“How do you know that?”
“Because I spoke with the kid in question, and I know he had nothing to do with it.”
“But you’re obstructing justice by refusing to tell us who did do it!”
“Not really,” Kirkland said, pushing away from the wall where he’d been listening to the entire conversation for the better part of twenty minutes without bothering to inject a single word. But now he suddenly seemed interested.
“Who are you?” Michaels demanded.
“I’m Kirkland Parish. I’m the director of operations at Gray Wolf Security.”
“You’re the one the mayor spoke to about hiring your firm in the first place.”
“I am.”
“Why are you allowing your employee to hold back vital information?”
“Because he’s right. You didn’t hire us to find out which one of your students was angry enough to destroy a single classroom. You hired us to find the vandals who stole from your school.”
“There’s a very thin line there, Mr. Parish.”
“There is. But if my operative believes that the kid in question is not connected to the original crime and that he or she is unlikely to commit such a vandalism again, then I don’t believe it has anything to do with what we were hired to do.”
“What about the fact that he knows the name of the culprit in a crime and he’s refusing to submit that information? That’s a crime in itself.”
Kirkland glanced at me. “He is a private citizen who came to you and told you he believes this culprit has seen the error of his ways and has promised never to commit such a crime again. And he’s offered restitution. I believe that is more than generous.”
“I’d rather have the name.”
“What would ruining this kid’s life achieve?” I demanded. “The damages will be paid for. What more do you want?”
Michaels glared at me, but I could see he was beginning to back off.
“Five thousand dollars, here on my desk,” he announced. “By the end of business tomorrow.”
“There was nowhere near that much damage!” I cried.
Kirkland touched my arm. “Is a check okay?”
Michaels shrugged. But he looked like the dog who got the cat’s canary.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Kirkland said as we walked out of the office.
“I do.”
“And I hope this kid is worth it. That’s a hell of a lot of money.”
I glanced at Kirkland, assessing the dark jeans and silk shirt he was wearing, thinking of the cocktail dress his wife was wearing over a pair of cotton tights this morning. It wasn’t like the Parish’s were hurting for money. And it wasn’t like he was paying for it.
“The kid’ll pay me back.”
“He’ll pay Gray Wolf back.”
“No. I won’t have Sutherland paying for this.”
“Sutherland won’t be. Gray Wolf will.” Kirkland stopped in the middle of the empty corridor to face me. “I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but Gray Wolf isn’t just an employer. It’s a family. We take care of our own.”
“This kid isn’t part of Gray Wolf.”
“But you are, and you put your neck out for the kid. Gray Wolf has your back.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. Sutherland—”
“I told you, this isn’t about Sutherland.” Kirkland rolled back on his heels, his eyes intense on my face. “There was once a time when I didn’t get it either. I was determined to always do things my way, to hell with everyone else. But you can only live that way for so long before things become too overwhelming to face.”
“I’m not trying to be a martyr,” I said. “I just won’t allow this to come back on Sutherland or this kid.”
“And it won’t. Gray Wolf will cover the fee, and you can work out whatever you want with that kid.”
“And Sutherland?”
“She’s not bankrolling Gray Wolf. Ash is.”
“But I know the only reason Gray Wolf came to Sutherland was to help her with the ranch.”
“And we are. She’ll get forty percent of the fee the school district has promised to pay at the successful resolution of this case.”
I hadn’t known that. “Forty percent?”
“It’s the best Ash could get her to agree to.”
“I’m surprised she agreed to that much.”
Kirkland smiled. I think it was the first time I’d seen a genuine smile on his face.
“She is a stubborn lady.”
“She is.”
“Look, we have no problem paying this restitution. If you believe this kid deserves a second chance, then we’ll back you up this once. But if he does something like this again, you’re on your own.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you made this promise as an employee of Gray Wolf. Because we believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. And because it’s the right thing to do.”
I nodded, unable to deny that I was relieved. Five thousand dollars might not be a lot of money to someone like Kirkland Parish, but it was a lot to me. But that didn’t mean I felt grateful enough to offer any sort of thanks.
“I should get back to work.”
I moved around him and headed out. I needed to get back to the high school before everyone left for the day. I was planning on hanging out with the janitor today, see what he might or might not have overheard about the vandals. Janitors were surprisingly full of information at most businesses, especially a school. And I’d heard this lady was particularly close with some of the kids.
But I was running out of leads. The police hadn’t found anything with all their technology, particularly since the security cameras had been shut down that night. How was I supposed to learn anything from observation and gossip? But if it meant Sutherland getting some much-needed influx of cash for the ranch, I’d keep plugging away.
That was what was important to me.
