by Laura Kaye
Small talk normally wasn’t his strong suit—he never saw the point. But this was actually a topic he knew something about. “Yeah, the club hangs at Dutch’s,” he said, referring to a nearby diner whose owner had always been friendly to the Ravens. “And her name’s Haven.”
Pouring her drink, Emma placed three cookies onto a napkin in front of her. “Who?”
He took an iced snow man. “Dutch’s new baker. She’s the club president’s girlfriend.” Well, fiancée now. Caine had been present with the rest of the club when Dare Kenyon had gotten down on one knee and proposed to Haven at Thanksgiving dinner. He wasn’t the only one who’d paired off during the last year, but he was the one who surprised Caine the most. He’d always thought Dare too married to the club to ever make room for anything more than hook-ups. Caine definitely felt that way. Which was convenient since he never let himself get close enough to anyone to chance feeling or wanting more.
He’d learned the hard way that it was a chance not worth taking.
People couldn’t hurt you as much if you didn’t care about them.
“No way! You know her?” Emma’s eyes went wide, her gaze full of what looked like awe and delight. Two emotions rarely directed at him, that was for fucking sure.
And it hit him funny, almost like the scary thrill of nearly taking a turn too fast and too tight on his bike.
Caine nodded as he finished the first cookie. And it was like that first one emphasized how empty his stomach was, because he was suddenly ravenous. “That was good. You mind?” He gestured toward the plate.
“No, of course not. Have as many as you want.”
He took a chocolate chip and then glanced up at Emma again.
To find her eyeballing his Ravens cut. “What’s it like to be in a motorcycle club?” Her eyes went wide. “Is that too personal to ask?”
Maybe? Eyeballing her right back, he chewed and swallowed. Debated. And then settled on the most important thing, to him. “It’s like having a big family. One you can actually count on.” Unlike the one he’d been born into.
“A big family that brings you medicine to give to a strange lady just because you ask?”
His gaze dropped as he finished his cookie. After Emma had left him standing on the street, Caine had searched the alley down which her mugger had escaped, and then looped around the block to his bike—which was when he’d seen Emma sitting on her stoop and made up his mind to hang until she was safe. He’d called the Ravens’ newest prospective member to run the meds errand for him. Because that was the shit that Prospects did. And because Caine hadn’t liked seeing Emma curled up on the sidewalk in pain.
Not that he really wanted to revisit any of that with her.
“Pretty much. Not what you expected?” he asked, ready to hear the judgment or see the wariness or disapproval he so often encountered among strangers when it came to the club. He didn’t give it any weight anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see it happening around him.
Her expression went thoughtful. “I’m not sure what I expected. But what you described sounds awesome.”
Her honesty impressed him, and so did the way she’d listened to him and seemed to consider what he had to say. His brothers gave him that kind of respect, but it wasn’t something he’d found a lot of in his life. And though he appreciated it from her, it also left him feeling strangely…vulnerable. As if her sincerity and open-mindedness were picks that might open the locks inside him. So he changed the subject—and the tenor of the conversation. “Anyway, I thought you weren’t old enough to be called lady?”
She laughed, and it made those sky blues shine with amusement. Also not something usually directed his way. Shit, he’d known Haven for seven months—and he liked her as well as he liked anyone—and she still approached him like he was a stray dog who might take her hand off. And that was no shade on Haven, either. Caine absolutely had the disposition of a distrusting stray who’d been abused enough to bite even the kindest hands.
“Touché,” she said, brushing cookie crumbs off her fingers onto a napkin. “These cookies are making me realize I never ate dinner. Was too nauseous earlier.”
“But you’re not now?” he asked, taking a third cookie. A peanut butter, this time, because Dare always hoarded all the PBs when Haven made them for the club, meaning no one else ever got any. And, weirdly, eating was making him realize how hungry he was, too.
“No, the pills and the caffeine helped. I’d thank you again except I don’t think you’d want me to.” She arched a brow. Caine wasn’t sure which gave him more satisfaction—that he’d helped her or that she seemed to be flirting with him.
He just looked at her, amused by the way she tried to get under his skin but unwilling to show it. And also not willing to examine too closely the fact that she was successful.
A slow smile grew on her pretty face, but she switched topics. “You want a sandwich?”
Caine blinked. His gut growled. Out loud. “No.”
She laughed at him. “I think your stomach disagrees.” She crossed to her fridge again, and the mass of kids’ drawings fluttered as she opened the door. “I have ham and a couple kinds of cheese, which I could do cold or grilled. And I have a rotisserie chicken I could cut up.”
“Emma—”
“What?” She peered over her shoulder.
The dog came trotting into the room and sat down close to the fridge.
“This is because I said ‘cheese’ out loud.” She smiled down at the puff ball. “Isn’t it, Chewy? You’re crazy for cheese, aren’t you?”
“Chewy?”
“Short for Chewbacca.”
Caine frowned, unsure why he kept asking for these little details about her life but seemingly unable to stop himself. “The giant Star Wars character?”
