No Way Out

by Andrea Kane

  "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ms. Lager," Julia returned, her voice trembling with outrage. "Nor do I have any idea where you get your nerve. This is a school. I am a teacher. You're invading my work space during teaching hours. Please excuse yourself and leave."

  Rather than be put off, Cheryl Lager seemed hopeful. "Does that mean I can call you at home?" she asked. "If so, that's fine with me. We can work out a convenient time, at which point we can ..."

  "Ms. Lager, let me ask you a question. How would your newspaper feel about a lawsuit? Because you're bordering on one right now."

  The voice emerged out of nowhere, but Julia knew without looking who it belonged to.

  Connor Stratford.

  Based on her white-faced reaction, Cheryl Lager recognized it, too.

  "Mr. Stratford," she managed, veering about to face him. "I was just asking Ms. Talbot..."

  "Interrogating her, you mean." He jerked his head in the direction of her tape recorder. "I suggest you turn that thing off. Now." The instant she complied, he turned his ice-blue gaze on Julia. "You don't have to answer anything. Nor do you have to put up with harassment by overbearing reporters."

  "I don't intend to," she assured him. "In fact, I was just telling Ms. Lager to leave. Which she was about to do. Weren't you, Ms. Lager?" Julia's eyes sparked fire.

  Reluctantly, the reporter nodded. "All right." She began walking away, pausing to aim a quick, contemplative look in Brian's direction.

  "Don't even flunk about it," Connor warned, obliterating any notion she might have of approaching Brian directly. "Go within ten feet of my nephew, and I'll have you arrested. Think how attractive that headline would read."

  His threat had the desired effect. Cheryl Lager marched off to her car and drove away.

  "What nerve," Julia breathed, still infuriated. "No wonder the media gets a bad name. Bloodsuckers like that see to it."

  "She's scum, all right," Connor agreed, glaring after the reporter. "Then again, she's far from unique. And that applies to more than just the press. Most people have an agenda. You'd be shocked at what lengths they'd go to to achieve them."

  "That's pretty cynical, wouldn't you say?" Julia inquired.

  "Nope." He met her gaze and shrugged. "Pretty realistic—when you're dealing with people over the age of twelve and outside a classroom, that is."

  Julia was getting very tired of his condescending attitude. "Then I'm glad I'm inside a classroom and dealing with seven- and eight-year-olds. In fact, I think more people should work in elementary schools. It might do them—and their agendas—some good."

  "Could be."

  There was that charged air again, hovering between them like repelling magnets.

  Or was it attracting magnets that were so totally opposite in their charges?

  "Yoo-hoo, hello." Robin cut through the thick wall of tension, sticking out her hand and smiling at Connor, her pert, all-American features coming to life at the sight of a good-looking man. "I'm Robin Haley. I work in the computer lab here. And I think your nephew is great"

  Connor reacted with a mildly apologetic look and a firm handshake. "Connor Stratford. And forgive my bad manners. I was sidetracked by that reporter and my urge to choke her."

  "If you say so." Robin's grin turned impish. 'To me, it seemed as if it was Julia you wanted to choke. I guess that was just spill-over from your anger at Ms. Lager. Right?"

  Her implication found its mark, and Connor's dark brows shot up. "I think I've just been accused of venting at the wrong person. If I did, I apologize."

  "Julia accepts your apology," Robin assured him. "Don't you, Julia?"

  Julia was actually wishing the ground would swallow her up. "No apology is necessary. Brian's uncle and I just don't see eye to eye"

  "Ah, is that the problem?" Robin's tone said she knew better. "I got a different impression. No matter. As for Ms. Lager," she continued to Connor, "I don't blame you. Her questions bordered on slander."

  "And maybe struck too close to home," Julia said under her breath.

  She hadn't meant for Connor to overhear her. Unfortunately, he did.

  He stiffened, turning to level that piercing stare on her. "Miss Talbot, may I speak with you alone?"

