Bayview Heights Trilogy

Author’s note:

Welcome to Bayview Heights, a town that has one of the best
educational systems in the state due to the dedication of teachers,
administrators and the community. But they have their problems,
too. Gangs are encroaching from the city, the town newspaper is
criticizing them, and an angry board member objects to some
innovative classes. These issues frame three intense romance
novels,
Cop of the Year, Because It’s
Christmas
and
Count
On Me,
where teachers must overcome
personal issues as well as professional ones.

These novels were originally published from
1997 through 2000. For many of my backlist books, I revised the
stories to be current enough to take place today when I republished
them. I did not revise these books because Mitch in
Cop of the
Year
is a Vietnam Veteran, and this is a focal point of the
storyline. The sequels to the book,
Because It’s Christmas
and
Count on Me
, remain in the years 1997-2000. Cell
phones and other technology are also not inserted. KS

COP OF THE YEAR

Copyright 2011, Kathryn
Shay

Previously published
1997

Cover art by Patricia
Ryan

o0o

BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS

Copyright 2011, Kathryn
Shay

Previously published
1998

Cover art by Patricia
Ryan

o0o

COUNT ON ME

Copyright 2011, Kathryn
Shay

Previously published
2000

Cover art by Patricia
Ryan

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After The Fire

On The Line

Nothing More To Lose

Someone To Believe In

Close to You

Taking The Heat

Trust in Me

Promises To Keep

Ties That Bind

Still The One

Someone Like You

Maybe This Time

The Betrayal

The Father Factor

Just One Night

A Price Worth Paying

Finally a Family

Michael’s Family

Practice Makes Perfect

A Place to Belong

Against the Odds

The Serenity House Trilogy boxed set

Home for Christmas

Cop of the Year

Because It’s Christmas

Count on Me

Bayview Heights Trilogy boxed set

America’s Bravest boxed set

Cop
of the Year

By
Kathryn Shay

Cop of the Year
received a gold
medal and the Review’s Choice Award from
RT Book Club
, and
also the Desert Rose Golden Quill Award.

“AM I UNDER ARREST?”

Mitch glanced at the kid draped on the wooden
bench in the squad room. “What did the officer who brought you in
say?”

“Can’t you just answer a freakin’
question?”

Mitch sighed.
Insolent punk
.

“No, you’re not under arrest. But if you
don’t keep your mouth shut, I could probably find a reason to keep
you here.”

Burning brown eyes held his. “Yeah, well
you’ve already done enough damage. What’s a little more?”

“A record of arrests doesn’t look good,
Battaglia.”

The boy settled down, and Mitch finished
typing his report into the computer. When he was done, he set it to
print and leaned back. Linking his hands behind his neck, he stared
at the young man who was headed for trouble. Mitch had seen too
many others in New York City, and in Long Island suburbs like this
one. “Who do you think took the scalpels? Since you contend you
didn’t.”

Battaglia raked a shock of thick black hair
off his brow. “I don’t know. There were lots of people in the
operating room. Other orderlies, janitors, the guy to pick up the
anesthesia stuff. Hell, maybe some nurse on crack took them to
sell.”

Mitch eyed the kid’s jacket, lying on the
bench next to him. The Blisters was printed in large capital
letters on the back, surrounded by exploding fireworks in vivid
red. Blood red. “You sure you didn’t take them? For the next street
fight? I hear scalpels are the newest weapons of choice.”

“I don’t fight.”

“No, you go to tea parties with your gang
buddies.”

“Listen, man, if I’m not under arrest, why do
I have to stay here?”

“Because you’re under eighteen. Our town
ordinance says an adult has to sign you out if you’re picked up by
the cops for any reason.”

“I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

“Should have waited until then to get into
trouble.” Mitch rose to remove the paper from the printer.

The boy stood, almost matching Mitch’s
height. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Sit down, Battaglia.” He sat. “Did you call
someone?”

Eyes full of resentment stared back at him.
They were dark and hostile.

“Johnny, what happened?” a deep female voice
called from behind Mitch.

He turned to see a woman in the doorway.
This
was the kid’s mother? God help him. She couldn’t be
more than thirty. His policeman’s mind cataloged her features.
About five-seven, tall for a woman. Her carriage was an odd
combination of athletic grace and streetwise toughness. She had
delicate bone structure, big gray-blue eyes and strawberry-blond
hair that hung in careless waves on her shoulders.

“Johnny?”

Battaglia stood again. “Sorry to get you up,
Cassie. I didn’t know who else to call.” He leveled a venomous gaze
on Mitch. “This pig said I need an adult to get me out of
here.”

Ignoring his slur, the woman circled to face
Mitch. “What happened?”

Mitch noted she didn’t ask what the kid had
done. Interesting.

“Some scalpels were stolen from Bayview
Heights General Hospital. Originally we thought Mr. Battaglia had
taken them.”

