Witness Protection (Defenders of Love Book 1)
Page 1
Witness Protection
Carolyn LaRoche
This is a work of fiction. All people, places and
events are products of the author's imagination
and are used in a story of fiction. None of the contents should be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations or persons, alive or deceased, is completely coincidental.
Witness Protection
Copyright 2015 Carolyn LaRoche
Edited by: Allie Kincheloe
Cover by: Allie Kincheloe
Cover image: Shutterstock
ISBN-13: 978-1511839860
ISBN-10: 1511839864
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any method, electronic or print without written permission, with exception of brief quotations for the purpose of reviews
To my husband and my boys,
thank you for supporting my dream.
To Allie, thank you for all you do
to help make it come true.
Chapter One
"Ah, hell, no!"
"Come on, James, you know you got no choice, right? We need you. No one else fits the bill."
"Look L.T., I understand there's a problem, really I do, and something definitely needs to be done, I'm just not the right guy for this job."
Detective Logan James paced the small interrogation room feeling like a tiger in a cage at the zoo. Lieutenant George knew he wouldn't be at all happy and had purposely cornered him in the sound-proofed interview room rather than the line-up room. The secluded location offered protection to the general population from Logan's temper.
"You are perfect for this op, James. You're young, intelligent, girls love you. Undercover is your bag. This is a tough gig, and you are the only one who has the commitment for it."
"What you mean," Logan snapped, "is that I don't have a wife and kids so it doesn't matter if I disappear for a while."
"That's not what I meant. We aren't talking about a dope run here," Lieutenant George immediately responded, but they both knew he was lying.
Logan knew his reputation of the infamous bachelor, never dating the same woman long enough
to learn her last name or set down any sort of roots, and he did nothing to refute it. Rumors kept the real Logan James hidden from the world. Under the radar, just the way he liked it. Truth was though, most nights he went home to an empty house and microwave dinners.
"I won't do it, L.T. There has to be someone else. It's just not going to happen." Logan glared at his boss as he dropped into the metal chair, arms folded tightly across his chest.
"Look, James, the orders came from the chief. You really don't have a choice. Besides, most guys like you would jump at the chance for a gig like this."
"Most guys like me? What exactly is that supposed to mean, Lieutenant?"
"Well, just look at you. I mean, what I wouldn't give some days to have your life."
"Seriously? You think I want to be the guy that can go undercover for months at a time? Or do you just want to be a single guy in a school of girls in short uniform skirts? That's just sick, L.T. I put guys in jail for things like that."
"That's not what I meant." Lieutenant George sighed, running a finger through his thinning grey hair.
Logan conceded, but only slightly. "Okay, I know you didn't mean exactly mean it like that. But I just can't do this."
"You love undercover work. I don't understand why this is such an issue."
"Let's just say high school and I didn't get along so well the first time through."
"You're a good lookin' dude. The girls all love
you. I bet you were a jock." There was obvious envy in his boss's words. If only George knew the truth of all the long lonely nights Logan spent with only the remote control and bad take-out food for company.
Logan grunted as he kicked the rusted leg of the old metal table used for interrogating suspects. A forgotten pair of handcuffs dangled from the crossbar under the table. Using a key he removed from jeans pocket, Logan unlocked the cuffs and tossed them on the steel table with a loud clang.
As much as he didn't want to revisit his youth, if he explained his resistance maybe Lieutenant George would take pity on him and let him out of the job. "Try captain of the chess team, no date to the prom, and the baseball team was nice enough to let me warm the bench for a few seasons."
Lieutenant George burst out laughing. "How is that possible? I mean...I mean...well, just look at you!"
"If you say so, but I'm hardly the ladies' man you are." He had more than made up for prom over the years with a series of gratuitous one-night stands, but never anything serious or long lasting. Logan was not a man for commitment. It was hard to commit when he didn't believe in love.
"Oh, you are a funny one, James!" The lieutenant blew him off with a grin. Still, Logan couldn't help but notice he sucked in his gut a little and straightened his generally stooped shoulders.
Logan shrugged. "Anyway, I was not the big man on campus. Not by a long shot. My aunt always told me I was a late bloomer.
I grew eight inches my freshman year of college and gained about sixty pounds.
Try being the runt living with two cousins who were
the same age and twice my size."
"Oh. Well, this time around should go better. You're not a nerd anymore."
"Gee, thanks. I appreciate your support, but it still isn't going to happen!" He slammed a fist against the steel table. He ignored the pain that shot up his forearm and scowled at his boss again.
"I'm sorry, James, but if the chief says so."
"I know, I know...if the chief says it's me, then it's me." Logan sighed heavily as he leaned back against the old chair once again. "There's really no way out of this, is there?"
No." The lieutenant shrugged as he headed toward the door. "Who knows, maybe you'll meet a cute school teacher and finally lose your bachelor virginity."
"I like being a bachelor. No one to tell me what to do. Except you and the chief, of course."
