Protective Instincts (7 page)

"But, Sam, that wasn't your fault."

"I will protect you 'til the bastard's in custody for good! If you have no more questions, I have work to do. I have to replace a security system in my son's school."

"You win." She hung up.

"Brit." Her mom's voice was gentle but scolding. "You didn't even thank the man."

"I will, maybe."

* * * *

Wearing a sweat suit, Brit answered her door. She couldn't stall seeing people forever. Through the peep window, she saw Sam holding his hands behind his back.

Her mom rushed from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Look through the new peep hole first."

"I know, Mama. It's just Sam."

"Well, then, why don't you let him in?"

"I forgot the code." Brit punched the code keys.

"Honey, you didn't set the alarm."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"Come on, Teach. I've got a surprise for you." Sam's voice would have melted a polar icecap.

CHAPTER FIVE

Against her better judgment, Brit opened her door to Sam. Even through her screen door, she had to fight the urge to touch his still damp hair. He looked pleased with himself. From behind his back, he produced a bouquet of daisies.

"Hi, Teach." Sam cleared his throat. "For you."

Brit opened the door. "Thanks," she smiled and turned to take them inside. "But I'm not happy about the high-handed way you took over my life."

Mrs. Simpson took the bouquet from Brit and motioned Sam inside. "I raised her better," she shook her head, "but she's stubborn."

"Thanks, ma'am. But there is something else." From out of Brit's view, Sam retrieved a bag and handed it to her.

Brit opened it with caution. "A dog bowl and cans of dog food? Sam-m-m, I don't have a dog."

"I found Monster here …. " A Doberman materialized by his side. "He needed a home. He's a trained guard dog and he needs a new job."

"Sam, that animal looks more like a horse than a dog." She stared at the Doberman now standing at Sam's side. What would she do with such an animal? He looked at her like she was supper. With a sigh, Brit turned and went inside. She didn't need the responsibility of a pet, even one trained to earn his keep.

Once inside, Sam began to explain the proper care and feeding of a guard dog. Monster followed his new owner, who reluctantly put her hand on his head.

"Teach, I don't think you should --"

Sam's warning came too late. A sloppy tongue wet Brit's hand as Monster rubbed against her, nearly pushing her over. "Don't give me that look. I don't need a dog."

Monster's big eyes watered as he sat on his haunches, begging.

"Don't start with me."

Monster whined and licked her hand again.

"Sam, I appreciate the thought but --" Brit backed against the wall when large paws bracketed her shoulders and a lick wet her face.

"Teach, sorry about that. Monster was supposed to be trained to protect you, not love you to death. I'll take him back."

Monster whined and put his big head on her shoulder.

"I'd say Monster has found a home." Mrs. Simpson laughed.

"I think you're right, Mom."

Julie arrived shortly after Monster stole Brit's heart." Ohmigod!" She saw Brit sitting on the floor, nearly hidden by the huge animal. Its head took up her whole lap.

"Julie, you'd better be careful. Approach Monster slowly." Sam kept his voice soft and his expression stern,

"Why?" Julie clapped her hands in delight.

"Monster's a guard dog," Brit answered. "He's trained to attack anyone who threatens me."

"Well, he is." Sam glared at the dog.

"What a sweet baby you are," Julie crooned and knelt at Brit's side.

Monster turned liquid brown eyes toward Julie. He whined.

"Monster? He's a sweet boy, yes he is." She rubbed the large dog's head. His tongue bathed Julie's face before she could dodge. "Where did you get this sweetheart?"

Sam harrumphed. "I brought Monster to guard Teach. I didn't expect him to love her to death. I should swap him for a scary dog."

Julie rubbed between Monster's eyes, putting him into a trance. "You wouldn't!" She glared at Sam. "His coloring is like King's."

"I thought so, too," Brit said. "He's as sweet as your King was. How long has it been since King went to doggie heaven?"

"Oh, about five years. He was so old. But he still looked pretty scary, like this big ole baby here."

Monster carefully roused. He lumbered to all fours and moved toward the door. His growl shocked everyone in the room. "Think he needs to go for a walk?"

The doorbell chimed. Monster stood at attention. He looked capable of going through the barrier to get the person on the other side.

Sam gave a sharp command.

Monster growled more.

Julie brushed past the guard to peek out the peephole. She turned back to Brit, who stood with her hand on Monster's head. "It's just Sean."

