He would have liked to claim he was cool, calm, and ready to talk to Meg. The truth was his gut was wound so tight, his muscles cramped. She was mad at him and that simple fact kept him awake most of the night. Instead of being able to stay aloof as he always did, she ruffled him beyond reason.
Why her? Why now?
He’d successfully turned away from his attraction to her for years. He hadn’t made his no-commitment decision easily or fast. It came over years of interaction with his mother, then a college girlfriend who showed the same tendencies as his mother. The fact that he would make that kind of mistake by picking a woman so similar scared the hell out of him. He wanted no part of a long-term relationship or ending up trapped like his father. If he needed any reminders, his frequent interactions with his mother did the trick.
His boots were noisy on the linoleum floor, echoing down the hall and grating against his nerves. Meg certainly wouldn’t understand his reluctance. She had a close family anchored in love and loyalty. Frankly, he was waiting for the day that fell apart. How could it not? It wasn’t normal for families to be that happy, that committed to each other. True love didn’t exist for a man and woman. Human beings hurt each other, striving for self-importance. For twenty-nine years, he’d witnessed the exact opposite of everything the Applegate family represented and his job only put the punctuation mark on the sentence. No, it was better this way. Detached. Alone. Free.
At the door to Meg’s room, he stopped and lectured himself about not letting her inside his head to mess with decisions that were made a long time ago. Relief at maintaining the status quo, reaffirming the decision warred with disappointment that he couldn’t take a chance on her, just this once.
Bret opened the door and glanced in the classroom. Meg sat at her desk with a student. She looked up, and when she recognized him, the light died in her eyes, replaced by a blankness that annoyed the hell out of him. Meg handed a paper back to the student and he returned to his desk. The rest of the class worked in small groups.
“Guys, keep working. I’ll be back in a minute.” Meg came to the door, straightening her jacket. She stepped around him and into the hall. She didn’t tease him, didn’t brush against him, didn’t smile.
Oh, boy! He was in serious trouble here. The chief would not be happy. Deep down he wasn’t either. His heart wanted to do whatever was necessary to make it up to her. His brain told him it was so the wrong thing to do. What now?
She’d worn black slacks and a black blouse with a bright blue jacket to school this morning.
It was her professional teacher look, but she felt frumpy, not sexy, so seeing Bret now, like this, didn’t inspire a good mood.
Her hands shook and, annoyed with herself, she took a deep breath. She was an expert debater. She knew how to manage her nerves. Yeah, but this wasn’t a debate tournament. It was Bret. She loved him and he didn’t love her. Maybe, he never would.
She silently berated herself. This conversation had nothing to do with love and everything to do with respect. She really wanted to help them catch the kids who were ransacking the community and violating other students’ private lives. They were an affront to every other kid who worked hard and stayed out of trouble.
Bret closed the door part way to give them privacy. The scowl on his face tore a tiny hole in her heart. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a light blue button down shirt with a pair of black cowboy boots, a look that made her heart seize. Determined to stay mad, she went on the offensive first.
“What do you want?” She leaned against the wall.
He looked tired, but finally managed a smile. “I guess to set up another time to go over your notes.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We’ve had another robbery, and the driver of the delivery truck isn’t talking.”
Meg straightened, finally letting some emotion show in her face. It was too hard to maintain her air of indifference given what she’d just heard. “Who?”
“Weatherheads.”
“Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“Darn it. I’ll add her to my matrix.”
“I’m off at two. Can I meet you after school somewhere?” Bret actually looked abashed.
Meg narrowed her eyes. After he stood her up for dinner, she would not let herself volunteer again. “Why didn’t you tell me about your suspect when you called me Saturday?”
He pushed the door almost closed. “Meg...”
She interrupted him, her anger finally finding the right target. “You are the one that came to the high school and asked for my help. I am not asking to do your job, but I am asking that you keep me apprised of the situation. I can’t watch for behavior changes or give you ideas if I don’t know the whole story. How do you know I don’t have the solution in my matrix? Did you even look at it?” She barely stopped herself from shaking her teacher finger at him.
Bret moved over to the opposite wall, putting his back against it and gazed at her. “Yes. I did. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I was hoping that our driver would give us our answers and the whole thing would be solved. I didn’t mean to leave you out.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. But regardless, you did leave me out. Without an explanation.” She crossed her arms in front of her, staring him down. He assessed her with those cool gray eyes and it infuriated her. “I am a fairly intelligent woman. I can grasp these things. But I don’t read minds and I don’t appreciate being left out of the loop.”
He straightened, propping his hands on his hips. The movement pulled back his jacket and revealed his gun and badge. “I’m the cop here, Meg. It’s my case. I decide when you need to be in the loop.”
“Do you know any of the kids who are involved?” She released her grip on her elbows and flexed her fingers to encourage the circulation again.
“You know I don’t,” he snapped.
“You need what I know.” She tipped her head and gritted her teeth, trying like hell to temper her challenging attitude.
He crossed his arms. “I’ll concede that point. I say again, though. I didn’t purposely not tell you.”
She thought she did a fine job of smothering the snort, but he glared at her, belying the notion.
