His gaze moved slowly over the outline of the curvy feminine figure clad in black. There was something about Summer Montgomery that intrigued him. What it was he hadn’t been able to discern. They hadn’t exchanged more than ten words since being formally introduced.
He’d thought her stunningly beautiful despite her youthful-looking appearance. At first glance she appeared no older than a high school coed, but after reading the booklet distributed at the orientation describing the curriculum vitae of the faculty he discovered she had graduated college more than a decade before. Additional information listed she had appeared as a lead in a popular Broadway musical production, earning her a best actress Tony nomination.
The orientation sessions were relaxed with everyone dressed in T-shirts, tank tops, shorts, jeans, sandals and running shoes. Summer Montgomery had arrived on the first day sporting a navy blue T-shirt, body-hugging jeans, and a pair of running shoes. The casual attire, fringe of bangs framing her forehead and her long dark hair swept up in a ponytail had caused most heads to turn in her direction. Her presence had male teachers smiling, and female teachers’ tongues wagging. Amused and completely stunned, Gabriel had stared mutely.
Now, Summer crossed her arms under her breasts. “If you talk to them, Mr. Cole, they will go away.”
His curving eyebrows met in a frown. “I have no intention of talking to them, and they will go away, Miss Montgomery.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Mr. Cole.”
Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. “And you’re entitled to your opinion.”
In that instant Summer wanted to rap her knuckles against his forehead. She didn’t know whether it was arrogance or naïveté that had Gabriel believing the reporters and photographers would disappear because he willed it.
She gave him a lingering look that said: You and I are not going to get along. The silent warning whispered to her and her frustration escalated.
She, Gabriel, and artist Desiree Leighton had met for the first time five days earlier at a new teacher orientation. She and Desiree, fifty-eight and a self-proclaimed hippie from the 60s, had bonded instantly, but not so with Gabriel. He had sat off by himself while the principal presented an overview of Weir’s history. Even after teachers met with the heads of their respective departments, Gabriel still did not interact with anyone. At the end of the three-day session Summer had two words for him: arrogant and aloof.
What she refused to acknowledge was that he was gorgeous. She had successfully suppressed a gasp when she’d come face-to-face with him for the first time. Film footage and photographs had failed to capture the power in his tall muscular body whenever he moved, or the air of authority that demanded one’s complete attention once he walked into a room.
A background check revealed he had been born Gabriel Morris Cole. A native Floridian born into what was reported to be the wealthiest black family in the United States and never married, he had celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday in March, stood six-three in bare feet, weighed around one-eighty and had earned a master’s degree in music education. And despite his celebrity status, he had remained a very private person. His file also contained several entries of long-term romantic liaisons with women in film and music. Other than that, he had lived a scandal-free life.
Summer had spent more than a month going over the background reports of everyone at Weir High—faculty and staff—and had come up with nothing that hinted of a suspicion of illegal drug use and/or sales. Several had been arrested for minor traffic infractions, the head custodian had had a portion of his wages garnisheed for non-payment of child support, and one teacher had filed for bankruptcy.
She stared at Gabriel as he took off his sunglasses and baseball cap. Long, gray-streaked wavy black hair flowed over his shoulders and down his back before he secured it in a ponytail with an elastic band.
Her dark brown eyes locked with a pair the color of sun-fired gold. Without warning he smiled, flashing a pair of deep dimples in both cheeks. There was something in the crooked smile under a neatly barbered mustache that was so endearing that Summer held her breath for several seconds before she returned his smile with a sensual one of her own. The unconscious gesture seemed to melt the tension between them.
Attractive lines fanned out around Gabriel’s large penetrating eyes as his smile widened. “Have you come up with any ideas for the spring music festival?”
Moving away from the window, Summer sat down at one of the three desks she had claimed for herself, unaware that Gabriel’s gaze measured her approach under lowered lids. Opening a drawer, she reached for her shoulder bag and withdrew a small spiral notebook.
“As a matter of fact, I have. I spent the weekend exploring a few possibilities.”
Gabriel sat down at a desk facing Summer’s, leaving Desiree to claim the remaining desk in a corner whenever she arrived. Resting his elbows on the scarred top, he gave her a direct stare. “You spent your Labor Day weekend working?” The query held a hint of disbelief.
Her head came up and she glared at him. “Yes, I did. You make it sound as if I’d committed a serious crime.”
“It’s not a crime to work holidays, Summer,” he countered, his deep soft voice layered with a thick southern drawl, “but if I’d known you intended to start on the project, then I would’ve asked if I could work with you.”
She blinked once. “That could have become a possibility if you hadn’t acted like a stuck-up snob.”
His eyes widened until she could see their dark-brown centers. “Me? A snob!”
“Yes, you.”
“I…I’m not a snob,” he sputtered as blood darkened his olive skin under a rich summer tan.
“You can believe whatever you choose to believe, Gabriel. You’re probably so used to people, women in particular, fawning over you because of your celebrity status that you hold back a little of yourself.”
“That may be true at times, but not here.”