Chapter 8
Jonnie
I couldn’t stop thinking about Hank. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of days, but the whole faculty was talking about what he’d done for Bobby Jensen. Some thought he’d made a mistake, helping a kid who was running down a bad road. But others were impressed with his compassion, calling it a reaffirmation of humanity.
I stood with the latter group. It’d been a long time since I’d seen someone do something so selfless. I mean, paying the restitution was incredibly generous, especially for someone who probably didn’t make a lot at his job. And then I felt bad for thinking that because I knew Hank would accuse me of once again looking down on him because of his position. I wasn’t really looking down on him. I was putting him up on a pedestal. But I was sure he wouldn’t see it that way.
I stayed late every night this week hoping to run into him. When I heard his voice outside my classroom, my heart jumped into my throat. The memory of his kiss make my cheeks flush hotly. I couldn’t remember the last time just the sound of a man’s voice made my lower belly turn into a bowl of Jell-O.
I went to the door and watched as he stood with one of the janitors, asking him about the night of the break in. The janitor was mumbling, speaking so low that I couldn’t quite hear what he was telling Hank. But Hank seemed to hang onto his every word.
It’d been almost a month since the break-ins began, nearly two weeks since Hank showed up the first time. There was still no progress on the case, and I knew that was making many in administration nervous. I wished there was something I could do to help Hank solve this issue, but I wasn’t hearing much more from the gossip network than he obviously was. If any of the kids or the teachers knew who was behind these break-ins, no one was talking about it.
Hank finished his conversation and turned in my direction, but like before, he pretended he didn’t see me. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it again.
I stepped out into the hall and blocked his exit.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
&nbs
p; His eyes fell wearily over my face, making it clear that he wasn’t really interested in talking to me. But he nodded and politely gestured for me to lead the way back into my classroom.
“I heard what you did for Bobby Jensen,” I said the moment we were alone. “It was very generous.”
He shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Everyone’s talking about it. No one else would have put their neck out for him like that.”
“The kid deserves a break.”
“He does. But there are a dozen kids around here with a story like his. Why him?”
Hank turned away, pacing the length of the room and taking a pencil that was left behind on one of the desks. He played with the pencil, twirling it between his fingers, but he didn’t appear too anxious to answer my question. But again, I thought I knew the answer already.
“I heard you tell him about your parents. Was all that true?”
He gave me a look that suggested I was insane for even thinking it might not be true. And he was right; I should have known better. Cowboys are the most honest people you might meet. They were kind of like ancient knights in that way; chivalry wasn’t just an idea, it was a way of life with them.
I leaned back against the closed door and watched him with a new appreciation.
“It must have been hard for you, watching your parents self-destruct that way.”
“Ranching was the only life either of them had ever known. My mother grew up on her father’s ranch, a place three times the size of the one my father inherited. Neither of them knew what to do in the city, living in a cramped apartment with neighbors that seemed incapable of keeping to themselves.”
“I’m sure it was hard on them. But you were their only child, right?”
“I have a sister, but she’s older. She was married by the time all that happened.”
“She and her husband didn’t help?”
“They couldn’t. Her husband made his living riding the rodeo circuit at the time. He couldn’t afford to pay the rent, let alone help my parents with their considerable debts.”
“And you? You quit high school to help them?”
His eyes cut sharply over my face and then lowered again, his fingers twirling that pencil like he was some sort of illusionist conducting an experiment. There was new tension in his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to feel the need to answer that question, either.
“I don’t judge you for what you did. In fact, I think it was noble. I don’t think I would have done anything like that to help my parents.”
“I don’t suppose you would have needed to.”
“Just because we had money doesn’t mean we didn’t have problems.”
He snorted softly and turned away from me again.
“Why are you always so angry with me? What have I done to make you think that I think I’m so much better than you?”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“Just because I grew up wealthy you assume I look down on you? Isn’t that the same sort of prejudgment that you accuse me of doing?”
“It would be if I was wrong.”
“You are wrong. I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to get to know you.”
“No one asked you to.”
“No. It’s just something people do.”
He glanced at me again, but again he didn’t respond.
“It’s a human thing, you know, people wanting to get to know other people. We might like to think we are solitary creatures, but we really aren’t.”
“That might be true of you, but I’m okay with my own company.”
“Is that why you’re so good at getting information out of people? Because you don’t really care about them or their situation?” I smiled softly. “Is that why you got Bobby Jensen to confess something to you he never would have told anyone else? Not even his parents?”
“Is that why you asked me in here? To grill me on my motivations?”
“No. I called you in here because we had a moment the other night, and I wanted to know if it meant anything to you.”
I bit my lip the moment the words had come out, afraid of how he would react to my sudden burst of honesty. His behavior these last few days—that is to say, his avoidance of me—should have answered that question without the need to speak it aloud. But I guess I was a little masochistic.