"Let him in."

Julie reached for the doorknob.

Monster looked like he could make Sean his supper.

"No, Monster," Brit stroked his fur. "Sean's our friend."

Julie opened the door, leaving only a screen between Sean and a killing machine.

Monster started to growl low in his throat. His lean body shook with restrained tension.

"No, be good, Monster!" Brit warned. "Stay. It's okay, Sean. Come on inside."

Sean entered as Julie held the screen door. "Come meet Monster."

He stood quietly. "Are you sure?"

"Keep your hands out, palms up," Sam looked at his son. "Monster will sniff them. Don't grin or show a lot of teeth."

"Monster, say hello to Sean." Brit removed her hand from his head. "Go ahead. He's a friend. He's Sam's son."

Monster looked like he understood. He moved to Sean. He sat on his haunches. The trembling quieted. The dog checked him from feet to head.

Sean stood still.

Monster licked the upturned hands.

Julie and Mrs. Simpson left the room through the swinging door to the kitchen.

Sam shook his head. He'd never seen such a friendly guard dog. More dog shopping to do. At least the animal looked mean. He also seemed ready to protect the ladies.

"Where did you get this big boy?" Sean looked to his teacher.

"Your dad brought him to guard me," Brit laughed. "I think he's a bit disappointed."

"Whatcha got in the sack, son?" Sam crossed his arms.

Sean held the bag to Brit.

"Not more dog food, I hope," Brit smiled at Sam.

"It's from your students." Sean rubbed the head of his new friend, sitting contentedly by his side.

Brit had to fight tears when she pulled the oversized cards from the bag. They'd been made and signed by students and teachers.

"Sean, how did you do this? School wasn't in session, today."

"It was no big deal." He blushed. "I was helping Angie in the office for a while before practice and some of the kids came by to make the cards. The coaches gave the football players a few minutes to sign them before practice."

Brit hugged him. "You're a good kid, Sean Samuels."

"Supper's on," Mrs. Simpson came through the kitchen door carrying a platter of fried chicken.

Julie followed with bowls of potato salad and rolls.

"Better be going." Sean started toward the door. "Angie and I'll be working on our project over the weekend."

Julie touched Sean's sleeve. "You have to stay or Ma Simpson

will be hurt. You, too Sam."

"Wash up and get back here. Monster, sweet boy, come on." He followed Brit's mama through to the kitchen.

"Where's Monster?" Sean held a chair for Julie.

"I gave him his own food, we don't want to torture him by making him watch us eat or spoil him with table scraps, yet."

"You said you and Angela are working on your project already?"

"Yes, ma'am. We're writing a parody of Hamlet."

"Excellent." Brit nodded.

"We'll make it modern, or in America during the Civil War."

"If you do that, you may be able to use the research for a history project, too, on the
War of Northern Aggression."

Conversation continued through dessert. When Sam gave up on the idea of having Brit to himself, he and Sean headed home.

* * * *

Douglas Drake sat in his room at a cheap, no-tell motel, lying low. As a rule, he didn't drink on the job. He crunched a beer can, then tossed it at the trashcan. Two points. Hell, most jobs didn't take this damned long. His cooler was only half-full. Popping the top of another cold one, he settled back against the wall at the head of the bed. Damned pillows weren't worth shit. Even three didn't cushion his back. The picture on the TV had ghosts and snow. There was no cable and the pay for movies box didn't work. He took a long swig of imported beer. Probably imported from Alabama. At least his small cooler kept the beer cold.

Not one single television news report or paper had even mentioned an attack on a teacher in her classroom. Had no one reported it? Did he want someone to report it? An anonymous call could send someone to the police station to check out reports.

He didn't think anyone knew who he was or where he lived, but he couldn't take the chance of going home. He'd thought the teacher's company would be around all night. There weren't a lot of places a man could hide to watch a house being watched by security folks. He'd spotted them way too easily.

Another long draw emptied the can.
Don't put much in these damned things. Like everything else worth having, the crooks shortchange a person, put in less and charge more. This job should've been easy.
They'd removed his bugs from her house.
Damn! Can't re-bug the place 'til Monday, if the teacher leaves the house to go to school. The security boyfriend made things difficult, but I'm a professional, a pro-fes-sion-al. I'll get back inside.