Summer shrugged a shoulder. She did not intend to argue with him. He was aloof and a snob. Picking up the notebook, she handed it to him. “Take a look at what I’ve come up with.”
Gabriel took the book, his fingers grazing Summer’s long manicured fingers. The forefinger of his left hand caressed the hair on his upper lip in an up-and-down stroking motion. He had spent the last six months growing a beard, but had shaved it off before coming to Weir. He had become so used to facial hair that he decided to leave the mustache.
His gaze lingered on her neat slanting writing; his only visible reaction was a slight lifting of his expressive eyebrows. It appeared that not only was Summer talented and beautiful, but also quite intelligent. A most winning combination when the appeal of some of the women he had become involved with was that of eye-candy. Their only asset was that they were superficially pretty. Some he dated because that was what his publicist recommended. He’d agreed to escort them to opening night premieres, Hollywood parties, championship sporting events, but he had never slept with any of them.
“I like the titles. A Musical History of the Americas in Song and Dance. A Journey through the Americas in Song and Dance. An American Experience in Song and Dance.”
A flicker of excitement lit up Summer’s eyes. “I personally like An Odyssey of Music and Dance in the Americas. I believe a production covering everything from Native American and slave chants to Negro spirituals, Irish step dancing, the waltz, Bluegrass, Jazz, Ragtime, Country, Zydeco, Blues, Big Band, R&B, Rock and Roll, Folk, Soul, Latin and up to and including Rap and Hip-Hop will offer a little something to everyone: faculty, staff, students, and their families. It will cross cultures and generations.”
Gabriel stroked his mustache. “It sounds like a monumental undertaking.”
Summer stared at his handsome face. “You got game, Gabriel?”
Grinning, his straight white teeth showing under the mustache, he said softly, accepting her challenge, “I got lots of game, Summer. How about you?”
“More than you’ll ever know,
” she crooned.
Leaning back in his chair, he angled his head. “I suppose that settles it. You’re the lead teacher for the spring production, and I’ll take the Christmas holiday program. It looks as if Desiree is going to have her work cut out for her with all of the stage decorations.”
Resting her elbows on her desk, Summer leaned forward. “I’m certain she will be up to the challenge.” Desiree had lived on three continents, married and divorced Kenyan and Japanese artists, had owned an art gallery in Los Angeles, and had spent several years in Hollywood as a set designer.
He nodded. “Why don’t we get together this weekend and begin planning what we’re going to need to put on a first-rate production?”
“I can’t. Not this weekend.” This weekend she was to meet with Lucas Shelby for her bi-monthly briefing session.
“When?”
“Next weekend.”
“My place or yours?” Gabriel asked.
She had rented a furnished condominium apartment in Whitman, a bedroom community south of Boston with a population of thirteen thousand residents. Although there was nothing in her apartment that would link her to her undercover role, she had made it a habit not to invite strangers to her temporary residences. The place she called home was in St. Louis, Missouri. In between assignments she returned there to stay with her maternal grandmother. She saw her parents on average once a year. Both doctors with the World Health Organization, Robert and Mildred Montgomery had lived more than two-thirds of their lives practicing medicine in foreign countries.
“Yours.” Summer thought she saw a satisfied light fire Gabriel’s golden gaze. “Where do you live?”
“Cotuit.”
“On Cape Cod?”
He nodded. “I bought a little place there last year.”
The fact that Gabriel had purchased property on the Cape was not in his report. She suspected this information had been excluded because he had been exempt from the DEA’s investigation.
“You drive here from the Cape everyday?”
“It’s only about sixty miles each way. And now that the tourists are gone I usually don’t encounter too many traffic delays.”
Summer knew she had stepped into a trap of her own making. She had just committed to driving more than an hour to meet with Gabriel for their first planning session.
She gave him a lingering look. “Okay. I’ll meet you at your place.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Why don’t I pick you up at your place next Friday morning, drive you to school, then we can ride down together at the end of the day. It will save time and gas if we use one car.”
The shock of his suggestion caused the words to wedge in her throat. “I need to understand something. You’re not going to drive me down to Cotuit just to turn around and bring me back later that night.”
Gabriel stared at Summer, his expression one of faint amusement. He liked driving, but not enough to clock two hundred fifty miles in a single day. “Of course not. I expect you to spend the weekend.”
Her delicate jaw dropped. “The weekend?”
“I’m sure there’s no echo is this room,” he said glibly. “Yes, Summer, the weekend. If you want something as lavish as a musical production spanning several centuries, then it’s going to take weeks of planning. We have to select the music, identify the appropriate instruments, and decide on vocal arrangements. Then you’re going to have to work with Desiree on the set designs. And I don’t have to remind you of auditioning students for the various parts, and then the endless rehearsals. If on the other hand, you feel uncomfortable staying with me, then I can always spend the weekend with you.”
“You can’t spend the weekend with me.”
“Why? Your boyfriend would object?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she retorted quickly. “My place is too small. I have a one bedroom apartment.”