He stopped twirling the pencil, but his eyes remained fixed on his hand.
“I like you, Hank,” I said. “Why can’t I get to know you?”
“Because I’m not in your league.”
“What league is that?”
His eyes slowly came up to my face. Then he crossed the room and pushed me up against the door harder than he probably intended. His hands moved over my face and my throat, his fingertips lingering on my chin, on that space just above the cleavage revealed by my low-cut blouse. And then his mouth was on mine, his lips soft, but rough, his eagerness heart stopping.
I pressed my chest up against his and wrapped my arms around his neck. I couldn’t help but run my fingers through his hair, a part of me missing the hat he normally wore but was gone today. But I liked that I could run my fingers over the bumps of his skull and that I had free access to his surprisingly silky hair.
His hand came down over my hip, his fingers seeking places that were hidden under my pencil skirt. A part of me wished I’d chosen to wear a shorter skirt today, that I’d worn something that offered a little easier access. I wanted his hands on my skin, wanted him to touch me in those places he was seeking but not finding. I wanted him.
His lips moved down over my chin, barely skimming the skin on my throat. And then his hot breath was caressing the tops of my breasts. I pulled him closer, my own breathing growing labored as my nerves jumped and shook with anticipation. I could feel my juices flowing and my lower belly tightening with something more than anticipation or desire. It was a deep-seated need, a sense that if this didn’t happen, I would suffer, but if it did, I would never be the same again.
A little trickle of fear danced in my chest even as the desire burned and expanded inside of me. I pressed my hips against him, seeking a relief that wasn’t coming. But then his hand slipped over my thigh, his fingers inching up the material of my skirt. If my hands weren’t so tangled in his hair and the material of his shirt, I might have reached down to help him move that frustrating skirt out of the way. It was a quandary, deciding whether or not to move my hands and allow him access to my body, or find access to his body.
I tugged at his shirt, pulling at the open buttons at the top, disappointed to run into more material instead of less. He was wearing an undershirt during the warmest fall we’d had in years. But the pearl snap buttons came free easily, bursting apart with very little effort and exposing the thin layer of cotton that hugged his muscular chest. It was almost enough to simply touch that thin material and feel the heat of his skin coming through. I could feel his heart, too, pounding against my fingers. But I wanted more. I was convinced I would always want more with him.
But then he was backing up, pulling away just when things were beginning to get good and just as his fingers brushed against the bare skin of my thigh.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t believe he would pull away like that.
“Hank,” I grumbled—or, rather, whined. I’m not sure which.
He turned his back on me and began snapping his buttons back into place. Every tiny sound of the buttons clicking into place was like a tiny knife being shoved into my heart.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
He shook his head. “I told you.”
“Tell me again because, apparently, I forgot.”
“I’m not in your league. We have no future.”
“Who said anything about a future?” I asked, suddenly exasperated. “Why do we have to decide if we’re commitment material right now? Can’t we just go with the moment? Aren’t cowboys ever spontaneous?”
His eyes were heavy-hooded when he looked over
at me.
“You aren’t the kind of girl who would be satisfied with a one night sort of thing.”
“What do you know about me? You’ve never bothered to ask me anything.”
“I know enough.”
“You know my parents were rich. You know that I grew up in privilege. You know I love literature.” I pushed away from the door and made a great show of angrily pulling down my skirt. “But you never asked me anything else. You’ve never made an attempt to learn anything that isn’t obvious.”
“Why should I? You’re an open book, Jonnie.”
I brushed past him and threw myself into my chair, tugging the essays—yes, more essays—I was supposed to be grading out of the basket where my students had deposited them.
“If you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“You’re angry.”
“You think?”
There was amusement dancing in his eyes. “Maybe I should go.”
“You’re good at that, running away every time things get tough.”
That made the amusement disappear.
His eyes narrowed as he regarded me. “You should be careful, the way you talk to people.”
“Why? Would it make you be honest with someone for once? That would certainly be refreshing.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I’m accusing you of ignoring what’s right in front of your face.” I pushed back from my desk and glared at him. “I’m accusing you of ignoring what you want.”
“You sure are full of yourself, Miss Frakes.” He waved his hand at me in a dismissive gesture before turning toward the door. “I don’t have time in my life for this kind of drama.”
“Then you must not have time to be a normal, healthy human being.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that life comes with drama, Hank. If you want to avoid drama, then you should probably just give up now.”
He shook his head and walked out, slamming the door so hard that the glass vibrated in all the windows around the room. I buried my face in my hands and sighed, fighting the tears that wanted to express themselves. I wasn’t going to give in to this. Not here. Not now.
Gray Wolf Security: Wyoming Page 7