He was being paid to kill one bothersome woman whose inquiries were making his employers antsy. Their source in the police station reported she wouldn't let the matter of her husband's
accidental
death rest.

Now the teacher's got a damned dog, too.

He popped another tab, well on his way to getting stinking drunk. What else was there to do? He'd rather spend time with the teacher's blonde friend. She'd been nice to him when they'd run across each other in the grocery store. What would she say if she knew he planned to kill her friend? He couldn't afford to get close to anyone, even for a prime piece of tail.

* * * *

It was only eight-thirty on a Friday and Sam was exhausted. He slept long and hard, dreaming about the lady who was the opposite of the women he usually chose.

She wasn't tall and slim or blonde like Adrienne had been. She wasn't sleek, or sophisticated like most women he'd dated. She was vulnerable and almost innocent, as Adrienne had been when they'd fallen in love so long ago. She seemed unaware of her natural beauty. Though she used makeup, he'd seen her with none.

She was the most trusting person he'd ever met. Who else would have assumed the phone calls were student pranks? Well, he remembered pulling his share of harmless pranks in his youth. Teach was just the right mix of innocence and mischief.

Maybe he was just attracted to that innocence, to her need for his protection. Maybe the attraction would ease when she was no longer in danger. Brit and Adrienne were both career women, but he'd bet Brit would never give up family life for a job. She was older than Adrienne had been when she'd become a mother. It was his fault they'd married before she'd graduated from college, pregnant.

What if he and Adrienne had been able to wait 'til after they'd married to start a family? Would they have stayed together? Would they have married at all? He wouldn't trade anything for Sean.

In his fantasies, Brit was confident, alluring, and sexy as Hell. Her lips tasted of passion and need. They drove him to the edge of need, then pushed him over. He ached every place her body touched his, everywhere. He woke hot and aching, as he hadn't in more than fifteen years. Maybe his years of abstinence, since he'd decided to save sex for serious relationships, was responsible for his horny condition.

* * * *

Brit felt so much better by Sunday, she called her dad to take mama home. Julie spent the night at Brit's to keep her company. Brit was thankful her friend wasn't leaving her on her own just yet. There was little chance of that, with Sam calling every few hours to check on her. If Julie hadn't stayed, Sam would have or he'd have offered.

All things considered, it hadn't been such a bad day, but Brit was tired and ready for her mother to stop fussing over her. Julie helped, but she didn't hover.

Julie had made her smile with talk about a shy guy she'd talked to in the grocery store.

"Tell me about him," Brit asked, as if Julie wouldn't if she had found him interesting.

"Oh, he isn't really my type, but he was kinda cute. You know, short blond hair, blue eyes. I've seen him a couple of times. Usually he just nods at me. Today he asked questions about keeping lunchmeats and deli food fresh. Like he was looking for something to say."

"Where does he live?"

"I didn't ask. I think he's new in town. After all his questions, he bought beer and chips and crackers."

"Not your type, huh?"

* * * *

Monday morning, Brit had to make herself get out of her Mustang in the parking lot at school. Though she and Julie had driven separate cars, they'd parked side-by-side. Together they started toward the doors into the building. Putting one foot in front of the other took every ounce of courage Brit could muster.

Friendly faces greeted her, but she barely registered their identities. The walk to her classroom seemed to take an eternity. Once inside the room she choked up, amazed by the colorful posters on the walls. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to change the room, had even rearranged the desks.

Her own desk stood as a reminder of what had happened to her there. Her breath caught in her throat. Again, she felt the hard wooden edge digging into her back as she'd been pushed against it. She was once again prone on it, frightened. She couldn't breathe.

"Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Roberts?" She whirled around to see several students and the custodian standing just inside the door
. Breathe slowly. Deep cleansing breaths. He's not here. It's broad daylight and you're not in danger. You are not in danger.

"Do you like the changes?" Sean asked. "We all worked on 'em."

"I painted the walls Saturday and I'm trying to get you a new desk," Mr. James said. "Hope you don't mind."

"I thank you, all of you," Brit forced the words out.

A bell rang, bringing in hordes of laughing teenagers.

Teaching will get me past the nightmares.
Her hand was less than steady when she wrote on the chalkboards. The in-box for late assignments filled as students brought in make-up work. She needed to reschedule the conferences she'd missed Thursday and Friday. She'd stay busy.

"Could we get a better substitute teacher next time?" someone asked.