Heart Stealers Read online

  “This is your last chance, Teach. If you don’t bag this one, I’m off scot-free.”

  “Can it, Battaglia. You’re just trying to break my concentration.”

  Confidently, she took an impossible shot off the side, banking it right into the pocket. “Yes!” she said as she stood, raising her right fist into the air. “I won.”

  Battaglia mumbled something under his breath. She giggled girlishly, then circled the table and hugged the boy. Mitch was discomfited by the gesture.

  “Don’t worry, kiddo, it’s only for ten weeks,” she said, ruffling his hair. “You can handle Captain Lansing that long.”

  Though Battaglia tried to look disgusted, his body language indicated relief. It took a minute for Mitch to realize what had happened here. But he must be wrong. This teacher couldn’t really have bet a kid on a pool game to get him back to school.

  “Um, Teach,” Battaglia said as his eyes met Mitch’s. “Don’t say any more.”

  Cassie looked at Battaglia, then turned to track his gaze. “Oh,” she said when she saw Mitch. Her eyes wide, she bit her bottom lip; she looked like a little girl caught doing something naughty. But she wasn’t a little girl. She was a teacher and supposedly a role model, and this wasn’t a very healthy example to set.

  She nodded, lifting her chin in unmistakable challenge. “Captain. What brings you here?”

  “Ms. Smith. Do you think I could see you alone for a minute?”

  Before Cassie could answer, Battaglia stepped aggressively in front of her. “Why?”

  “Johnny.” Cassie walked around the boy and stared him down. “I can take care of this.” She turned to Mitch. “You can buy me a soda out in the diner, if you like.” She faced Johnny again. “You better get going. You’ll be late for work.”

  After giving Mitch a purposeful stare, the kid turned to Cassie. “Okay.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  This time his look was disgusted. He said, “Don’t rub it in, Teach,” and hustled out of the diner.

  Cassie approached Mitch, the jersey material of her dress swaying above her knees, resting against her full breasts. Her eyes were alight with...mischief. “Now, what can I do for you, Captain?”

  Out of nowhere, he thought of a dark bedroom and satin sheets. And Cassie Smith. Mitch’s whole body tightened.

  “Ah, we need to talk, Ms. Smith.”

  * * *

  With a cherry soda in front of her, Cassie sat across from Mitch in one of the vinyl booths. He sipped his coffee as she toyed with her straw. “Answer the question,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her eyes flaring. “This isn’t an interrogation, Lansing. I agreed to discuss Johnny with you because I’m stuck with you in my class, but I won’t be pushed.”

  Hal was right, she was a tough one. Reluctant admiration joined the irritation he felt every time he was with her. “You know,” he said idly, “sometimes you talk and act just like those kids you teach.”

  “Those kids? I should have known.”

  “Known what?”

  “You’re pretty obvious, Captain.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  She scanned his hair, then gave his clothes the once-over. “That meticulous haircut and those suits of armor you wear give you away before you even open your mouth.”

  “And then?”

  “Then you say things like, ‘Hats in the classroom?’ ‘Are you qualified to teach Phys. Ed.?’ I gotta tell you, you’re going to have a tough time these ten weeks.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.”

  “And my guess is you couldn’t care less about one lonely teenager.”

  Big black eyes with hair to match flashed before Mitch, almost taking his breath away. She couldn’t be more wrong. “Now who’s being biased?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you accuse me, based on my appearance, of having a prejudice against your kids, then you turn around and stereotype me.”

  “You just beg to be stereotyped.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  Her face flushed—very appealingly—and it made him mad that he noticed. “Oh, all right. I guess I’m stereotyping you.” She stirred her drink, then looked up at him. “These kids are my hot button.”

  “No kidding.” When she just stared at him, he saw a fleeting vulnerability in her face. It led him to ask, “Why?”

  She cocked her head, probably assessing the sincerity of his question. Again, it reminded him of one of her students.

  “You might as well know,” she said finally. “I was just like them when I was in high school.”

  “You were in an alternative program?”

  Cassie shook her head, sending thick, unruly strawberry-blond locks over her shoulders. “No, there weren’t any At-Risk programs at Bayview Heights then.”

  “Bayview Heights?”

  “I was a student there eighteen years ago.”

  He stared at her, searching for the girl she would have been. Then he whistled. “You must have been a handful. Your lucky teachers.”

  That brought a smile to her face. “Some of them are still there.”

  He grinned. “Oh, they must love you.”

  Cassie laughed, not the girlish laughter he’d heard in the pool hall, but a sultry, all-woman sound. He shifted uneasily in his seat.

  “We do have some run-ins,” she told him. “But Taylor’s on the program’s side, so we get what we need despite the stick-in-the-muds who should have retired years ago.”

  “What happened to you?”

  Cassie watched him carefully, and he wondered if she’d tell him the truth. “A teacher helped me see what I could be instead of what I was. It changed my whole life.”

  “And now you want to change others.”

  “Of course.” She raised her chin again. “It can be done.”