He flashed his winning crooked smile. “I can always sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t have a couch. I have two love seats. And I won’t be held responsible if you wake up with a misaligned spine.”
“You could always give up your bed.”
She gave a delicate snort. “I’d only give up my bed to a sick man.”
Gabriel affected a deep cough that rattled in his throat and chest.
“Stop,” she said, laughing. “Okay you win this time. I’ll spend next weekend with you.”
Gabriel wanted to tell Summer that he would win the next time and the time after that. After all, he was a Cole. And Coles were used to winning. He had won three Grammy awards and an Oscar before he had celebrated his thirtieth birthday.
The seven-twenty bell rang signaling the start of the first class of the day. The door opened and Desiree Leighton rushed into the office, cheeks flushed with excitement. The high color brought out the vividness of her bright blue eyes.
“I can’t believe I’m late. I’m never late for anything.”
Gabriel stood up, gathering his backpack. “Excuse me, ladies, but I have a class.”
Desiree smiled at him, locked her handbag in the desk in the corner before she rushed out behind Gabriel’s departing figure. “I’ll see you later, Summer,” she said over her shoulder, closing the door behind her.
Summer’s first class did not begin until eight-thirty. Gabriel had been assigned to the music department, Desiree to art, and she drama. Weir had applied for and had been awarded a grant of two hundred-fifty thousand dollars to develop a cultural arts program at the high school. The grant’s mission was geared toward reducing truancy, increasing student awareness of the arts, while offering two full college scholarships to qualified students for a degree in music education or fine arts.
Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Summer replayed Gabriel’s offer that she spend a weekend at his house. She was amenable to developing a musical production with him, but if he thought she was going to provide him with any other type of entertainment, then she would make him regret he’d ever taken his first breath.
Two
Summer sat across a table in a twenty-four-hour diner, watching Lucas Shelby sprinkle pepper over his eggs. Tendrils clung to her damp forehead from her three-mile jog. It was only the second week in September and cooler early morning temperatures hinted that summer was quickly coming to an end.
“Aren’t you going to order something to eat?” Lucas asked before he shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
She shook her head. “I’ll eat later.” She usually waited an hour after jogging before eating. Once she returned to her apartment she would prepare a small cup of fresh seasonal fruit, a slice of buttered raisin toast, and a cup of decaffeinated coffee.
Waiting until Lucas had taken a swallow of coffee, she said, “What do you have for me?”
Lowering his mug, he stared at the bare face of the woman he had supervised for the past three years. Her deep gold-brown complexion was flawless, her large soulful-looking eyes entrancing.
“Nothing. How about you?”
She lifted her shoulders under the jacket of her jogging suit while shaking her head. “Nothing. It’s only been three days, but all of the kids at Weir appear to be normal students doing whatever it is high school kids do. School policy is that they aren’t permitted to linger in the parking lot before or after classes, thereby eliminating the risk of dealing on school property. The bathrooms are monitored every quarter of an hour, and there are random locker checks.”
“What about teachers?”
“Again, I’m drawing a blank. Most drive late model cars that fall within the moderate price range. The only exception is a Porsche GT2 belonging to Gabriel Cole.”
Lucas whistled softly. “That puppy fully loaded will set you back a little under two hundred thousand.”
Her forehead furrowed. “How do you know the sticker price?”
“I took one for a test drive a couple of months ago. It hugged the road like a starving bab
y latching onto his mama’s tit.” He noted her scowl. “I’m sorry, Summer.”
She had decided to ignore his sexist reference, because within her first two years with the Department she had filed so many grievances for sexual harassment against her male counterparts that none of them wanted her on their team. Physically she could hold her own with any man, but the isolation had taken its toll on her emotionally after she was transferred from field to desk duty. She had joined the DEA to fight the war on drugs, not become a glorified desk clerk.
“Apology accepted.”
Even though Lucas, a confirmed bachelor, was only in his late fifties, she had begun to think of her field supervisor as a dinosaur. His reflexes and reaction time had slowed, and she knew he was internalizing a great deal of resentment because as one of the first employees of the Department he felt he should’ve headed one of the regional divisions.
“Right now I’m subbing for an English instructor. She sprained her wrist after falling down a flight of stairs in her home. I’ve assigned her students the short stories of Edgar Allan Poe.”
He smiled, wiggling his bushy eyebrows. “He’s one of my favorite authors.”
“I’m putting together a schedule for student auditions for a spring concert. This will give me a chance to interact with some of them one-on-one.”
“I know I don’t have to tell you to keep your eyes open.”
She nodded. “I want you to know that I’m not going to be around next weekend.”
He sat up straighter, his blue-green gaze suddenly alert. “Where are you going?”
“Down to the Cape. Gabriel Cole and I will be working together planning the spring concert.”
Lucas’s expression was impassive. “Try not to get caught up with his superstar status, Renegade.”
Summer went completely still. “You forget who I am and why I work for you.”
“I’ll say it again. Stay focused.”
She offered him a false smile. “If we’re finished, then I’d like to get back home and showered.” She stood up. “I’ll meet you here in two weeks.”
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