Outside the Lines (14 page)

“Ade,” he says, his eyes holding mine, “the restraints are for me.
She
binds
me
. It's not about sex, for the most part. It's just . . . I don't know. Maybe it's my way of dealing with what I've done . . . some sick need to feel the pain I've caused others, like that's going to make up for it somehow.” He shakes his head. “All I know is she and you are the only things that keep me even keel.”

I don't even know what to say. I just sit here with my mouth hanging open.

“I've shocked you speechless,” he says, quirking a sad, lopsided smile. “I think that's a first.”

“Dad's right. We should get married.” It's out of my mouth before I even think it.

He laughs. “It's not your job to fix everyone, Ade. Ever since we were in kindergarten and you used to kiss everyone's boo-boos I know you've thought it is, but you're wrong. Your dad will be fine without you taking care of him, and you really don't want any part of this,” he says with a disgusted flick of his wrist at himself.

“Mom always knew what to do. She knew how to fix everything and everyone.”

He tilts his head a little. “Is that what this is about? Ade, your mom was amazing, I'll give you that, but she had to work things out just like the rest of us. She didn't have a magic wand or anything.”

“She always knew the right thing to do to get everything on track. If someone was hurting, she knew just the thing to say so they didn't anymore. If someone needed something, she'd figure out how to get it.” I swallow. “She was like everyone's guardian angel.”

He shakes his head. “If you think that's what you're supposed to be, I think you're putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

“You're my best friend. I love you. I know I could help you if you'd let me,” I say.

He glides a grease-stained finger down my cheek. “You
are
helping me. Every day you don't give up on me, you make me believe I'm worth something. That's all I need from you.”

I launch into his arms and he crushes me in a hug. When he lets me go, he stands and tugs me up by the hand. “Now get your pretty little virgin ass out of here before I change my mind and deflower you right here on the shop floor.”

I stretch up onto my tiptoes and give him a peck on the cheek. “I'll pay for Frank's guts little by little as I can afford it. I want to do it right and rebuild him.”

He breathes a sigh and shakes his head. “Your call.”

I wrap him in another hug and just at that instant, a cruiser rolls up and my father steps out. I left him a message on my way to the interview that I'd be at Chuck's fixing Frank tonight. “Sweet sassafras, Adrianna! Don't you ever answer your phone?”

I let go of Chuck and meet Dad at the open roll-up door. “What's wrong?”

“I've been trying to reach you for an hour. I tried your cell and the shop. No one was answering.”

Chuck comes up next to me and holds out his hand to Dad. “Sorry, Carl. I always let the machine take calls after hours.”

Dad takes his hand and gives him a firm shake. “I'm just glad she's safe, son.”

“I told you we were working on Frank tonight,” I say, flinging a hand at my poor, broken car.

He turns toward me. “Gary came by after dinner for a beer. Said a man, midtwenties, six foot three, two twenty or so, with dark hair and eyes, in a blue dress shirt and jeans, dropped you at home after school then drove off in your car.”

I roll my eyes. I should have known Sergeant Dixon would narc me out to Dad. “Once a cop, always a cop,” I mutter under my breath.

“Who was he?”

I try to hide the rush that shoots down my spine and straight to my groin at the thought of Rob. “He's just the brother of one of my students.”

“Why did he leave in your car?”

“It wasn't my car. He drives a blue Lumina too, believe it or not. Frank broke down at school and he offered me a ride.”

“It's true, sir,” Chuck confirms. “I towed Frank out of the school lot at sixteen hundred.”

Dad splits a glance between us. “The brother of a student,” he says pensively, tugging on his beard.

“Everything's fine.” I glance over my shoulder at Frank. “Except I might need a ride to school in the morning.”

“Why don't you just take the T-Bird?” he says with a wave at Mom's car. “It's your car, punkin.”

“Anyway,” I say, ignoring him. I can't even look at Mom's car parked next to Dad's cruiser without it twisting my insides into a painful knot. “We were just finishing up, so I'll be right behind you, okay?”

