Heart Stealers Page 7

  Filling the doorway, he’d looked powerful in the navy wool coat that covered his suit. Geez, didn’t the guy ever change into something casual? Of course, when you looked that good in...

  Stop it, she told herself. He’s not your type.

  Not quite true. She took a deep breath. All right, so she found him attractive. So what? It didn’t mean anything. God, she didn’t even like the guy.

  Pulling on socks, she admitted to herself how she’d begun to gravitate toward him earlier until he’d gotten the call about Johnny.

  Johnny...

  He won’t turn me against you. The promise gave her perspective. She couldn’t afford to fall victim to Lansing’s charm. Too much was at stake here. She might have to let him into her classroom, but she sure as hell didn’t have to let him into her life. Heading to the closet for her sneakers, she unwrapped her hair and towel-dried it quickly. She was in control now, just as she’d been since she left this godforsaken town eighteen years ago.

  Mitch paced her living room, taking note of the eclectic decor. Framed posters of art shows from New York City galleries covered the walls. An enlarged photo of a pair of ballet shoes advertised the Bolshoi Ballet. Another contradiction—Cassandra Smith loved the arts. Taking stock of the rest of the room, he noted her sofas and chairs were sturdy and slightly worn, but looked comfortable. The two couches flanked an old stone fireplace on the far wall. Crossing to it, he studied the rows of books on either side, struggling to keep himself from thinking about how she’d looked when she answered the door, wet from a shower or bath. The Complete Works of Shakespeare. A bath, he’d bet. A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. Her high cheekbones were accented by the towel around her head. Grisham’s The Pelican Brief and The Firm. Her gray eyes were tumultuous. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Against his will, he remembered how her breasts thrust against the terry cloth; when the blast of cold air hit her, it had made her nipples pout visibly.

  Warm—too warm—he turned from the bookcase, shrugged off his coat and adjusted his trousers. He shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. He wouldn’t think about her this way. He had to prepare for the battle that he knew was coming.

  “Captain.”

  He pivoted to face her. She looked only slightly less tempting in plain sweats. But her hair was still damp and it gave him a jolt as he pictured her under the water as it sluiced over. “Ms. Smith.”

  “Sit down.” She studied him for a minute, and the conflicting emotions on her face were like a neon sign. “I’ve got coffee,” she finally said with a touch of resignation in her tone.

  “Are we going to be civilized about this?”

  “About this we are,” she said. “Would you like some?”

  He nodded. While she was gone, he dropped onto the cushiony sofa and stared at the dead coals in the fireplace. The grate looked well used. When she returned, she handed him a mug. He took it and read its lettering. “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” But the saying was crossed off in bold red lines and replaced by “Those who can, teach others how.”

  He smiled.

  “I guessed you like it black.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You’re a tough guy.”

  “I am.” He glanced at her cup. “Yours is black, too, right?”

  “Yup.” She sipped. “Why are you here?”

  Sighing, he sank back onto the couch and crossed his left ankle over his knee. He silenced his first response, I was worried about you. Instead, he gave her the second reason he’d come. “I wanted to talk to you about the lesson I’m supposed to teach on Monday.”

  “We already discussed this last week.” She eyed him warily. “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “I want to change the lesson plan, but I didn’t want to surprise you. It’s supposed to be on drug usage—the law, the penalties, some of the more severe consequences.”

  “I know. We went over all this. What do you want to change it to?”

  “Inhalants. What they are, why they’re dangerous.”

  Cassie drew in a deep breath. Consciously trying to relax—Mitch was astute in reading body language—she sipped her coffee but held his gaze. Finally she said, “Some people think that kind of information encourages kids to experiment.”

  “Do you?”

  “No, I think it informs them of the dangers, especially if it isn’t instructive in the methods of doing drugs.”

  “Well, national research bears you out.” He sipped his coffee, too, noting absently that she was one of the few people who made it strong enough for him. “I have a movie that explains the physical effects. It’s interspersed with kids talking about their use and what it did to them.”

  “It sounds good.”

  Mitch shifted in his seat. “I’d need help again—planning the lesson, until I get the hang of it myself.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up, making him feel like one of the students who had pleased her. “All right. I’d like to see the movie first, anyway. Why don’t we put your lesson off until Tuesday, then if you’re free, we can work together after school Monday on a lesson design.”

  Mitch set his cup on the table. “Why are you being so cooperative? I thought you’d be furious at me.”

  Cassie sat back and tucked her feet under her. Her face was clean of makeup and still flushed from the heat of her bath. “I’m not mad you brought the kids in. They deserved it, especially DeFazio.”

  “But...”

  “But I am mad that you seem to think you have to keep me out of all of this.”

  “It wasn’t your place to be there tonight.”

  “And just who are you to decide that?”

  He thought about that and decided to pick his battles. “You’re right.”

  She cocked her head. “Why do I have the feeling I’m being mollified?”

  “No wonder the kids can’t pull anything over on you.”

  Chuckling, she gave him an easy smile that made him uncomfortable.