Outrage made her eyes mostly blue. “And why
is that?”

“He was the last one in the operating
room.”

“He didn’t take the scalpels.”

“How do you know that?”

“He loves his job as an orderly. He’d never
do anything to jeopardize it. He wants to be a doctor.”

Remorse flickered through Mitch. “We’re not
arresting him. We just brought him in for questioning.”

“Because of his jacket.”

Mitch rammed his hand through his hair. “No,
because he was the last one seen in the operating room.” He glanced
at the jacket in question. “Though I hate seeing any gang
paraphernalia in Bayview Heights.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“Probably not. We searched him and checked
his locker.”

“And found nothing.”

Battaglia picked up his jacket and crossed to
the woman, touching her hand gently. “It doesn’t matter, Cassie. I
lost the job, anyway. They told me not to come back.”

Too late, Mitch tried to stop his reaction to
the boy’s obvious pain, but he wasn’t fast enough to short-circuit
it. Damn, he hated dealing with kids.

“Oh, Johnny.” She slid her arm around him.
“I’m so sorry.”

The kid leaned into her for a minute, then
whispered, “Get me out of here.”

Cassie turned to Mitch. “What do I have to
do?”

“Go pick up your stuff in the outer office,
Battaglia.” After Johnny left, Mitch retrieved a form from his
desk.

“Sign here.”

When she gave it back to him, he scanned it,
then said, “You need to fill in the relationship. Who are you?”

“His English teacher.”

Mitch stepped back. “His English teacher?
Over at the high school?” He looked down at the signature. “Smith.
You’re Cassandra Smith?”

She frowned. “Do we know each other?”

Mitch gave in to the urge to laugh. “Not yet,
Ms. Smith.”

“What do you mean?”

“On Monday, I’ll be part of your class for
the next ten weeks.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I were. You can blame the Resiliency
Program cooked up by the school board and the town officials. They
seem to think schools working with the police force will help make
kids more resilient in dealing with today’s pressures.”

“I’ll never allow you in my classroom,” she
said implacably.

“I never thought I’d come.”

o0o

CASSIE SMITH SLAPPED her hand down on the
desk. “I won’t do it, Seth.”

“You don’t have any choice.” Her principal,
Seth Taylor, was clearly choosing his words carefully; he wasn’t
just pushing her buttons. He’d never do that, anyway. Not this man
who’d saved her life, not this man who was responsible for her
becoming the person—and the teacher—she was. “Now, sit down, take a
deep breath and listen to what I have to say.”

She dropped into a chair. “I’m sorry. But a
cop? You know how I feel about cops. This one has a history with my
students already, and he’s only been in Bayview Heights a few
months.”

“Cassie, your feelings about policemen come
from things that happened eighteen years ago. You’ve gotten beyond
everything else, why not this?”

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed.
The principal sighed. “Do you mind if I take this? I’m expecting a
call from the superintendent and I’ve had trouble reaching
him.”

Cassie shook her head. “No, of course not. Do
you want me to leave?”

“That’s not necessary.”

While he took his call, Cassie stood and
wandered around the spacious office, comforted by the mahogany
furniture and subtly striped wallpaper. On the side table was a
picture of Seth’s son, Joey. After his wife died, Seth had raised
the boy alone, and they were very close. Above the photo, plaques
were proudly displayed on the wall: Outstanding Teacher of the
Year, Civic Leader Award, Crime Prevention Scholar. Next to those
was a framed inscription Cassie herself had given Seth when she
graduated from high school and was on her way to college. It read
“One good teacher can change a delinquent into a solid
citizen.”

During his years as an English teacher at
Bayview Heights High School, Seth Taylor had been the best. Once
he’d become principal, he’d started an innovative At-Risk Program,
where four teachers worked with the forty least motivated students
in the school. Five years ago, he’d convinced Cassie to come back
to her alma mater to teach one of the controversial classes. She’d
bet her Grateful Dead T-shirt that if the program had been in place
when she’d been here as a student, it would have kept her out of
trouble.

Instead, she’d had too many run-ins with the
Bayview Heights Police Department. She shuddered just thinking
about them.
Why
was a cop coming to participate in her
classroom program? And why this particular cop?

“Sorry.” Seth’s voice drew her away from the
past. “Now, where were we?”

“You were about to try to convince me that
this cop thing is going to fly.” When he started to speak, she held
up her hand, palm outward. “No, wait. I know the routine. ‘Cassie,
it’s best for the kids. Cassie, think of what it will mean to the
program. Cassie, you’ve got to get past your personal bias to make
this an experience that will save lives.’ “

At forty-five, Taylor had flecks of gray in
his dark blond hair and he was a little heavier than when he’d been
her English teacher, but his deep blue eyes still twinkled back at
her. “Am I that transparent?”

“Yes. It’s how you got me back to Bayview
Heights, after all.”