He nods. “I'll leave the light on.”

I give him a hug. “Be home soon.”

Chuck and I watch from the garage as Dad climbs into the cruiser and backs out.

“So, who's the guy?”

I turn and look at him. “What guy?”

“The brother of one of my students,” he says in a falsetto that sounds nothing like me.

“The brother of one of my students,” I repeat, hoping my voice adequately relays my righteous indignation. “I thought I was pretty clear there.”

“You have a tell, you know. That pretty pink tongue of yours slips out over your lower lip when you're nervous. So, I ask again. Who's the guy?”

I brush an escaped lock of hair off my forehead and turn back to the shop. My stomach launches into a somersault and I cross my arms over it. “I don't know.”

He doesn't say anything and I turn to see him looking at me. “What's the deal, Ade? Talk to me.”

I breathe deeply and try not to cringe. “He's the guy you set up for that job. I let him kiss me in my classroom last week.”

Chuck's eyes round and he flicks my cheek with this thumb. “You naughty girl. Our little Adrianna is all grown up.”

I shove him hard. “Shut up! And making out with guys in classrooms is anything but grown up. It's more prepubescent,” I say, feeling heat in my face.

“So, why'd you do it?”

“It's just . . . I've never really known anyone like him, but . . .” I shake my head. “I know nothing about him. He's like this dark, mysterious totally hot . . . I don't know . . . psycho killer, or guardian angel. He's either really good, or totally bad, but either way, I can't stop thinking about him.”

“Batman.”

“What?” I ask.

“You just described Batman. How was the kiss?”

I tip my head back and take a deep breath. “There aren't even words.”

He bobs a nod. “Definitely Batman. Elaine says she hired him, but I haven't met him yet. Maybe I need to make it a point.”

“No!” I say. Chuck is almost as overprotective as Dad. I can only imagine how a conversation between him and Rob would go. “Why?”

He tugs me into his arms, smothering me against his ripped chest. “Because if he really
is
Batman, maybe he needs a sidekick. I'd be good at that.”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” I mutter into his T-shirt.

“Seriously, Ade. Your dad is going to go full-on
Law and Order
on this guy's ass. You know that, right? If I can get a feel for him, maybe I can help talk Chief Carl down.”

I push out of his arms in a wide-eyed panic. “You
cannot
tell Dad what I told you. Promise me.”

He stares down into my eyes and all humor leaves his. “If this guy really is bad news, I want you to stay away from him. It would be way too easy for someone to take advantage of you.”

“Because I'm stupid?” I ask, hurt mingling with my mortification.

“Inexperienced, not stupid. There's a difference.” He reaches up and traces my eyebrow with the tip of his index finger. “You're smart in every way that matters, but when it comes to guys, you're pretty naïve. You expect people to be as honest and open as you are, but everyone has secrets, and most people are out for themselves. Someone could really hurt you. I don't want to see that happen.”

“I've managed to keep my virtue intact through high school and college.”

“That's because I threatened to pulverize any guy on our high school football team who so much as looked at you sideways.”

I glare at him. “Which explains why I was the only virgin to ever graduate Loveland High.”

He grins. “That also might have had something to do with your dad being the Port St. Mary chief of police.”

I fold my arms over my chest and stare him down. “So, are you going to keep scaring all my prospects away?”

“Maybe.” He pulls me into his arms again. “Just be careful, okay?”

What I know for sure after that kiss is, there's nothing careful about Rob. “Too late. I asked him out.”

“Really . . . ?” he drawls out, pulling away and looking at me.

“He shot me down, so you've got nothing to worry about.”

He gives me a contemplative nod. “So, Batman's gay. Good to know.”

I shove him and then pull him into another hug. “Night.”

He waves from the door as I back the T-Bird into the road, then rolls it down as I pull away. When I finally make it home, Dad is already in his room. His light's on, so he's probably reading, but I decide not to push my luck. I wash up and crawl into bed and think about Rob—the kiss, the ride home, and everything I don't know about him, and I fade into sleep with images of Batman in my head.

