“Did he tell you where he’d been all week?”
“No.”
“His hand was bandaged Thursday morning.”
“Mitch, he’s going to make it, I know it.” She smiled. “Some of it’s due to you now. How can I thank you for this?”
An image of sweaty sheets wrapped around her flashed into his mind. To banish it, he glanced at the clock. “I know it’s late, but let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.”
She studied him for a minute. “Me, too. I usually have a light supper after the game.” Her smile was innocent. “I made minestrone soup. It’s waiting in my Crock-Pot at home. Want to join me for some?”
Shaking his head, he knit his brows. “I’d never guess you liked to cook. You’re full of surprises, Ms. Smith.”
This time, a Jezebel smile came to her full lips. “You’d better believe it, Captain.”
* * *
The soup was great, the company even better. They ate in front of the fire Mitch had started while Cassie dished up their supper. By tacit agreement, they stayed away from subjects that would drive a wedge between them. After the meal, Mitch sat on the floor, his back against the couch, sipping coffee. “Tell me about how you grew up,” he said.
She hadn’t expected that. Her stomach knotted at the thought of the disclosure. “You know most of it,” she said, stalling.
“I know you’re from Bayview Heights, you went to the high school here and were….”
Grinning, she finished the sentence for him. “I was a brat. I had a real chip on my shoulder that nobody could budge.”
“Someone must have.”
“Yeah.” She glanced around the room, her eyes finally focusing on the rows of books by the fireplace. “Seth Taylor did.” She swallowed. “He was my English teacher.”
Mitch tracked her gaze. “He taught you to love literature?”
“He taught me to love myself.” It just slipped out, past defenses that she hadn’t known she was tired of erecting until this one crumbled a little.
“It’s hard for an adult to keep a kid straight.”
“Well, after he helped get me on the right track, a very popular student befriended me. She was a real prom queen type, and at first I didn’t trust her, didn’t believe she wanted to be my friend.”
“Why did she?”
“Lacey had a brother who was always in trouble. None of the so-called good kids wanted anything to do with him. I guess she felt that was unfair.” Cassie smiled at the memory. “And she said I added color to her life. But it was mostly Seth who got me on the right track. I’ll never forget it.”
“That explains some things.”
“Like?
“There’s a special bond between you two.”
Cassie smiled again. “There is.”
“It also explains your single-mindedness about the kids.”
“I guess it does. Seth helped me change my life. I want to help my students change theirs.” Shadows, dark and deep, crossed Mitch’s face. Cassie said, “What is it?”
He shook his head.
“Mitch?”
“Helping kids...doesn’t always work.”
“Something happened to you, didn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Want to talk about it?”
“I can’t.”
She was sitting about five feet away from him, leaning against a chair. Rising to her knees, she inched over to him, then sat back on her legs. “I want to know you better. Talk to me.”
This close to him, she could see his throat convulse. He was scared of talking; she recognized the signs. He finally said, “Can we, ah, start with something easier than this?”
“Sure.” She touched his arm, squeezed and started to remove her hand. He grabbed it and held it tightly. “Where did you grow up?” she asked.
“In the city.”
“In New York?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“On the Upper East Side.”
Her brows arched.
“My father was a doctor.”
“Wow.”
“We had money, advantages.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“No, they died five years ago. Within six months of each other.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was.”
“You and Kurt are close.”
Mitch nodded. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, there was just me and my mother.”
“Is she alive?”
Cassie shook her head. “She died when I was in college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Geneseo. In Upstate New York. What about you?”
His face shuttered. “Once I decided I wanted to rise in the ranks of the police force, I went to John Jay for criminal justice.”
“You didn’t go right after high school?” Cassie asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
He took in a deep breath. “A lot of reasons.” Glancing at the clock on the opposite wall, he said, “Look, it’s getting late. School’s godawful early. I don’t know how you—”
Gently, she placed her fingers over his mouth. “Shh. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. Just say so. I know what it’s like to need to keep things inside. Under control.”
“It’s hard for me to open up.”
Right at that moment, she felt like his soul mate. “I know. Me, too.”
He just stared at her. She didn’t look away; she felt his hand squeeze hers tightly. Suddenly, the mood shifted. It had been tense with emotional disclosure. Now it was charged with a different kind of tension. He reached up and grasped the stubborn strand of hair that had escaped from her braid again. “This piece of hair is just like you.” He rubbed it between his fingers.
Cassie swallowed but didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.
“It’s rebellious. It won’t stay in its place.” He slid his hand around to the back of her head. She felt a tug, then his fingers were loosening her braid. His hands moved rhythmically through her hair until it fell around her shoulders and face. “I like your hair down.”
“You do?”
“Mmm.” He studied it, caressed it. “It’s luscious.”
“Luscious. That’s quite a word.”
“Mmm. A new vocabulary word.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. And seduction. “I can think of lots of vocabulary words that apply to you.”
Cassie cleared her throat, wanting to prolong the flirting. “Tell me.”
