Protective Instincts

by Mary Marvella

"No, half-and-half." She shrugged. She pulled a can of cinnamon from a shelf beside the stove and sprinkled some into the cocoa.

  When she brought the saucepan over to pour the bubbling liquid into cups her hands barely shook. "Um, Mr. Sa–, ah, Sam?" She took the lid from a container of whipped topping," Want some?"

  When he nodded, she dropped a dollop into his cup.

  "Might as well. Sean and I drank real hot chocolate when he was younger. It let him get his worries off his chest."

  "I know what you mean." She stared into her cup. "Daddy and I spent a few after-date hours over cups of the real thing. He believed in real, fat-laden comfort food when there was a problem to discuss."

  She couldn't believe she was telling him about her past. Maybe it was his understanding dad manner. He seemed like he really cared. Maybe nerves were making her ramble. She wanted to tell all the little things he'd already know if they were friends. She wanted him to tell her all about himself. Totally wrong.

  "You might as well tell me what's been keeping you awake nights. Maybe I can help."

  "How did you know?" She hadn't checked a mirror since his call. Could she look that bad?

  "If you're on the phone at two in the morning you aren't sleepin'. Why? Something frightened you. I saw you and your fear in my dream."

  "Why would I be in your dream? I had a crank call." The robe slid down on her shoulder when she reached for her cup.

  The man at her table stared at her as though he could read her thoughts. Did he realize how attractive he looked in rumpled clothes? It had been a long time since she'd sat across the table from a man.

  It had been a long while since she'd noticed a man on a personal level. Mr. Samuels was a very physical presence.

  She might as well tell him why she was awake at this ungodly hour. She needed to talk and he seemed determined to pull the truth from her. Staring into her cup, she exhaled heavily.

  Gathering her courage, she looked into his eyes. "I had several hang-up calls this week. Tonight I had an obscene call. I was startled when he actually spoke tonight." How could she verbalize what the pervert had said to her? Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Brit continued. "It was just unsettling."

  "No threats?" Sam asked as though he knew better. How could he?

  "Not really. It was just a call. Now he's had his say, so he'll probably leave me alone and pester someone else."

  "Don't count on it. Call the police and report the calls now." Sam stood and reached for the phone. "I'll dial."

  She hesitated too long. He dialed information, then the police station. By the time Brit made her way to Sam's side, a deep voice called from the instrument she had begun to hate.

  "Florence Police Department, Detective Johnson speaking."

  After clearing her throat several times, Brit spoke into the receiver, "Hello, my name is Brittany Roberts and I – I need to report an obscene phone call and maybe a break-in."

  "You didn't mention a probable break-in," Sam mouthed.

  She shushed and waved him away.

  Brit answered more questions than she put on true-false tests for her students and hung up the phone.

  "I'll explain about the break-in, but I've got to get dressed before the police get here."

  She escaped to her bedroom to put on slacks and a bulky sweater. When her doorbell rang, she walked down the hall carrying a brush.

  "You can do this," Sam whispered. He held out his hand palm up.

  When she placed her hand in his, he squeezed hers gently.

  The doorbell rang again. Brit bit her upper lip, squared her shoulders, then walked toward the front door.

  "Coming," she called. "Be right there."

  Officers Briggs and Jacobs were straight out of a television cop series. Briggs wore his uniform and his short haircut with a pride that made the military types look slouchy.

  Introductions took only seconds. Jacobs seemed to take the reason for Sam's presence in stride, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about finding a father visiting his son's teacher hours after midnight. Briggs acted less accepting.

  Brit hated to talk about her naïve acceptance of the food and flower order mix-up. The officers looked skeptical. She should have been suspicious, but Florence was a quiet little town.

  "What makes you think there might have been a break-in and when?" Jacobs arched an eyebrow and looked like he could see if she lied.

  "He said some things when he called this morning."

  "Just tell us as much as you can remember, please." Briggs said.

  "It was all so awful."

  "We have to know before we can evaluate the situation."