“Yup.” She crouched down to pet the little round head. “Because Wookiees are awesome. Now, sandwich?”
Knock, knock, knock.
Chewy took off at a tear, barking his not-at-all threatening head off.
“Aw, well, I guess we’ll hold that thought for now,” Emma said, her tone disappointed.
But the weirdest thing was that Caine was disappointed, too. Because once her locks had been replaced, he’d have absolutely no reason to stay.
Chapter 4
Despite the fact that it was eight days til Christmas, Monday morning was mild enough for Emma to walk the twenty minutes through downtown to Frederick Elementary School. She’d been excited about that when she first realized it was in the mid-forties, because the closeness of her grandmother’s house—her house, now—to work was one of the many reasons Emma loved living there. But then her thoughts had resurrected what’d happened Saturday night.
The man jumping out of the bushes. Grabbing her. Pushing his body against her. Kicking her dog as his grip on her wrist tightened.
The flashes of those memories had come at her all weekend, distracting her, making her nervous, keeping her awake.
And almost making her drive to school.
Screw that, she thought as she passed the convenience store that marked the halfway point of her walk. She was not going to allow fear to rule her life. At least, not as much as she could help it. So, she’d walked.
Without question, Caine had helped make her less fearful, too. Because while the locksmith had changed out the locks on her front and back doors, Caine had shared that he worked in security, and asked if she wanted him to check out her place for other things she might do to secure it.
Remembering how easily he’d picked the lock to her front door, she’d agreed. He’d methodically gone through her first floor evaluating her doors and windows, and then examined her back porch and the basement door, too. She’d been disappointed when the locksmith’s arrival had interrupted getting to talk more to Caine over a meal, but watching him move through her space had not been a hardship. He just had an intensity about him that was compelling. Maybe it was the way those strange pale eyes narrowed in cold calculation. Or ma
ybe it was the almost stealthy way he moved, like a big cat that was at once both graceful and lethal. Or maybe it was the slivers of tattoos that his movements had revealed on his neck and side. All she knew was that she was fascinated. And curious. And, if her nighttime thoughts were any indication, more than a little lustful…
When he’d finished looking everything over that night, Emma became the proud owner of three new jimmy-proof deadbolts and spring-loaded security bars on the three first-floor windows that could be reached from the ground or back porch.
Except then Caine had left. He’d turned down her invitation to stay to eat, saying only, “Remember, Emma, you gotta look out for yourself first.”
Crossing the last intersection before entering school grounds, Emma sighed. Because she hadn’t been brave enough in that moment to ask for his phone number. So now she didn’t know how to get ahold of him, and suspected he wouldn’t want her to, anyway.
Thankfully, she’d soon have twenty-three really good distractions from all of that. Because nothing put her in a better mood or helped her gain perspective better than her kids.
Inside, the building was still quiet. Because she hadn’t been able to sleep, she’d gotten ready earlier than usual. But at least she’d get a head start on the day. She’d have about forty-five minutes before the kids started arriving, which would be just enough time to set up all the art supplies for the holiday crafts she was having them start on today. Pom-pom Christmas trees, snowmen, and menorahs. Little presents for their parents. Because nothing said festive like fuzzy pom-poms!
“Good morning, Connie,” she called, leaning into the principal’s office.
“Morning, Emma. Getting a jump on the week?” Connie was the school’s often miracle-working office manager, and Emma really liked the older lady. But she hated how the word “jump” brought more of those little flashes of memory.
“Yep,” Emma said. “One more week.”
Connie laughed. “Hang in there.”
Grinning, Emma nodded. It was the last week of school before winter break, and without question, the kids would be bouncing off the walls by Friday. “You, too.” A few of the other teachers were also in early, and Emma called out more greetings as she moved through school to the kindergarten hallway, where four kindergarten classrooms shared a wing at the back of the building.
Flicking on her classroom lights, Emma made for her desk. She frowned.
The room was unusually chilly.
And then she froze in place.
Papers and books were scattered across the floor near her desk…the top of which was all disorganized. Her gaze tracked to the left, where broken glass littered the top shelf of the low bookcases under the windows.
The window above was broken. A cobweb of cracks formed outward from a hole in the center of one of the big rectangular panes.
Emma’s heart tripped into a sprint. She moved closer and saw what had made the hole.
A brick lay in pieces on the tile floor amid a trail of broken glass and strewn papers.
“Holy shit,” Emma whispered. “What the hell?”
Disbelievingly, she dumped her coat and purse onto the nearest table. And then she made for the intercom box on the wall by the back door. She pressed the button. “Connie, it’s Emma. Is Principal Mackey in yet?”
“She just arrived. Is everything okay?”
“No. My room… There’s been vandalism. Someone threw a brick through the window.” Emma wondered if the shakiness in her voice carried through the intercom.
“Oh, my goodness. We’ll be right there.”
True to her word, Connie and Principal Mackey arrived in under three minutes, mirror expressions of concern on their faces.