  A knot formed in the pit of Julia's stomach. She'd definitely overstepped her bounds. But somehow she didn't care. Maybe because she was worried about Brian. Maybe because she was pissed off at his uncle. Probably both.

  "All right." She raised her chin, her gaze sweeping the playground before meeting his. "But only for a minute. I've got to watch the kids. Not to mention that any second now, Brian's going to notice you and come charging over."

  "A minute, then." He looked politely at Robin. "Would you excuse us?"

  "By all means." Robin looked as if she was biting back laughter. "And I'll watch the kids, too. So you two can take a full minute and concentrate on killing each other. Or whatever."

  Julia walked the short distance to the building, pausing in an alcove that was as private as you got on a Friday afternoon at three.

  "Let me guess," she began, pivoting around to face Connor. She folded her arms across her breasts, ready and willing to do battle. "You didn't like my comment. Correction, you didn't like the fact that it was true."

  His piercing gaze narrowed, and he studied her intently for a moment. "This isn't about me and what I do or don't like. This is about protecting my family."

  "Isn't Brian part of that family?"

  "You know the answer to that."

  "Then he deserves your protection, too."

  "He has it."

  "Does he?" Julia's chin came up another notch. She wasn't going to back down, not this time. "He's hurting. He's exhausted; he looks as if he didn't shut an eye last night. He's quiet and withdrawn. We both know that's not Brian. Something's wrong. The fact that you're here today is evidence of that. That's twice this week you've left your financial empire to drive up here and see Brian. You're worried about him, too. Only you know what the problem is. I don't."

  A muscle worked in Connor's jaw. "You didn't mention any of this to that reporter, did you?"

  "Of course not. I didn't tell her anything, except to get lost. But Cheryl Lager's not the problem. She can be kept away, by legal means, if necessary. The problem is Brian, his state of mind. What's going on at home? Is it the campaign? Is it chewing up too much of the mayor's time? Is the emotional pressure too great for his family to take in stride? I can understand that. A tough campaign, long hours. But Brian doesn't fall apart that easily. He's used to his father being in the public eye. So my instincts tell me it's more. Is it?"

  "Brian was up late," Connor replied, his expression never changing. "He's tired. He'll be fine after a weekend's rest."

  Julia's final vestige of patience snapped. "Stop trying to placate me. This isn't fatigue. It's more. And the fact that you're evading ray questions makes me wonder if Cheryl Lager was right about the problem being financial. I saw the mayor's reaction to her questions about monetary backing. He was upset. So were you."

  Anger glinted in his eyes. "She questioned my integrity. I shot her down. And I wasn't upset. I was furious. There's a difference."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "I don't like its implications."

  'There are no implications," Julia exclaimed, utterly frustrated. "I like your brother. I voted for him. I'll vote for him again. He's a fine man, and an honest one. He's done great things for Leaf Brook, and I have no doubt he'll do even greater things for New York. I don't care if you and your father bankroll him to Albany. Just tell me why Brian is being impacted by all this, and I'll go away."

  "For the last time, Brian is fine. He just needs some sleep. As for Stephen's schedule, yes, he's insanely busy. And yes, Brian misses him. But we've taken steps to fix that. I'll be there to fill in for my brother wherever and whenever Brian needs me."

  "How are you going to do that from Manhattan?"

  "I won't be in Manhattan
. I'm staying at Stephen and Nancy's house."

  That brought Julia up short. "You're staying there? For how long?"

  "Like I said, for as long as I'm needed."

  "What about your company? Your clients?"

  A corner of Connor's mouth lifted. "Why? Worried about me losing money? Don't be. Technology is amazing. I can do everything right from my laptop. My unified messaging system integrates my voice mail, e-mail, and faxes, all in one. It can even automatically forward calls to my cell phone. It's one of the perks of being part of the vicious non-elementary-school environment. Impressed?"

  "You're goading me."

  "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am."

  Julia felt herself smile, despite her best intentions. "That's honest. Okay, then, yes, I am a little impressed."