  His heart constricted. “Not always.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes, despite your best efforts, you lose them.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then her gaze turned thoughtful. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Only from what I’ve seen on the force,” he said quickly.

  “Well, I’m going to win.”

  “Especially with Battaglia.”

  “With them all.”

  “By betting their attendance on a game of pool?”

  Cassie shook her head. “I might have known that would stick in your craw.” She studied him for a minute. “Don’t you ever think with your heart instead of your head?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, like in Wuthering Heights. The kids and I discuss acting with your head or your heart.”

  “You teach Wuthering Heights to those kids?”

  “You’ve read Wuthering Heights?”

  For a moment, they stared at each other. Then they laughed simultaneously.

  “I guess we’re both guilty of stereotyping,” he said.

  “I guess,” she confirmed. “Anyway, it’s not healthy to always act with your head. You lose out.”

  “Well, Heathcliff wasn’t such a winner. And he was all heart.”

  “No, but Hareton made it.”

  “Hareton operated with both his head and his heart.”

  Cassie gazed at him, surprised, and pleased, by his insight. “You know the book pretty well.”

  “I like the classics. And other kinds of fiction.”

  “What kinds?”

  “Mysteries. Westerns. Bestsellers.”

  “Oh, good, bring one to class tomorrow. We have SSR for two hours. Sustained Silent Reading.”

  “You let them just read in English class? What about the curriculum?”

  At the perennial question about innovative language arts techniques, Cassie felt her pulse accelerate. It was a challenge she loved to meet. “What do kids do in typing class, Captain?”

  “Type?”

  “In art class?”

  “Draw
?”

  “In technology class?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Shop,” she answered with a grin.

  “Cut boards?”

  “So, in English class, we read and write.”

  “Makes sense. I guess.”

  Impressed by his surrender—and not pleased by her reaction to it—she said, “Good, then maybe you’ll learn something this rotation, too.”

  She didn’t like the way his eyes trapped her. It made her think of the girls’ and Zoe’s comments about him. “Oh, I believe I will.”

  Nervous, she started to rise. “Well, I’ve got some errands to run,” she said a little breathlessly.

  He grabbed her wrist. His hand was big, strong and powerfully male. She didn’t feel threatened— but his touch made her weak. “Wait a minute, we still haven’t settled the issue of the bet.”

  Tugging her arm away, she sat down fast. “There’s nothing to settle. My methods may be unorthodox, and I may not be everybody’s favorite. But get one thing clear, Captain. I’ll do anything to keep those kids in school and to help them succeed.”

  “Anything—even accepting me into your classroom?”

  “Anything,” she said, standing. “Even that.”

  Chapter Three

  The teachers’ cafeteria was crowded during sixth period, but Cassie and her principal managed to find a table in the corner to share lunch. Cassie wanted to give him a progress report on Lansing. She knew Seth was going to keep close tabs on this phase of the program, partially because his job demanded he know everything that was going on in the school, and partially because he knew she wasn’t pleased about hosting the law enforcement stint.

  Absently spreading her bagel with cream cheese, she watched Seth settle in.

  “So, how was the first week?” he asked.

  Cassie smiled. “Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You mean I was right? If so, I’d like to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

  “It’s too soon for such a sweeping statement. I only meant that it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

  With mock exasperation, Seth said, “I should have known.” As he bit into one of his two hamburgers, he said, “So tell me.”

  Before she could respond, they were interrupted. “Seth, a kid is smoking out by the bus to the training center.” Both of them looked up to find Jerry Bosco staring down at them. He was in his fifties and so out of shape his face flushed with any exertion. He jammed his hands into his pockets to deliver the last blow. “One of yours, Cassie. A ninth-grader.”

  She started to rise. Seth stopped her. “I’ll handle it.”

  As he left, she glared at Bosco. Besides disagreeing with his approach to teaching, Cassie disliked Jerry Bosco because he’d spearheaded a committee three years ago that had recommended some school policies that had eventually hurt the kids. After a trial period, Seth had abolished all but one of the new rules. “You know, Jerry, Seth does have to eat. You could have followed procedure and brought the kid to one of the vice principals. Carolyn Spearman or Alex Ransom could have handled it.”

  “The contract says when we feel threatened, we’re to find an administrator immediately.”

  “Convenient for you, isn’t it, Jerry? You never have to get your hands dirty.” She glared at him. “Who is it?”

  “Baker.”

  “You felt threatened by Baker? He’s a pipsqueak.”

  Before the argument could escalate, Seth was back. He took his seat and started into his second hamburger.

  “What did you do?” Bosco asked.

  Seth looked up at him. Outwardly calm, Cassie could tell he was not happy by the firm set of his jaw. She also knew Seth had reason to doubt Bosco’s word from some ambiguous situations in the past. “Nothing. He didn’t have a cigarette by the time I got out there.”

  “I saw it.”

  “Then you should have taken him to the office at the time of the violation and written a referral.”

  “He should be suspended.”

  “He would have been if you’d followed procedure.”

  With a disgusted look, Bosco turned and left.