Rob

My whole life has gone to shit, and all I can think about is fucking a little blonde on her classroom desk. I have so many bigger issues at the moment, but since that mind-blowing kiss, that's the one that's occupying my thoughts day and night. I can't believe I turned her down when she asked me out. I don't know how I made my mouth say no when all it wants to do is kiss her again. I've never been such a basket case.

I keep telling myself getting involved with Adri is a mistake. Nothing good is going to come of it. We need to lay low. In this backwater town, dating my brother's schoolteacher is scandalous enough that it will definitely get me noticed.

But she's just so damn sweet.

So Danni is my unsuspecting victim today. She doesn't deserve what I'm dishing out. She digs deeper when I come at her this time and manages to deflect my punch.

“Hell on wheels, Davidson, what the fuck is with you today?” she says through her mouth guard.

I spit mine out, hold up my hands. “Nothing.”

She cuffs out a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, that's why my cheek is going to look like a pomegranate by tonight.”

I pull off my headgear, hold it up. “You should get gear that fits you better.”

“Or I should partner with a trainee who isn't trying to kill me,” she mutters, pulling off her ill-fitting headgear.

I untie my grappling gloves and yank them off. “Speaking of which, how am I doing?”

It's Wednesday of my second week of training. I've spent three to four hours a day on the mats and in the office, watching training films on risk assessment and protocol. None of it's new to me except the part in my employment contract about not asking celebrities for photo ops or autographs. Not an issue. They don't impress me much.

“How do
you
think you're doing?” Danni asks with a smirk.

I let my sarcastic smile spread. “Well, based on the pomegranate on your face, I'd say I'm holding my own.”

Her hand goes self-consciously to her cheek. “Bastard.”

“You're more than holding your own, Mr. Davidson,” Elaine says, sauntering up to the mat with a garment bag over her shoulder. “Your uniform came in.”

I reach for it and unzip the bag. Inside are two
Men in Black
–style suits complete with narrow black ties, four white dress shirts, four pairs of black socks, and a pair of shoes.

“No matter the function, rock concert, charity ball, private dinner, this is your uniform. You will always be clean and pressed. We cover one replacement suit and three new shirts every year. Dry cleaning is on you.”

I zip the bag. “So when will I be ready for these rock concerts, charity balls, and private dinners?”

“Your training is up Friday, so I expect next week, if you think you're ready.”

“I'm ready.”

I get cleaned up and head to school to pick up my little brother. He spills out of the room with his classmates and keeps his head down as he shuffles toward our car. I'm about to make a clean escape when Adri steps into the doorway. Her eyes meet mine and her mouth puckers slightly, and I'm hit by a bolt of lightning. Her eyes follow me as I pull onto the road, and it takes every shred of willpower I have not to slam on the brakes, charge into that classroom, throw her onto her desk, and kiss the shit out of her.

I crank the stereo for a distraction. It doesn't work. I'm still thinking about her ten minutes later when I open the door to the house. My nose is met with the comforting aroma of simmering Bolognese sauce. Crash and Burn trip us on the way through. Sherm scoops Burn into his arms while Crash circles his feet.

That's when I notice the green paw prints Crash is leaving behind on the wood floor. I follow them to Ulie's bedroom. The floor is covered with newspaper, the furniture draped in green-spattered white sheets. Three walls are already bright green. Ulie's standing on her dresser with a paint roller in her hand.

“What are you doing?”

She turns and grins when she hears my voice. “Painting.”

“Obviously. Why?”

She sets the roller in the pan next to her and pushes her hair off her face, leaving a green smudge across her forehead. “Why not? This place needs some color. Oh, and Crash peed on the floor twice today.”

I look at the green dog tracks. “I think the floor has bigger issues at the moment.”

She looks down at my feet. “Oh, shit.” She jumps off the dresser and grabs a wet towel from the floor near her bed. Crash pokes his nose into the room and she smacks it lightly. “Bad dog!”

