for Hunt’s chances of going to college if he’s cut from the team, never mind the team not winning in the playoffs.”

  Capitalizing on the Coach’s concern for his players, Aidan pressed ahead. “I heard about the student in a coma from an overdose. And the kid that gave her the ecstasy tablets was another student. Her boyfriend?” At his words, Coach Parker’s light gray gaze turned colder than a winter blizzard. “Have you ever worried about any of the team taking stupid chances like that?”

  “My boys know I’ll kick their ass off the team if they so much as sip a beer, let alone take ecstasy.” Coach Parker’s voice rippled with authority. “Problem is, those kids with the drugs come from broken homes, tough neighborhoods. That’s the life they lead.” He dismissed their plight with a shrug before pointing his thumb to his chest. “I make sure my boys don’t have that worry. They train hard and get rewards in return.” He rose from his seat. “Let me give you a tour of the building.”

  Apparently, Coach Parker’s concern for the students extended no further than the boys on his team.

  Aidan bit back his retort and followed Parker into the corridor, noting that, although he was a good three inches taller than the coach, the older man’s muscular shoulders and tapered waist meant Parker was no slouch when it came to his own training.

  The man walked the walk. He’d expect no less from his staff and, therefore, his players. Would any of those kids risk being mixed up in drugs? Teenagers didn’t always weigh the consequences.

  And as for the AP Literature teacher and whatever concerns she had over Hunt’s academic efforts, Aidan would try to run interference for Cole if the kid worked hard to improve his grades.

  Mercy Jones seemed to have her heart in the right place. Aidan hoped she was as innocent as she seemed. If not, “Lord have Mercy” would take on a whole new meaning.

  2

  Mercy smiled and nodded at the gentleman in the business suit sitting next to her at the bar. What he had just said, she had no idea. All her concentration was centered on the man sitting with her fellow teachers at the group of tables behind her.

  She wouldn’t turn around. But the feel of his gaze warmed Mercy’s back, sending tingles up over her skin. Delicious tingles.

  The moment she’d risen to order a couple of drinks for some of the group, his gaze had tracked her.

  The mirror above the bar gave her a view behind her, and she glanced at the room’s reflection. Their group of eight teachers was engaged with each other, caught up in a chance to relax outside of school. Only one sat silent. Her focus centered on the man with the finger-combed hair—a light brown except where the overhead light cast reddish glints.

  And caught her breath.

  Sean Gallagher, substitute teacher, was glaring. At her.

  Judging by the hard set of his jaw, he was damned pissed. And a man that size—tall, with a muscular build emphasized by the snug fit of the football team’s white polo shirt—was hard to ignore in a bar, even one starting to get crowded.

  An hour ago, when she’d entered the bar, she had greeted him with a polite hello and smiled. He’d done the same. In fact, she was looking forward to getting to know him better. Hadn’t he laughed at her nerdy Dr. Who joke earlier?

  So what was his hang-up now?

  Was there something wrong with her appearance? Her white scoop-neck top with batwing sleeves was light and feminine, and her flowing pink skirt easily covered her legs to her knees. She wasn’t showing too much skin. And even if she was, what business was it of his?

  Mercy fired Sean a pointed look in return. He shook his head as if she had somehow disappointed him.

  Well!

  “Here you go.”

  Mercy turned her attention back to the man at the bar. “What was that, Oliver?”

  “Owen,” he corrected and pushed a fresh drink her way. “Here’s your lychee martini.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced down at the bar but where were the other drinks she’d paid for? The bartender was now down farther serving others. Sheesh, she’d wasted so much attention on Mr. Moodypants behind her. “I just need to get the drinks for my friends.” She lifted her hand to wave for the barman’s attention. The music coming from the speakers and the general noise was enough to drown out normal levels of conversation unless you were right next to the person.

  “Already delivered.” Oliver—no, Owen, stated, his hair glistening under the bar’s lighting with some shiny hair product. “I asked the waitress so you’d be free to linger here.”