  “Talk to Baker, Cassie,” Seth said sternly.

  “I will.”

  “Now, tell me about Lansing.”

  “Well, he seems as inflexible as Bosco.”

  “Tell me some good things.”

  Cassie took a bite of her food, choosing her points carefully. “He’s written with us every day, reluctantly, and shared a few of his thoughts on the book he brought in to read. But it’s been like pulling teeth. He offered to help Nikki brainstorm for her research paper. Then he almost flipped when he found out they could research any person they wanted and she’d picked Madonna.”

  Seth shook his head. “Who cares what they research, as long as they get the skills?”

  “That’s what Nikki told him.”

  Cassie smiled, thinking about the young girl who had a big crush on Captain Lansing. “You should have seen him, in his Brooks Brothers suit scrunched in the comer with Nikki in her black Def Leppard T-shirt and pierced eyebrow. I could almost see him counting the number of piercings. Her mouth really got to him.”

  “Her mouth? She has her mouth pierced?”

  “Well, more precisely, her tongue.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “And then today, when he saw me in this—” she plucked at her red T-shirt with Bayview Heights emblazoned on the back “—he couldn’t believe the teachers and students wear them every Friday.”

  The principal shook his head. “Not my idea of appropriate dress, either,” he said, glancing down his chest at the red shirt peeking out from under his suit.

  “Yes, but you gave your approval.”

  “After the faculty advisory board voted ten to two to buy them and wear them for school morale.”

  “You were pretty good about going along with us. Too bad the ten or so teachers who disagreed aren’t as gracious about wearing them. Like Bosco.”

  “You’ll never win ‘em all, Cass.”

  “Maybe.”

  Seth chuckled. “I think…”

  “Phone call, Seth.” The message came from the other side of the room.

  “Don’t take it,” Cassie said. “You have to eat.”

  Giving her an I-have-no-choice look, he rose and made his way to the phone.

  As she watched him abandon his meal for a second time, she wondered why anyone would want to be a principal. She’d much rather be in the trenches.

  Cassie pulled a book out of her bag and nibbled on her bagel. She thought again of Lansing. He’d brought in a novel the day after the pool hall incident. As usual, Cassie covered the room to check on what each student was reading. They were sprawled on the couches, lying on the floor, sitting on tables propped up against the wall. Lansing had looked horrified, but he’d said nothing, taken a seat at a desk and opened Wuthering Heights. She’d smiled when she saw it, and he’d looked up at her with challenge. Cassie had noticed for the first time how thickly lashed his eyes were. They were deep green that day, and intense. Then he’d smiled, and her pulse speeded up. Uncomfortable with her decidedly feminine reaction, she’d turned away.

  She had herself under control by the time they shared their reading. Lansing hadn’t volunteered to discuss his book, but Johnny had pointedly asked what he was reading and why. Lansing had held Johnny’s gaze steadily....

  “Wuthering Heights. I read it when I was your age, but people see books differently years later.”

  “We read it,” Johnny said defensively.

  “Yeah? What did you think of Heathcliff?”

  “I thought he was a jerk. He should have ditched Catherine when she married the other guy and found a new squeeze.” Johnny angled his chin. “What did you think?”

  Mitch said, “I agree. She wasn’t worth all his suffering....”

  “Sorry,” Seth said as he came back to a now-cold lunch. “That was
Hal Stonehouse. I asked to be notified right away if any of the kids were in trouble. Did you hear what happened with Youngblood last night?”

  Cassie shook her head.

  “The captain found him about midnight curled up in a warehouse sound asleep.”

  “What did Lansing do?”

  “Took him out for breakfast.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently, he took the boy out for breakfast, then brought him back to the group home. Mitch insisted the proprietors punish Youngblood for breaking curfew, but the kid was pretty amenable after his talk with Lansing.”

  Cassie’s mouth dropped. “No one said anything today.” She was torn between pleasure at Lansing’s response to a very troubled boy and annoyance that he didn’t tell her about this.

  “Looks like this thing is working, Cass. Getting to know the cops, seeing them as adults who can help, rather than the enemy.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “When does Lansing get to do his part in the program?”

  “Next week. He teaches his first lesson on Friday.”

  “What’s he starting with?”

  “Violence prevention.”

  “I was thinking of asking him to do a presentation for all staff on how to break up a fight.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Cass, it’s helping. I can feel it. This could really be an asset for Bayview Heights.”

  “Yeah. Okay. You’re probably right. I’m reserving judgment, though.”

  Taylor smiled at her. “So, what else is new? You’re always the last one to concede on anything.”

  “Are you calling me stubborn?”

  “Only when it comes to what’s best for the kids.”

  * * *

  Damn, they were only kids. There were only twelve of them. Mitch had faced a gang of more than this number on the streets once, and his palms hadn’t been this sweaty. More so, he’d been in a brutal war and confronted death head-on. How hard could it be to teach a class, for God’s sake?

  Ms. Smith sat in the back, hands folded, eyes on him. He recognized the look. She expected him to fall flat on his face.