She wipes his feet, then follows the tracks through the living room, scrubbing them up.

Sherm is on the porch petting Burn.

“He's been sitting at the door whining for you all day,” Ulie tells Sherm, gesturing to the dog at his feet. “He has an unhealthy fixation.”

Sherm lifts the dog into his lap with his uncasted arm and hugs him. “He's just scared.”

“Well, his brother keeps peeing on the floor, so take them for a walk.”

He puts the puppy down and retrieves the leashes from the hook near the door.

I'm going through the motions, but I realize my mind is still one hundred percent consumed by lascivious thoughts of a petite blonde. “I'm heading out for a minute,” I say, unable to restrain myself anymore. “Keep an eye on the boys.”

Ulie looks over her shoulder, and her brows press together. “Where are you going?”

“There's something I need to do,” I tell her, and it's true, even though every shred of common sense is screaming at me not to.

I step out onto the porch, see Sherm heading down the path to the beach with the dogs. I move to the edge of the bluff and look up the shore.

Grant is running along the beach toward the house. He looks like I feel when I'm running down there—trying to outrun the demons. I know what mine are. Maybe I should sit him down at some point and try to understand his.

I head toward the driveway, swipe a palm along the handlebars of his Harley. It's up to me to keep this family from self-destructing. So far, I'm doing a pretty shit job of it. With anyone who could help me dead, running, or behind bars, pulling the business out of chaos is going to be harder than I thought. Less firepower means tighter focus and more planning. If I'm doing it on my own, I need to stay sharp.

Right now, I'm not.

I've got my own demons to dance with. I've got to nail down what makes Adri Wilson so goddamn irresistible. Then I need to fuck her out of my system, or figure out how to resist her so I can focus on the task at hand.

I drop into the driver's seat of the Lumina and don't let myself think about how dangerous this woman's hold on me is as I drive, faster than I should, hoping to catch her before she leaves school.

I pull into the parking lot and stalk to her classroom, praying that she'll be gone already, and praying that she won't. The door's unlocked when I turn the knob. I hesitate before pushing it open.

The room is empty, but her messenger bag is open on her desk . . . which means she's still here somewhere.

I step outside, meander back up the walk. When I get to the parking lot, I see several small groups of people clustered in the playground behind the office. I move slowly that direction. Adri is off by herself near the jungle gym.

Everyone I pass looks up at me. Conversations stall. They're working in groups setting up what appear to be plywood stands. When I reach Adri, her back is to me and she's staring at a stack of plywood and two-by-fours on the ground. A strand of golden hair has escaped her ponytail. She's twisting it around her finger as she fidgets with a plastic bag of bolts in her other hand.

I clear my throat and she looks up. When those baby blues find me standing here, her eyebrows arch and her mouth drops open a little. She smooths the strand of hair back with her palm. “Why did you come back? Did you need something?” she asks, regaining her composure.

“Yes,” I say without taking my eyes off her.

“What do you need?”

My heart kicks in my chest. As much as I know I shouldn't . . . can't . . . I need
her
. “To tell you yes. I was an ass before and I've changed my mind about dinner . . . if the offer still stands.”

Her eyes widen. She glances behind me, probably to determine if anyone is within earshot. She steps closer and lowers her voice. “You could have told me that when you dropped Sherm off tomorrow. You didn't need to come all the way back here.”

I shrug one shoulder, trying to come off as if my whole world doesn't pivot on her answer. “I was hoping you might be free tonight.”

She cringes. “Chuck and I need to work on Frank tonight . . . and probably tomorrow after the carnival, and Friday too.”

A scythe slices through my insides. I wish her PTSD friend bodily harm . . . until she says, “Saturday, maybe?” with a distinct edge of desperation in her voice.

It's not just me. She's feeling it too. “Saturday works. What time?”

She glances past me, and her pink cheeks pale a little. “Thank you for volunteering to help set up for the carnival, Mr. Davidson,” she says loudly and very deliberately, handing me the bag of bolts. I hear footsteps behind me. “I really appreciate it.”