  “Oh,” But she didn’t want to linger. “That’s nice of you.” Actually, no. More smooth than nice. “But my friends will miss me.”

  Owen smiled good-naturedly, but there was a strange anticipatory glint in his gaze that had Mercy leaning back on her stool. “Just one drink?”

  “The lady said no,” a dangerously low voice said from her side.

  She glanced up as Sean forced himself between her and Owen. Blinking at his interference, she slid off the stool to get back control. “Sean, I’ve got this.”

  He scowled at her over his shoulder. “You haven’t got this at all, Mercy.” She opened her mouth to protest, but apparently done with her, he turned back to Owen. “I saw you pour a vial of liquid into her drink. I’m guessing GHB. You like drugging your women?”

  Mercy’s jaw dropped. GHB? Owen tried to drug her?

  “What?” Owen spluttered, but she saw panic in his gaze, not outrage. He stood and tried to push his way past Sean, knocking into Mercy and sending her crashing into the stool. She clutched the edge of the bar to keep from falling.

  With lightning reflexes, Sean grabbed Owen’s arm, twisting it behind the man’s back, and pushed his chest into the front of the bar.

  Mercy could only stare.

  “You okay?” Sean glanced down as he held the struggling Owen in place without breaking a sweat.

  “Yeah, I...” Apart from a dull pain where her hip had rammed the side of the stool, she was okay. “I’m fine.”

  A huge bald guy, even bigger than Sean, moved up behind Owen. His black t-shirt had ‘Security’ emblazoned in white letting across the back. “Caught you on CCTV, asshole.” He replaced Sean’s grip on the man’s wrist with his own, and also laid a heavy hand on the guy’s shoulder. He pulled Owen up so he was now facing Sean. Judging from the way Owen cringed, the pressure of the bouncer’s grip wasn’t light. “The guy here saw you in the act, too. Reported it to me. Cops are on their way. We’ll let them search your pockets. That’s where you dumped the vial.”

  Sean had saved her. She glanced up at him, seeing the fury in his eyes as he faced Owen.

  Her words of thanks died on he
r lips. At least for now.

  “I’m taking Mercy outside. She’s not to be near this piece of shit.” Sean wrapped a hand around her arm, and despite the anger and harshness of his voice, his grip was gentle. “I’ll make sure the cops get her details.”

  “I—” She should say something, but the fact she’d come so close to being drugged and that the guys were moving so fast left her without words. She glanced over her shoulder, but her fellow teachers were still in deep discussion as the music from the club’s speakers and the crowd between her and the tables grew thicker.

  “Good idea. I’ll take our friend to the back office to await their arrival,” the bouncer said with menacing conviction.

  “Let’s go.” Sean tugged her along, giving Mercy only a second to grab her purse from on top of the bar.

  “Sean, I—”

  “Shut it, Mercy,” he snapped.

  She reared back and would have locked her legs to stay put, but Sean kept walking. Unless she wanted to be dragged out, she was forced to follow. He pulled her past another bouncer toward the entry doors.

  She blinked as she emerged from the loud pulse of the club into the relative quiet of the Seattle night. It was time she put an end to Sean’s caveman act. She tugged against his grip.

  He simply turned her to face him, his gaze running over her body. “You okay?” With the same gentleness as before, he smoothed his hands over her arms.

  Her equilibrium was taking a hit with the way her pulse skipped under his caress. How could his touch be so gentle when his manner was so abrupt?

  She shook her head. “I banged my hip against the stool, that’s all.”

  A deep frown creased his forehead. “You’re sure?” He glanced at her hip. Short of undressing her in the parking lot, he’d have to take her word that she didn’t require any treatment.

  “Absolutely.” She waited for him to release her, but he kept his hold. “I’m grateful that you saved me from that creep inside, but I’m fine now.” She tugged again to get loose, but he used his free hand to grip her other arm and drew her up against him.