He stared into her eyes for interminable seconds, then his hand left her hair and trailed around to her mouth. “Sensuous,” he said as he brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb. “Soft,” he told her as his knuckles swept over her cheek. The calloused tips of his fingers moved to her neck and glided up and down. “Sexy...” he whispered.
Tilting her head back, Cassie savored the caress. His grip tightened in her hair; his breath speeded up. His hand followed the zipper of her sweat suit down her chest. She held her breath as he moved his fingers to the left and closed them over her breast. “Supple,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “So, so supple.”
“Oh, God.” She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
“Look at me, Cassandra.”
She did. He flexed his hand, gently squeezed her, massaged her. “Your eyes...they’re glowing.”
Caught, intoxicated by the things he was saying and doing, she leaned into him further. “More” was all she said.
He lowered his head. His mouth brushed hers, the touch sending currents through her whole body. Back and forth. Slowly. Too slowly. She moaned against his lips.
“More?” he asked.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
Rational thought was slipping away from him. Control, always so important, was fading. The feel of her, full and hot in his hand, was stripping him of the iron will he’d carefully honed over the years.
And right
now, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to fill his senses with her.
When she swayed toward him, he took advantage of the movement. Grasping her shoulders with both hands, he tugged and she came up to her knees and onto his lap. Settling there, she angled her body to him. One of his arms cradled her back while his other went around her waist. She angled her chin. Again, the clear invitation was impossible to resist. He lowered his mouth.
He took her lips as gently as he could. But when she reached up and circled his neck with her hand, he deepened the kiss. Coaxing her lips open, he tasted her and the last vestige of control snapped. He consumed her, took what she offered with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. She strained against him. His hand came up to cup her breast again. He heard himself groan. Against her mouth, he said, “Cass, you feel so good.”
She squirmed on his lap. “You, too.” Inching into him, as if she needed to be closer, she said, “Mitch...” Her mouth left his and went to his neck. Her teeth scraped against his skin and his whole body bucked.
After a few more moments of bliss, he encircled her with both arms and held her close. They stayed that way for a long time, then she drew back. Her eyes were cloudy with desire, her mouth a little swollen. Her cheek was red from his beard, and he frowned when he saw it. The evidence of his lack of control sobered him.
“I should go,” he said gruffly.
“Why?”
Tenderly, he brushed the hair out of her eyes. “I knew if I ever touched you, I’d have trouble controlling myself.”
Some women would have been angry. Some would have taken his confession as a challenge. It didn’t help his raging libido a bit when he saw understanding in Cassie’s eyes. “It’s hard for you, isn’t it?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“All right. You should go.”
“Cassie?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m not sorry.”
She smiled. “Oh, good. I wouldn’t want you to be sorry.”
* * *
On Tuesday morning, Mitch walked into Cassie’s classroom twenty minutes early. He hoped to find her alone, anxious to see her. She looked up from her desk when he knocked lightly. Her smile was like the sunrise after a night filled with terrible dreams.
“Hi,” he said from the doorway.
“Hi.”
“Sleep well?”
She smiled. “As well as can be expected. You?”
“About the same.”
“I feel good today, though.”
“Mmm, you felt good last—” He broke off the innuendo when Zoe came to the door.
“Cassie?” Zoe glanced at Mitch. “Oh, hi, Mitch. I was wondering which day is your lesson on juvenile crime?” She faced Cassie. “My tenth-graders are coming, right?”
“Tomorrow,” Cassie said, her voice husky. “And yes, they’re coming.”
Then the kids began to straggle in for homeroom, and that was the end of their talk for the day.
It was during class that Mitch noticed Joe DeFazio’s outfit. Black and red. There was some kind of patch on his T-shirt. Mitch wasn’t sure why, but the colors and the odd-looking decal bothered him. Halfway through class, he realized it was because DeFazio had been wearing black and red for days now. He filed the information away.
On Wednesday, Mitch taught the lesson on juvenile crime. The sobering statistics had the students hanging on to his words. Having prepared it with Cassie the week before, he was ready for the kids’ questions. What he wasn’t ready for was Battaglia’s support.
“Shut up, you guys,” Johnny said when DeFazio and Youngblood made a wisecrack about the information Mitch put on the board.
Mitch listened to see if there was any sarcasm in Battaglia’s voice. He heard none,
“Since when you like the cop’s lessons?” DeFazio’s voice grated on Mitch’s nerves.
“You moron,” Johnny said. “You’re going to be one of those statistics if you don’t shape up.”
Carefully, Mitch quelled any further hostility by resuming his talk. Afterward, he caught Battaglia by the arm as the kids were moving on to their next class. “How’s the job going?” he asked Johnny.
“Great. Your brother—he’s really cool.” Johnny stuck his hands in his jacket pockets self-consciously. “He teaches us things, you know. He doesn’t just have us emptying bedpans.”
Mitch smiled at the actions of his altruistic brother. “Is that so?”
Johnny watched Mitch. “I, uh, I never thanked you for setting this up for me.”