"Didn't they cover following orders in the police academy?"
"Yeah, but no one ever said I had to like it."
"Come on, James, it won't be near as bad as your first time through. This time you'll be a teacher, not a nerd."
"Who are you calling a nerd?" Logan snapped.
"I...I thought you said captain of the chess team?" Lieutenant George feigned confusion, but his eyes twinkled.
"Whatever!" Logan dismissed his boss with a wave of his hand. "Give me the file. Let me see what I'm up against."
The lieutenant tossed an olive green folder onto the table and dropped down into a second chair.
Logan took the file and began to flip through
it. A couple of police reports, a faculty list, and not much more. He eyed his boss, confused.
"There's almost nothing in here."
"That's because we don't know much."
"Then how do you know the problem is in the school?"
"We don't. That's what you are going to find out."
"How am I supposed to do that if I don't have any idea what I'm looking for? Pretty sure I'm going stick out like a sore thumb if I just start asking questions about drugs."
"Come on, James." Lieutenant George stood and walked around the table. Placing his hand on Logan's shoulder, he looked the younger man straight in the eye. "You are one of the best detectives I've ever known. Undercover is your thing. It might take some time but I have complete faith in you. The chief has faith in you. Your record speaks for itself. All you have to do is find out who the distributer is and take them down."
Logan
dropped his eyes to the file in his hand. "These are rich kids, L.T. They can get anything they want, anytime they want. If it turns out it's one of them passing the feel good pills around, exactly how long do you think it'll take before someone's daddy has me in court? I've got no patience for rich people. Going undercover as a john or doper or gang banger is one thing. You want me to become a history teacher! In a school full of rich kids. I don't know anything about history...or having money!"
"Would you prefer we put you in as a math teacher?"
"Oh, hell no!"
"Then history it is. You can do this, James. I know you can. Anyone who can infiltrate the 14th Street Beat gang can handle a little undercover gig in a preppy high school."
"Can't you put me in as a security officer or something?"
"No can do. We need you to get friendly with the students, the other teachers. Security doesn't mix with the general population enough. So meet your alter ego, Mr. Logan Smith, history teacher." Lieutenant George tossed another folder on the table. "Everything you need to set up your cover is in there. Get yourself a couple of dress shirts and a tie or two. St. Mary's requires its male teachers to wear ties and button downs."
"Ugh...ties and dress shirts? Really?"
George stared pointedly at the worn jeans and tee shirt Logan currently sported. Practical for his work on the streets busting drug dealers and prostitutes, apparently not so great for teaching in a high end prep school.
"Yes...really. Oh, and get a haircut. You look like a bum."
"I like my hair." To make his point, Logan shook the unruly mop of wavy sun-bleached blond hair.
"It makes you look like a homeless, pot head surfer. Clean yourself up." George was halfway out the door by then.
"I look like everyone else down on the corner. Where I like to work. Send me back there. I'm sure there's something going on in the district."
"No!" Lieutenant George called back from the hallway.
"Do I really have to do this thing?" Logan
yelled back.
"Yes!" The Lieutenant responded from the end of the hall. "Op starts Tuesday."
"That's like four days from now. I'm gonna bill the department for the clothes!" he yelled as the heavy metal door at the end of the hall banged closed.
He kicked hard at the metal table leg.
"Damn it all to hell."
***
"I so cannot do this again." Lucy groaned loudly and pulled her pillow over her head as the bright Virginia sunshine filled her bedroom. There was no smog, no skyscrapers, no anything to filter the light and give her a chance to ease into being awake.
A distant rooster crowed its early greeting to the sun. Five thirty in the morning, every freaking morning. If she stayed in this godforsaken town for a hundred years she would never get used to it. She missed horns blaring and tires squealing against heavy brakes that used to serve as her alarm clock back home in New York City. The whole chickens in the yard, cows grazing alongside the highway, thing didn't really work for her.
Teaching Catholic school wasn't so great either. Why the powers that be in witness protection felt a New York City cop would make a good Catholic school history teacher, she couldn't begin to fathom. In fact, she hated teaching almost as much as she hated chickens. The only thing she had in common with her students was being Catholic.
Yet here she was, all dressed up in her ridiculous teacher clothes, with her fake blue eyes,
and disturbing straight blonde hair, trying to live a life she despised and be thankful for it.
"At least you are still alive, girl," she whispered to the sad reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Yeah, right. She might be alive, but living was another idea all together.
"If I could at least carry a gun..." Lucy said to no one in particular. Not carrying her trusty sidearm made her feel as naked as a jaybird, but there was no getting around it. Part of the terms of the contract stipulated she could do nothing reminiscent of her old life, including the concealed carry of her favorite type of accessory.
"Here we go again," she muttered, sliding behind the wheel of her little car.