  Linking his hands between his knees, he said, “I’ve got another lesson I want to add to my list. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of approaching Seth Taylor about doing this for the whole school.” He held her gaze unflinchingly. “On gang prevention.”

  Cassie lurched forward. “No!” The action splattered coffee all over her shirt. Luckily, it had cooled somewhat so she wasn’t burned, but it got her sopping wet. Mitch reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Rising, he crossed the two feet between them and hunched down in front of her as she set the cup on the end table.

  Give her the cloth. Don’t touch her.

  “Here.” He passed her his handkerchief. She took it and pressed it to her chest. He watched her for a few seconds, then started to stand. She grabbed his wrist, keeping him where he was, down on one knee in front of her. Close enough to smell the soap from her bath. Near enough to see the smattering of freckles on her nose.

  “You can’t do this, Mitch. Please, listen to me.”

  There was so much emotion in her voice, he was distracted from the effect of her nearness.

  “Why?”

  “Because of Johnny, of course.”

  “He’s in a gang.”

  “Not exactly.” Mitch arched a brow. “Johnny was in the Blisters when he lived in New York City. On the advice of some social workers, his mother moved out here when he was in ninth grade. He’d already been in the gang for two years.”

  Mitch swore vilely. “I hate the whole gang thing, but especially when it happens that young.”

  Cassie continued, “Apparently the gang let him go because he moved. He only kept in touch with Zorro, his buddy from childhood, who was still in the gang.”

  Mitch was skeptical. It wasn’t that easy to get out of a gang.

  “But when they moved here, his mother couldn’t support herself very well and could only get a part-time job as a maid at the local motel. Now she drinks most of the time.” Mitch rem
ained silent. “Johnny helps support her. They get along on that and the social security from his father’s death. But really he has nobody.”

  “That’s why you’ve taken such an interest in him?”

  “Among other reasons. I’m the only adult in his life who cares.”

  “Aren’t you assuming a lot of responsibility for this kid?” Mitch asked, immediately feeling hypocritical when he thought of a similar responsibility he’d sought to assume a lifetime ago. Pain needled him, exposing the memory he could usually suppress.

  Cassie shook her head. “Maybe. But kids need a strong adult role model in their lives if they’re going to be resilient to the pressures of today.”

  Listening to her passionate response, Mitch asked, “Are we still talking about Johnny?”

  She blushed. “Of course.” The pressure of her hand on his wrist increased. It was surprisingly strong. “The point is that Johnny was almost completely out of the gang, but then eighteen months ago, Zorro took over as head of the Blisters. Gradually, he’s tried to get Johnny back, telling him he could be a long-distance member. Even choose what things to get involved in. Set his own standards.”

  “Gangs don’t operate with part-time members, Cassie.”

  “I know. But it seems this one is bending the rules because Zorro’s their leader. And Johnny flirts with the idea of going back, especially when things get rough—like at school. Or when he’s afraid.” She raised her chin a notch. “I’ve managed to keep him out of most of their doings, though.”

  “While Zorro’s trying to lure him back in.”

  Cassie nodded.

  “Does he spend time with them?”

  “Some. I can’t stop it completely. He’s got this bond with Zorro. Like he’s family.”

  “Gangs function as family to kids like Battaglia.”

  “They’re not his family.”

  Neither are you. “He’s walking too fine a line, Cassie. He’ll never make it.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Sighing, Mitch backed away from her, stood up and began to pace. He felt like he was picking his way through a mine field.

  She was blind to what was really going on because she cared about the kid too much. He tried a different tack. “The gang is encroaching out here. You know how urban gangs infiltrate the suburbs?”

  She shook her head.

  “From transfer students.”

  Bolting off the chair, she stood, too, and grasped his arm. “No, not Johnny. He’s not doing that.”

  Mitch spun around to face her. “Maybe not. Battaglia seems pretty strong. But DeFazio isn’t. They got to him tonight through the drugs. Next, they’ll suck him into the gang. It’s contagious. Your whole school is in danger.”

  Cassie drew in a deep breath and released his arm. “But if you go into this gang prevention stuff now, I’ll lose Johnny for good. He’ll never sit through lessons. He’ll never take this from you. He already resents you.” When Mitch didn’t respond, Cassie added, “A couple of years ago, some teachers wanted to establish a policy that kids couldn’t get early dismissals from school to work. They felt outside employment interfered with the learning process. Some of us, including Seth, didn’t think that we should make a cut-and-dried policy, but he agreed to try it. Johnny was only sixteen, but he was working hard to help support his mother. He got so angry at the administrative inflexibility, he quit school for six months. Eventually, it became clear that we needed to make some exceptions, and I got Johnny to enroll again.”

  Mitch bit back a retort about sacrificing one kid for the good of the whole school. He said instead, “I can’t just let this go.”

  “Don’t you see?” Cassie pointed out. “This could do the same thing to him. It could make him quit if he feels he’s being personally attacked. It will kick into old resentments.”