  Brit heaved a long sigh. "He mentioned my claw-foot bath tub and my robe — and what he wanted to do with my body." She repeated as much as she could, avoiding looking at Sam or the officers when she spoke of the sexual threats.

  "Has anyone been in and out of your house but you?" Jacobs wrote in his notebook. "Any repair men around?

  "No."

  "Have you noticed signs of forced entry?" Briggs narrowed his eyes.

  "I haven't looked yet, but I haven't had time to think, really. There was no reason to before tonight."

  "Ms. Roberts," Briggs angled his body toward her. "Have you noticed anyone who seemed to be hanging around when he shouldn't be?"

  "No." She shook her head. "I haven't really noticed anyone suspicious, but I haven't looked for anyone who didn't belong."

  Jacobs nodded his graying head as he continued to take notes. "Anyone follow you around in the grocery store? Offer to help you with your groceries?"

  "No one, Officer."

  "Come on too strong, maybe not take 'no' for an answer?"

  "No," Brit shook her head, toying with her sweater's hem.

  "Maybe you flirted with someone who misunderstood, thought you were offering more?" Briggs suggested.

  Sam moved from the protective position he'd adopted, advancing on the offensive questioner. He fisted his hands tightly against the need to hit the man. "Officer, I fail to see the reasoning behind your suggestive question."

  "A lady can smile at a man and make him think she's interested, even if she isn't. Some men get strange ideas these days." Briggs cleared his throat, his posture remained stiff. His gaze riveted on Sam's face. "What were you doing when Ms. Roberts got the call?" His accusation slipped through.

  "Sleeping. At my house, near here."

  Briggs frowned. "So you rushed over when the lady called?"

  "I called her." Sam felt his face flush. The accusation there couldn't be his imagination, asshole. He cleared his throat. "I had a nightmare about her being in danger and couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong." Sam wished he could take back those words. He didn't want these Keystone cops to think he was sleeping with the teacher. He hadn't breathed a word about his premonitions in more years than he had fingers and toes.

  Both cops handed Brit and Sam business card. Briggs reached for the door to leave, giving Sam a strange look. Does that cop believe I called her, then raced over here to save her?

  "Call either of us if you remember anything else, ma'am. Not much we can do about the phone call. We could stay on alert for a stalker or a break-in."

  Sam stayed after the boys in blue had finally gone. He forced his manner to be gentle. He still wanted to hit something. He touched her slender shoulders.

  "You did just fine."

  Brit looked ready to drop, but he wanted to make sure she would be all right alone.

  "Stay for one last cup of chocolate? I can nuke it."

  Sam joined her for a last cup of hot chocolate for the road. The kitchen was old but well remodeled.

  "So, who did your remodeling?" He liked the clutter of racks of utensils and copper-bottomed pots hanging like decorations. "You use all those things?"

  "Yes, I love to cook." Her smile wavered. "I sanded and painted and did most of the work on this room. It's good therapy." She stood and started to leave the kitchen.<
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  "You need caller ID, and a thorough check of all door and window locks, and an alarm system. This house is old, but we can fix any areas for easy forced entry."

  Looking toward the door, obviously as a direct hint, she smiled wanly at him "I'd already planned on it. I'll get a new cell phone, too. Now go home. I have to face more parents tomorrow."

  Daylight wasn't far away.

  Following her down the hall to her front door, he thought again, how appealing the lady looked sleep-rumpled.

  * * * *

  Douglas couldn't believe the police had shown up so early, but that could work in his favor. Breaking in and attacking the teacher tonight had been tempting. His plan wasn't written in stone. The fear in her voice pleased him. The actual executions he'd performed over the years had given him a rush but never this kind of high.

  Setting the stage was as important as doing the deed. Only a master at his craft could create a diversion so clever. By the time he was done with this job, no one would know who was responsible.

  The plan this time offered the aspect of entertainment. Once she told her blonde friend about the calls there would be a trail to a non-existent stalker. No one had fingered him yet. No one ever would. Nothing would get in his way. He wouldn't allow it.