  "By what, my technical sophistication or my frankness?"

  "Both. Although the state-of-the-art status I expected. The frankness, that's another story."

  A subtle shift of expression, one that had nothing to do with the current topic. "I have many sides," he said, his gaze moving briefly to her mouth before lifting back to meet hers. "As, I'm beginning to suspect, do you."

  Julia wished she could deny the pull that existed between them. But there was no point. It was there, with or without basis. She felt it. And so did Connor.

  He cleared his throat and groped in his jacket pocket for a pen and paper. "I'm going to ask you a favor."

  "All right."

  "My brother is committed to his campaign and to running the city. He scarcely has time to breathe. Nancy's an amazing wife and mother, but she's dancing as fast as she can." Connor scribbled something down on the paper. "This is my private cell phone number. If you have any concerns about Brian, if you see a recurrence of any of the symptoms you described before, call me. I'll take care of it."

  Julia took the slip of paper, glanced down at it. "I wish I could get over the nagging feeling that there's more to this than ..."

  "Get over it. For Brian's sake and for yours."

  Her head snapped up. "Are you threatening me?"

  "I'm trying to keep you from needlessly screwing up a lot of lives. Including your own. I appreciate your concern for Brian. But I'm on top of this, and I'll continue to be."

  It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

  Julia folded the paper in two and slid it into her pocket. "I believe your intentions are good, at least when it comes to Brian. So I'll try it your way. But if you and I clash, if I don't agree with the way you're handling things, or if Brian gets worse, I reserve the right to change my mind. Whether it means involving the school or telling Brian's parents, I'll do whatever it takes."

  Before Connor could respond, their attention was diverted by a happy shout of "Uncle Connor!"

  "It looks as if you've been spotted," Julia observed, spying the blur of color rushing in their direction and recognizing it as Brian. She glanced quickly at her watch, just as the first bell rang. "I've got to go get my kids in line for their buses and carpool groups."

  "Are you free later for a drink?"

  Now, that was the last thing Julia had expected. "What?'

  "I asked if you were free for a drink. Unless, of course, you still dislike me more than you like me. Or, more important, unless you and Greg Matthews have an exclusive arrangement of some kind."

  A flush stained Julia's cheeks. "How did you know about... ?"

  "Hi, Uncle Connor." Brian collided with his uncle's leg. "How come you're waiting here instead of at the playground gate?"

  "Because I needed to talk to Miss Talbot." Connor squeezed his nephew's shoulder. "Did you have a good day?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Great. Why don't you grab your bookbag and your mitt? I'll finish up with Miss Talbot, and we can go straight to the park."

  "Can Miss Talbot come?" Brian demanded. "Maybe her running slide's as good as her curve ball."

  Julia drew a slow breath. "No, sweetie, I can't come. I've got to meet my mom for a workshop. I won't be home until very late tonight," she added, talking to Brian but speaking to Connor. "Besides, my slide is awful. The first time I tried it, I broke my big toe."

  "Your toe?" Brian looked incredulous.

  "I know what you mean." Julia grinned. "It was pretty humiliating. I zoomed in feet first and jammed my foot between the bag and the second baseman's sneaker. All that pain, and I had nothing to show for it but a broken toe. I didn't even get to wear a cast, in which case everyone would have felt sorry for me. I spent two weeks wishing I had broken something major in my leg. At least that would have looked and sounded impressive. But breaking my big toe? All that accomplished was keeping me off the pitcher's mound and making me the object of some pretty cruel jokes."

  "Wow." Brian patted her arm as sympathetically as if she'd told him she'd been flattened by an eighteen-wheeler. "Don't feel bad. If it had been your leg, you would have been out for a lot longer than two weeks. And don't worry about the running slide. Uncle Connor can teach me."

  "Good idea," Julia acknowledged ruefully.

  "I'll be right back." Brian scooted off to collect his things.

  "How about Saturday night?" Connor demanded. "Are you free?"