  His better judgment told him to turn her down flat. All his police instincts said the gang issue had to be addressed right away.

  “Please, Mitch, don’t do this. Not now, at least.”

  He blew out a heavy breath. “All right. I’ll hold off a little while. But I’m not promising to let it go. And if I see any evidence of gang activity, I’m stepping in.”

  She closed her eyes in relief. That small gesture swept through him, bathing him in strong emotion that was completely separate from the physical attraction he felt for her.

  And it scared the hell out of him.

  Chapter Five

  “Stayin’ late again, Cassie?” The wizened janitor smiled at her from the door of her classroom. Phantom of the Opera blared from his radio, making her smile.

  “Yeah, Hank. Got a meeting with the cop. Come on in. You can sweep and do the boards before he gets here.”

  The old man trudged in, the bottles on his big cart clanking, the smell of disinfectant stinging Cassie’s nostrils. They talked as he wielded the broom up and down the rows of desks.

  “The kids say he’s tough.”

  “Lansing?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh, he’s tough, all right.”

  I’m not promising to let it go. If I see any evidence of gang activity...

  Frustrated, trying to change the subject, Cassie angled her head toward the radio. “You looking forward to seeing that?”

  A youthful grin claimed his tired features. “Three weeks.” His eyes misted. “Can’t believe you all got those tickets for me.”

  “Believe it, Hank. The kids love you.”

  As part of their yearly Christmas projects, the student body did something nice for those within their school, as well as helping the needy. This year, they’d raised money to buy their favorite custodian a gift—and managed to get him tickets for Phantom at the end of January.

  Hank snorted. “Nah, it’s you they love.”

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Cassie looked over to the door and into the inscrutable face of Mitch Lansing. As he loomed at the entrance, his broad shoulders spanned the doorway and, as usual, he dwarfed the large classroom when he stepped into it.

  Hank headed for the door. “Nope. Just finished in here. See you, Cassie.” Slowly, he wheeled the cart out, nodded to Mitch and disappeared down the hall, humming “The Music of the Night.”

  Mitch ambled farther into the room and leaned against the edge of one of the desks. His hair was tousled from the January wind and snowflakes dotted his wool coat, underneath which he still wore the gray pin-striped suit, light gray shirt and striped tie that he’d had on that morning.

  Not that I noticed, Cassie told herself.

  “At the risk of stereotyping again,” Mitch said, the corners of his mouth turning up just a bit, “your janitor listens to Broadway music?”

  In response, Cassie smiled, too. “Schools are full of odd people. I could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe about some of the personnel here.”

  Mitch’s green eyes focused on her with intensity. “Tell me one about you.”

  Cassie stood. She picked up some folders and crossed to him. “You know all about me.”

  He scanned her and scowled. “Not all. What are you wearing?”

  Looking down at her clothes, Cassie took in her bright purple leggings that ended at the knees and white, oversize T-shirt displaying a purple-and-yellow butterfly and the saying “The Wonder Of Teaching Is Watching The Caterpillars Turn Into Butterflies.”

  “Volleyball clothes.” Mitch’s eyes stayed on her legs a few seconds too long, she thought. When he lifted them, the look in them made her shiver.

  “Volleyball?”

  “Yeah. I play with a team from school on Monday nights at Hotshots.” At his puzzled look, she said, “You know that warehouse on Glide Street that they turned into a bar with the courts in the back.”

  He glanced at the clock. “What time?”

  “Seven.” When he said nothing, she continued, “Well, we’d better get going.” She crossed to a table where she’d left the material for their lesson and he followed her.<
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  He cleared his throat. “Aren’t you cold?”

  The look in his eyes made her want to perch on the edge of the table, cross her legs and let him stare all he wanted. To stifle the urge, she retrieved a sweatshirt from her gym bag, tugged it over her head and sat down in a chair.

  “Better?”

  He nodded, removed his overcoat and took a seat next to her. He was only about a foot away. He smelled like cold air and some woodsy cologne that reminded her of sex.

  “Um, here’s the blank lesson plan form that we’ve been using. We should probably start with that.”

  He reached inside his suit coat and drew out his glasses. Settling them on his nose, he picked up the paper and scanned it. Onyx cuff links glimmered at his big wrists. “All right—a focus. That’s what we start with, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “One that’s relevant to their lives.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I obviously can’t use the incident Friday night.”

  “No, but you might use your experience in New York City—a vivid story that will grab their attention.”

  Mitch’s face muscles tightened as he told her about the three thirteen-year-olds who had died from inhalants right before his eyes.

  “How do you do it?” Cassie asked when he finished.

  “Do what?”

  “See so many horrible things and still function?”

  “Sometimes I don’t.”

  She cocked her head.

  “There’ve been times in my life when I haven’t been able to function because of what I’ve seen.”

  Cassie touched his hand impulsively. It was still a little cold. “Want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head, but his eyes contradicted the gesture.

  “Do you talk about it to anyone?”

  Mitch swallowed hard. “To Kurt, once and a while.”

  “Your brother?”