  The man in the black truck had shown up twice. Was he the teacher's lover? For weeks, Douglas had watched and noted her every move. There had been no men at her house until tonight. He'd need to learn more about this possible problem.

  * * * *

  Before Brit left for school the next morning, she had worked a makeup miracle after almost no sleep. She'd pulled out all stops and used every trick in her repertoire. Around noon, she bolted down a sandwich and teacher's lounge coffee, otherwise called sludge. At least it was warm and packed a caffeine punch. Checking her mirror before her next parent conference assured her that her concealer and foundation had lasted the first half of the day, barely. They were beginning to wear thin, as was her patience.

  Brit sensed the presence of Sam Samuels before she looked up from her notes to enjoy the sight of him. His no-frills Old Spice scent was only part of the aura that was all strength.

  She heard him clear his throat across the room. Could last night be responsible for the new closeness she felt toward him? Surely, she was reacting to the protection he offered. His relaxed stance exuded confidence. His smile set off fireworks in her system.

  "Please, come in and have a seat." She glanced in the direction of desks directly in front of hers. Take control of the meeting. Tell the other person where to sit. She'd need all the help she could muster for this conference.

  "Let's talk about Sean." She called on her an in-charge, classroom manner. Was that the best she could do?

  "Yes, ma'am." His deep voice held amusement.

  She was so distracted by the memories of his charge to protect her she had to look away from his face. Making eye contact wasn't a good idea. Her pulse seemed a little fast, her chest tight.

  He acted as though he had forgotten their late night meeting. He hadn't even asked how she was. Casual, in a long sleeved, white dress shirt and jeans, Sam Samuels should be in an ad selling cigarettes or beer, maybe boots. His thick hair looked slightly mussed.

  She didn't usually become distracted when discussing a student. She had never faced a man who had suddenly become her protector, the man who had shown up on her doorstep after two in the morning, looking like he'd dragged himself out of bed to come to her. How would it feel to wake up beside this man?

  The undercurrents were strong, new.

  "Sean talks about your class a lot." Sam shifted his body in the student desk. He seemed all energy, like a man who seldom sat still.

  "Sean's grades have improved in the past month." She smiled. "His crush on Angela, you knew, of course?" At his nod she continued. "Well, it seems to be working in his favor. She's an excellent student in language arts and he wants to impress her."

  "Yeah, I know." Sam grinned. "For the first time I've had to limit his telephone lounging."

  "Telephone lounging?"

  "Uh huh, there are long periods of silence, then monosyllabic responses. He lounges on chairs, his bed, or the floor, looking like he'll go catatonic."

  "Oh, yes, I remember relaxing in positions my body won't even do anymore. My parents were sure I'd hurt myself or freeze in those positions. Today I definitely would."

  "Me, too. Old football injuries. "

  She needed to end this conference before she started imagining Sam in lounging positions. Too late. She took a sheet of paper from a neat stack and reached across her desk. "Here is a list of assignments every student needs to complete during the month, remind him so he'll keep his grades as good as they are now."

  When she'd handed him the papers he reached in his shirt pocket for a pair of glasses. She'd considered him the jock type, rugged, virile. The wire-rimmed glasses made him so very appealing.

  "Have you always wanted to be a teacher?" Sam glanced up from the assignment list.

  "Oh, yes, since I was in pre-school, at least." She grinned so hard her face hurt. Her chest tightened further. "Have you always wanted to be a security specialist?"

  "I wanted to be either a professional football player or a school coach. Halfway through college, I decided against either."

  "I see."

  "Well, Sean's car is being serviced, and he should be through with football practice. Guess I'd better go." Sean's dad stood, twisting to remove his man-sized body from the student-sized desk.

  Brit smiled. His awkwardness made him seem almost normal. She was reluctant to let him go, but she was ready to finish her conferences so she could get her stuff together and head home to her private space.

  Too bad, she felt like her home had been violated.