“You can thank me by doing a good job, there and in school,” Mitch said gruffly, more moved by Battaglia’s gratitude than he wanted to admit.
“Yeah, right,” the kid said, and left.
Mitch turned to find Cassie standing behind him. “What?” he asked, but didn’t really need an answer. There was admiration on her face that made him feel so good he wanted to shout with joy. Damn, she was getting to him. They all were.
When he was leaving school that day for the station, he caught sight of Joe DeFazio coming out of the bathroom with two boys. One Mitch didn’t recognize. One was Mike Youngblood. A sharp sound startled DeFazio, then he whipped a small square black object out of his coat pocket. A beeper. Mitch stepped behind a post, watched DeFazio walk to a nearby pay phone and make a call. He smiled silkily as he answered the page.
When he was done, he turned back to the two boys. Mitch left his concealed position and approached them. “Good stuff.” He heard the comment just before Youngblood spotted Mitch and kicked DeFazio in warning.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Mitch said to them.
Three pairs of anxious eyes looked up at him.
“Hand it over, Mr. DeFazio.”
“What?”
“The pager. They’re banned in school.”
Defiance burned in the boy’s eyes. “You got a search warrant?”
“I don’t need one. Not with probable cause. I saw it and heard it go off. Now, hand it over. You can pick it up in Mr. Taylor’s office after school.”
DeFazio yanked out the pager, slapped it into Mitch’s hand and stalked off. As he stomped down the hall, something about the way he looked raised the hair on the back of Mitch’s neck. He stared after DeFazio and the two kids who followed him.
It was their hair. Though there was no set fashion in schools today—football players shaved their heads, the volleyball team dyed theirs blond and several computer hacks had theirs styled in Mohawks—there was something about the way these kids had their hair shaved on the side that set off Mitch’s trouble detector.
On Thursday, he stayed at school to have lunch with Cassie. In her room, they shared sandwiches from the cafeteria. “Thanks for inviting me,” he said as he bit into ham and cheese.
“I wanted some time with you.”
“Any particular reason?”
She smiled. “It’s a little awkward, isn’t it? Seeing each other after Monday.”
He chewed slowly, then said, “A little.”
“Still no regrets?”
He shook his head. “You?”
“None.”
He thought for a minute, then said, “You busy Friday night?”
“No.”
“Cassie, how come there’s no man in your life?” The uncensored question surprised them both.
She waited a minute before she answered. “After my marriage ended, I wasn’t so anxious to jump back into the fray. I’ve dated, but nothing serious.”
Jealousy snaked inside of him, shocking him with its vehemence. “You were married?”
“Yes. I’ve been divorced for six years.”
“That’s a long time to be alone.”
She nodded. “As I said, I’ve dated, but I just haven’t been interested much since then.” She blushed like a virgin. “What did you have in mind for Friday?”
He didn’t dare tell her what was on his mind right at that minute. Instead, he asked her to dinner. He was thinking about where they’d go as he walked down t
he hall after their lunch.
Again, as yesterday, he happened upon DeFazio. Again, the kid was dressed in a combination of black and red. He met a member of Wednesday’s trio, the boy Mitch hadn’t recognized, by the john again, glanced around and then stuck out his hand, his palm facing forward. They slapped each other in a high-five gesture, then closed their fists. Knuckles met knuckles, DeFazio’s fist topped the other boy’s, then they reversed the order and finally splayed their hands, palms facing each other again.
Unnoticed, Mitch sighed and leaned against the wall.
Hand signals.
A distinctive hairstyle.
Black and red colors.
Paged in the middle of the day.
All were clear signs of gang activity.
His own words came back to him. If I see any evidence of gang activity, I’m stepping in.
Swearing to himself, Mitch reversed direction and headed toward Seth Taylor’s office. Luckily, the principal’s meeting was just ending.
Taylor looked up from behind his desk as Mitch came to the doorway. “Hi. What can I do for you?”
“Got a minute?”
Taylor called out, “Sue, do I have a minute?”
The secretary in the outer office called back good-naturedly, “Yeah, you’ve got forty of them. You need to be at the administration building by two, though.”
Mitch stepped into Taylor’s office and closed the door. For a few seconds, he studied the principal, the man who had made such a difference in Cassie’s life.
“What’s up?” Taylor asked
“I...” Mitch looked around, thinking about sad gray eyes.
If you go into this gang prevention stuff now, I’ll lose Johnny for good. He’ll never take this from you. He already dropped out once.
“We may have a problem.”
“We?”
Mitch felt himself redden. Since when had he started thinking of himself as part of Bayview Heights High School? This wasn’t good at all.
“Uh, you do. At least I think you do.” Briefly, Mitch explained what he’d seen. As he talked, Seth’s brow furrowed, he shook his head, and his face grew somber.
When Mitch was done, Seth slapped his hand on his desk. “I won’t tolerate this. What should I do?”
“Several things. First, is there a written policy anywhere outlining the prohibition of gangs in your school?”
Heart Stealers Page 11