  Julia found herself answering before she could weigh her decision—probably because if she weighed it, she might change her mind. "Yes, I'm free."

  "Just for drinks, or can I talk you into dinner?"

  "You can try."

  His eyes glinted as he took on her challenge. "I know a little Italian place about a half hour from here. It's casual. The food is great. And the wine's superb. Oh, and they make a tiramisu that's so good it'll straighten your curve ball."

  "That good?" Julia wondered what she was getting herself into.

  Probably a whole lot more than she could handle.

  "In that case," she heard herself reply, "how can I refuse? Dinner it is."

  A flicker of triumph. "Excellent." How's seven o'clock?"

  "Perfect."

  Connor handed her his pen. "Rip off a piece of that paper I just gave you with my cell number on it, and write down your address. I'll pick you up. Write down your phone number, too, while you're at it."

  She'd just scribbled down both when Brian reappeared.

  "I'm ready," he announced.

  "Great." Connor pocketed the scrap of paper and his pen. "Miss Talbot and I just finished talking. So let's get going." He gave Julia a long, searching look. "See you."

  She nodded. "See you. And have a great time at the park, both of you."

  They were a few steps away when she remembered something. "Connor?"

  "Hmm?" He turned.

  Her lips curved slightly as she echoed the words he'd tossed her way at the end of their last meeting. "For the record, I never disliked you. And my name is Julia."

  * * *

  10

  6:55 P.M.

  Greg Matthews was in a foul mood.

  He'd planned on leaving the office early, going home, and getting some sleep. Instead, here he was, at seven o'clock on a Friday night, still sitting at his desk, working on a revised budget for the school district cafeterias. Boy, talk about high-level excitement.

  He tossed down his pencil and rolled his head in a slow circle meant to relax the tight muscles at his neck. He was beat. It had been a roller coaster of a week, and tomorrow promised to be just as bad. So much for taking Saturdays off. Last week, it had been the breakfast meeting; tomorrow, it was the hours of schmoozing he had to do—some of it on the golf course, the rest on the phone.

  He was in no mood for walking a six-way political tightrope.

  But that's what he had to do. There was no other choice. Not if he meant to get what he wanted out of all this.

  Pain in the ass or not, it should be interesting to see how this little drama played out.

  As if on cue, an office door shut in the distance, and familiar footsteps echoed down the hall, turned in the direction of the elevator.

  The mayor was on his wa
y home.

  Greg pursed his lips, staring idly at his own closed door as the ding of the elevator indicated it had arrived. Next came the slow, gliding sound of its doors as they opened, a prolonged pause, and a repeat of the gliding sound as they shut. Then silence.

  If it had been a rough week for him, it had been hell on wheels for Stephen Stratford.

  And the fun was just beginning.

  He wouldn't trade places with the mayor for all the seats in the senate combined. Political notoriety was great; he was all for it. And sure, one of the prices you paid was exposing your soft underbelly to the world and leaving yourself wide open for attack. But if those attacks could bare secrets bad enough to land you in real trouble, and if that trouble meant pissing off men like Philip Walker, hell, it just wasn't worth the price.

  With a weary sigh, Greg bent back over his work, marking up the last of his preliminary numbers for the budget. That did it. He'd work up a detailed spreadsheet when he got home. He'd shove last night's Chinese food into the microwave and knock off the budget while he ate. That would leave him more than enough time to plan tomorrow's agenda over a cup of decaf and hit the sack early. He had to be alert for a seven a.m. tee-off.

  It was going to be a long, productive weekend—in more ways than one.

  Tomorrow, he'd make the necessary headway with the city council.

  And Sunday, he'd do the same with Julia.

  10:15 P.M

  It was drizzling when Julia veered off the Leaf Brook exit on the Taconic Parkway and made a right onto Main Street.

  She was glad that home was just a few more driving minutes away, and not only because the rain was picking up. Her mind was on overload. It had started out that way, and tonight's workshop hadn't helped.