  The police were supposed to go by this morning and check all outside doors and windows for signs of forced entry. They had promised to send an officer by the school to tell her if they had found anything suspicious. No one had been by and she hadn't had time to call the station yet.

  She was tempted to ask Mr. Samuels to follow her home, but if he

  had to take Sean home that might alert the kid to her problem. He'd want to help, maybe even mention it to someone. She didn't need a student involved in this, whatever it was. Besides, someone would likely report it somewhere like Facebook or a gossip website. As far as she knew, she had managed to stay off of them. Someone would have commented if there had been anything about her. Other teachers weren't that lucky.

  Brit stood and extended her hand to him as she had each parent before him. His hand was callused and strong and warm. Her skin almost gleamed in its paleness against his tan. When she looked up to his face, the tension of his jaw spoke volumes. His eyes left no doubt he'd felt the intimacy of their clasped hands.

  He removed the glasses and slid them into his shirt pocket.

  "Bye, now," he said, then turned and left.

  Two hours and three conferences later she had to rub her palms against her legs when she thought of heading home alone after five o'clock. Would Mr. Samuels be in the parking lot to offer her an escort home, tonight? She probably wouldn't give him an argument this time. For the first time she dreaded the drive home. Her caller had stolen so much from her. How long had he stolen her privacy without her knowledge? She certainly didn't feel safe anymore.

  He'd looked about to say something personal earlier but he didn't. Their conference should have been simple. It would have been, if she had been able to say what she needed to say. Sean was doing well. Simple enough. Time to pack up and head out to the old Mustang. She needed rest. She needed to look into hiring a detective to find out who was watching her house. Mr. Samuels could likely install security cameras to catch the man who knew too much about her house and her habits.

  * * * *

  Sean and Sam sat in Sam's black truck, ready to leave the Florence High School parking lot. This had been a long day and the parking lot lights had come on.<
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  "Dad, can we have pizza tonight?"

  "After the practice you put in, you deserve it. I'm not sure I can handle it, though." Sam felt gut punched, pole-axed, wrung out, hung up to dry. He'd met Ms. Roberts to discuss Sean's grades and found his mind on her, frightened and vulnerable. Should he offer to follow her home tonight? His premonitions were quiet, at least for now.

  Maybe she had been right about the caller having made his point.

  Her gray silk blouse today had reeked of good taste and modesty. The way it draped over her breasts had him wanting to caress the soft fabric and what it hid. Wisps of ginger toned hair had escaped her French twist, all business but soft. He liked the tousled look. He'd wanted to touch her hair last night, with its fresh-from-bed look. He had needed to keep her safe and secure.

  "Dad, Dad?" Sean interrupted Sam's daydream. Oops, he must have missed something.

  "Yes, son?"

  "I need to go to Ms. Roberts' room and get a book. If I get an A on this project I can make an A for the semester."

  "Do you have to get it now?" Sam didn't think he'd be able to look at her violet eyes without thinking about the fear he'd seen in them. He didn't think he'd be able to leave her again with his cool intact. He certainly didn't need Sean watching him.

  "She's probably gone." Sam's hand was on the door handle, his keys in the lock already.

  "No, Dad, her car's still here. That real old Mustang over there is hers. Tough, huh?"

  "Yeah. She wasn't happy when I followed her home last night to be sure she made it."

  "Dad, you didn't!"

  "Well, it looks like car trouble waiting to happen."

  "Dad, she's had that car since she was in high school."

  "She basically told me to mind my own business … that she could take care of herself. But she didn't even have a cell phone in case of trouble." Sam left out mention of the late night visit and the reason for it. There was no reason to worry his son with information the teacher might not want spread around.

  The hair on the back of Sam's neck spiked. Stupid feeling. His gut hurt. He was light headed. Damn! This time he was near panic. This premonition was a bad one. Oh, shit!

  "Come on, son," Sam called over his shoulder as he headed back toward the school building. His heart raced, his breath sawed through his lungs and out. "Let's get that book and see that she leaves with us. She doesn't need to be here alone this late."