The drive to St. Mary's took less than ten minutes. The parking lot looked exactly the way it did when she drove away the previous June, full of expensive SUVs and shiny convertibles that all made her aged sedan look much older than its nine years. The only noticeable change was a deep blue Jeep Wrangler—as about as out of place as a football team would be in the all-girls school—sat in the space where Lucy usually parked. Not a good way to start her morning when she was already so tense.
"Hey, Ms. Taylor!" a voice called to her from across the lot.
"Good morning, Sarah!" she called back a lot less cheerfully than she had intended. Her former student waved and walked on.
Another year was about to begin. Oh, how she missed her old life. Lucy was not born to be a teacher, not by any stretch of the imagination.
But, it was a job. It kept her from going insane from the loneliness that had been a constant part of her life since she fled the city over a year ago and left her
friends and family to believe she was dead.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," she whispered for the hundredth time since it had all gone down.
As she trudged her way to room 210, Lucy forced thoughts of death and funerals from her mind, replacing them with good memories of her life in the city. Such as the smell of roasted cashews and sauerkraut covered hotdogs from street vendors, taxis honking, New Yorkers telling each other to go to hell on every corner. Dark alleys hosting a multitude of crimes that beckoned to her like crack to an addict. No text books, no lesson plans, no parent conferences.
"Umpf!" Lost in recollection, Lucy slammed into a solid mass. As the man turned around, she came face to face with the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. A quirky smile lifted one corner of his lip as he reached out to steady her. His light touch on her forearm sent a shocking shiver down her spine. No one had elicited any sort of response from her feminine side since...well, in a long, long time.
"Excuse me, Miss. I'm sorry to get in your way. I...umm...I am a little lost. I guess my eyes were focused on room numbers instead of where I was walking."
Lucy couldn't help but smile back, despite her best effort not to.
"Oh...are you new here?"
"Yes, ma'am." The handsome stranger stuck out his hand. "Name's Logan Smith. I'm teaching World History."
Lucy eyed the man, instantly suspicious. Of course, lately she had become instantly suspicious of
everyone. Lucy accepted his outstretched hand.
"Lucy Taylor. I teach U.S. History. What room were you looking for?"
"Oooohhhh, Ms. Taylor! Who's the hottie?" The same girl from the parking lot called out, openly eyeing the school's newest instructor. Lucy flushed a deep crimson. They were standing in the middle of the main hallway practically holding hands. Quickly letting go of Mr. Smith's hand, she shoved her own into the pocket of her corduroy skirt. It irritated her that she missed simple human contact way more than she should.
"Don't you have a class to get to, Sarah?" Lucy used her sternest teacher voice to redirect the young lady. Sarah was all smiles as she waved to the new teacher. Lucy could see why, Mr. Smith was definitely nice to look at, a fact that was going to cause some unrest in the all female population. "The bell is about to ring, you know."
"Yes, Ms. Taylor." The girl scurried off giggling, her plaid skirt flipping around her legs as she moved. Lucy turned back to Logan. The man was definitely way too handsome for his own good. His students were never going to take him seriously. Why did she even care anyway?
Because that man is fine with a capital F, and you have been alone and lonely for way too long.
Lucy pushed thoughts of how handsome Mr. Smith was out of her mind and focused on the task at hand.
"Now, Mr. Smith, which room were you looking for?"
He checked the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. "Um, looks like room 212."
Damn! He's right next door.
The new teacher unnerved her, and she didn't need anything throwing her off her game. Suddenly very self-conscious, Lucy took off down the hall and through the throng of girls eagerly greeting each after a summer of camps and vacations. Without looking back even once to see if Logan Smith followed her, Lucy stopped short in front of her classroom.
"Your room is right there." She pointed to the open door about ten feet away from her own.
Logan flashed her a smile that lit a playful light in his eyes. That little shiver traveled the length of her spine once again. What the heck? Since when did the smile of a good-looking guy have any effect on her at all? Nothing had penetrated her shell since Salvatore.
"Thank you. I feel as lost as I did my freshman year of high school! Of course, back in those days I didn't have a pretty escort to show me around, so maybe this time around won't be quite so bad." He winked and then chuckled when Lucy blushed.
She averted her eyes, not accustomed to having conversations anymore with anyone, especially flirty, handsome men. In five minutes she would have thirty expectant teenagers waiting to see if she could teach them a thing or two. She didn't have time to wonder where Mr. Smith had come from or why he was stirring feelings deep inside her that she was absolutely certain she had locked away a long time ago.
"Well, everyone gets the jitters on the first day. You'll be fine. Let me know if you need anything." Lucy disappeared inside her room.
She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. Her abrupt departure was on the rude side, but she was a little rusty on the personal interaction front.
Mostly, she just talked to her students, and
occasionally the television. She hadn't made a single friend in all the months since leaving New York.
She had no desire to get comfortable in this place and certainly didn't intend to die in the mountains of Virginia, no matter what the feds had to say about it. Lucy sighed heavily and dropped her bag on her desk. The mess that was her life would never be resolved. Not as long as a single member of the Ricci family was alive.