The teacher from the manatee field trip steps up beside me. “You two okay over here?”

“Yeah, Theresa. I think we can handle it,” Adri answers.

“And you've got your volunteers all lined up for tomorrow?”

Adri nods. “Three of my moms said they'd be here from two to six.”

Theresa jots something on the clipboard in her hand. “What about teardown?”

Adri's eyes widen.

“I'll be here,” I say. “Six, right?”

Theresa nods. “The truck will be here to load the booths at seven, so we need it all cleaned up and taken down by then.”

“Got it,” I say.

Theresa moves off toward the next group, and Adri breathes out a sigh. “Thanks. My classroom is in charge of the balloon-dart game, and I forgot about setup and teardown.”

“No problem.” My eyes scan the other groups, most of which have their plywood booths up already and are starting to set up the games. “What's the carnival for?”

“I guess they've been raising money for the last few years for new playground equipment, and this is the last big push. The PTA says that's a deathtrap,” she says, gesturing to the rusting metal jungle gym in the middle of the playground. “They're hoping to make the last thousand they need for the play structure they want.”

I look at the pile of wood on the ground. “This doesn't look too hard.”

“Cars are my thing,” Adri says. “Construction, not so much.”

It's basically one four-by-six plywood wall for the back and two three-by-six walls for the sides, along with brackets to hold them together and two-by-four supports for the back. I lift the four-by-six wall so it's vertical. “Can you hold this here?”

She takes it and holds it by an edge. “That much I can probably handle.”

I position one of the two-by-four support braces behind it and line up the holes for the bolts. “So, what time Saturday?”

“Seven?”

“I'll pick you up at your house,” I say, tightening the wing nut onto the first bolt.

Her tongue darts over that full lower lip as her eyes sweep over the other groups. She's nervous. About her job? Her father? Or maybe PTSD Chuck is more than a friend. “I'll meet you at the end of my street.”

Her father, then. I can't say I blame her. I'm every father's nightmare.

I give her a slow nod.

Her eyes flick to me and then away as I start on the bolts for the second support bracket. “I'm sorry I pushed you about getting help last week. A good friend of mine reminded me last night that it's not my job to save everyone. I care a great deal about Sherm, but I overstepped my bounds as a teacher when I stuck my nose into your family business. I'm sorry.”

If I didn't already know how tightly this woman had me wrapped around her little finger, the fact that the part of that statement that's making me crazy is that she was with PTSD Chuck last night cements it. “You've worked wonders with Sherm. I had no right to jump down your throat.”

“Thank you. He's a wonderful little boy.”

I finish with the supports and lift the first sidewall into place. “Hold this here.” She does and I grab one of the corner brackets and start on the bolts. “Where do you want to go Saturday? I don't know the area very well.”

She's quiet for a moment as she works something out, her eyes flicking to her colleagues and back to me several times in the process. “I know a great place off-island.”

The fact that she obviously wants to do this on the sly makes it so much hotter. “Sounds good.”

There's a long tension-filled silence as I finish up the first wall and start on the second. The air is so charged with anticipation, I feel the hair on my arms standing on end. She keeps sending me these looks and licking that full lower lip. By the time I'm done with the booth, her cheeks are pink, and the hair on my arms isn't the only thing standing at attention.

“Can you help me with the rest?” she asks.

I nod. “I'm in no rush.”

She waves me toward a storage shed near the office. “The dart setup is over here.”

We step inside. She points toward the corner, to a roll of what looks like carpet covered in trash bags. I unearth it from the cobwebs and other things stacked around it as she grabs a plastic tub off the shelves on the back wall. We take everything to our booth. When she pulls the plastic off the roll, I see it's cork-backed green felt. The C-clamps in the bag of bolts make sense now. We roll the felt out and clamp it to the top of the wall so that it covers the entire back of the booth.

“I need a table,” Adri says, pointing to a stack of folding tables on the grass near the parking lot.