Wearing a smart pantsuit, the principal shook her head as she took in the damage. “Well, this isn’t the way to start off a Monday morning, is it?”
“No,” Emma said, still a little stunned. And man if she wasn’t having a streak of bad luck lately. “No, it’s not.”
“All right,” the principal said. “Connie, can you get Mr. Wilkerson in here to clean up and do what he can to cover the window? And I’ll call the police. They won’t be able to do much, of course, but I’ll need them to file the report.”
Her words reminded Emma of what Caine had said about reporting her mugger, and it set off a sharp pang in her chest. Of helplessness—and of anger, too.
“I’ll get Mr. Wilkerson right now,” Connie said, threading her way back through the classroom. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”
She nodded and hugged herself against the chill in the air. “Thanks.”
Principal Mackey placed a manicured brown hand on her arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yes. Of course. Just surprised. And worried that it might upset the kids.” Emma supposed there was a teachable moment in this mess somewhere. Maybe she could use it as a good segue for talking to the students about the importance of caring for property that belongs to another person or the school. “I should email the parents to let them know in case the kids come home with questions.” Entirely likely, since kids this age were little question machines.
Principal Mackey nodded. “Maybe we can get the school resource officer to come over from the high school and pop in to say hi to the classes.” All the high schools in the county had an SRO, and the middle schools shared two officers, but the elementary schools didn’t have them yet.
“That might be good, too,” Emma said just as the janitor arrived, pushing a cart of tools and supplies. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Wilkerson.”
“Miss Kerry, Principal Mackey,” he said, his gaze going to the window. “I’ll get this all fixed right up.”
“Thank you,” Emma said. She blew out a long breath, needing to shake off the adrenaline running through her veins before the kids arrived. She didn’t want to do anything or behave in any way that might make them worry, and children were incredibly intuitive and empathetic.
Mr. Wilkerson made for the window, then stared up at it with his hands on his hips. “Mind if I move these books and bins so I can stand on this shelf?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. Let me clear some space,” she said, crossing the room.
The man shook his head. “No, ma’am. Everything’s covered with glass. I wouldn’t want you to get cut.”
She smiled. He always called her “ma’am” even though he couldn’t have been that much older than her twenty-seven, and that made her think of teasing Caine about calling her lady. But as Mr. Wilkerson cleared away her things and climbed up on the bookcase, Emma didn’t have time to think of the intriguing mystery that was her savior from the other night. Instead, she watched as Mr. Wilkerson cut a piece of plastic off a roll and began to duct tape a rectangle over the breach.
He was new this school year, and in addition to the attention he paid to his janitorial duties, he’d taken on a number of handyman projects around the school that everyone appreciated. Repairing a section of ductwork to the heating and cooling system that improved climate control in the whole kindergarten wing. Fixing windows around the school that didn’t close securely and which let in cold air or rain. Finishing the installation of the new Smart Board system the school received so that all the boards would be mounted before the first day of classes. He’d even volunteered to hang the cute puppets she’d found in an antique shop from her classroom ceiling for her. He always went above and beyond. This morning, she really appreciated that.
Emma collected her things off the floor. A stack of artwork she needed to add to the folders students took home every Tuesday and coloring and game sheets she’d copied for this week.
“Ow,” she said as something nicked the pad of her middle finger. She lifted the splayed-out pages to find a dagger of glass beneath.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Wilkerson was at her side in an instant. “Let me clean this up,” he said. “I’ll return everything to your desk, but let me get the glass up before you do anything more.”
“I’m fine. I thought I was being
careful,” she said, sucking the stinging cut into her mouth.
“Let me take care of, uh, of all this for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Mr. Wilkerson. Has anyone told you that today?” She retrieved a bandage from her desk drawer.
“You’re the first,” he said, smiling shyly.
“Well, I bet I won’t be the last. Okay, I’m officially leaving all this to you.” Especially since it was going to be even more important to have the art supplies all ready for the kids. Maintaining normalcy would be important today.
For them and for her. Because geez.
Soon, the kids started arriving. Emma had been right—they were a great distraction from her less-than-stellar mood. Of course, they immediately noticed the window and asked a million questions, and were already bouncing off the wall over the impending winter break. She loved every bit of it.
And those fuzzy pom-poms? They were a huge hit.
Just as they were cleaning up from art, their fuzzy trees, snowmen, and menorahs all laid out to dry, Emma spied Principal Mackey waving to her from outside her door. “Okay, girls and boys. Finish cleaning your areas, wash your hands, and take your seats, please,” Emma said before stepping outside her room.
“Miss Kerry,” Principal Mackey said, “this is Sheriff Martin. He’s filing the report about the vandalism and wanted to speak with you and say hello to your class.”
“Hello, Sheriff,” Emma said.
Sheriff’s hat in hand, the brown-haired man nodded. “Miss Kerry, this shouldn’t take long. I walked outside this whole side of the building and there’s nothing to indicate who might’ve done the vandalism. But could you describe to me what you saw and when?”