He stepped toward her. “Why don’t you meet me at my house at five? We can spread out your notes and go over all of it.”
Was there reluctance in his tone?
She stared at him, impassive. “Why don’t you apologize for missing dinner and promise not to leave me out again and I’ll think about it?”
A tick in his jaw was the only way she knew she was getting to him. He was silent for a long moment, his gaze over her head, and Meg thought she’d pushed too hard. He took a deep breath and let his eyes settle on her. “I apologize for missing dinner, for not giving you the information as soon as I had it, and I’ll try to do a better job of keeping you informed. Happy now?”
“Yes.” She wanted to tack on that he could work on his attitude, but she didn’t want to alienate him. After all, she wanted his respect. She wanted him in her life and her bed, not angry and mute. She wanted a chance with him and that meant beating her head on the brick of his walls until he let her in.
Was she up to the challenge?
She had to be. She was in love with him. Four years hadn’t changed that feeling.
Finally, she nodded. “All right. Your house. Five o’clock.”
“Do you know where I live?”
“Yes.” She started to open her classroom door, but turned back to him when he cleared his throat. She was relieved when his eyes drifted over her, sparking with interest. It made her want to warm up her jackhammer and pound through his walls.
“Dinner?” he asked. “I’ll pick something up at Clem’s. What would you like?”
“Daily special will be fine. See you at five.” She went into her classroom, reaching back to pull the door closed. He watched her until she shut the door. She could have turned and given him a flirty look, but she was damn tired of pla
ying games and ready to get down to business.
~~CHAPTER SIX~~
Meg parked her car at the curb and got out. After school she’d gone home and spent some time updating her matrix with as much as she knew about Jordan Weatherhead. She’d changed into her most comfortable jeans and a lime green Henley shirt with buttons that stopped right at her cleavage. She was going to make good use of her assets even if she had resolved to stop pursuing him. She’d freshened her makeup, changed her earrings to match her shirt, spritzed on her favorite perfume for confidence, and slipped into her brown heeled boots and leather jacket.
Here she was now, poised at the curb of Bret’s house, two blocks from the high school and next door to Good Shepherd Church where Boo and Lindy went to preschool. His home was a small, one-story brick house. The yard had neatly trimmed shrubs, but in all other ways was nondescript. His truck was in the driveway. Gripping the file folder with all her notes, she walked up the sidewalk and rang the bell.
He answered too quickly as if he’d been standing near the door watching for her. He hadn’t changed clothes and her lust reaction to him was much the same as it had been this afternoon.
“Hi. Come on in.” Unsmiling, he opened the door wider and looked sorry he’d offered his house for their meeting.
For a moment her feet were stuck on the porch, her body inert. Even though he didn’t seem glad to see her, euphoria flooded her senses. Again. What a stupid reaction to seeing his house and him in it. She had to get herself under control. She detested women who made fools out of themselves over a man. The idea rankled that she could be one of them.
She stepped inside. The living room-dining room area was small, tidy, and organized. Over a long counter, white kitchen appliances lined the small space. A short hallway ended in two doors on opposite sides. One she presumed was his bathroom, the other his bedroom.
“Can I take your coat?” Bret lifted his hands to help her take off her leather jacket. He hung it on the doorknob of the coat closet.
She stepped further into the room, curiosity killing her. The floor space wasn’t much, but he’d kept to simple furnishings that made her envious. The brown leather sofa matched the recliner. All the rest of the furniture was Shaker design and new—the television armoire, the coffee table, two end tables, his desk, and the dining room table and chairs. Meg itched to run her fingers over the wood, but figured Bret would pack her off to the loony bin. An ivory and burgundy patterned rug pulled the room together into comfort and warmth. The house smelled like lemon oil and meatloaf and she drew a deep breath with the utmost pleasure.
But the most stunning feature of the room left her mouth hanging open. Bret had turned on the two brass floor lamps in the room to highlight the three walls filled with artwork. One long wall displayed four framed Ansel Adams photographs. Meg gasped. Were they originals? Over the dining room table hung a stunning watercolor by an artist she didn’t know. The third wall showed three paintings, one large and two small, of the town reservoir and the falls signed by now world-renowned artist, Summer LeFey, a local girl who’d made good.
Meg realized she’d been standing for several minutes without speaking, in fact, barely breathing. She turned to Bret, who was watching her—as if he was holding his breath for her reaction.
“Your home is wonderful. I love your artwork. Did you know Summer LeFey is from Echo Falls?”
“Clem told me that when I bought them. She painted those when she was in high school.” He put a hand on the small of her back and steered her to the dining room table. “Let’s eat first. Dinner is still hot. Special today was meat loaf.”
“I like Clem’s meatloaf.” She pulled out a chair.
He smiled. “Me, too.”
She dropped her purse and papers on the edge of the table and admired the incredible sunset painting on the facing wall while Bret set their covered plates on the table.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Water is fine.” She seated herself, every nerve ending supercharged with energy.
He came back with two bottles of water, sat across from her, and handed her one. “Clem’s meatloaf isn’t as good as your grandmother’s.”
“Yeah, but it’ll do in a pinch.” She picked up her fork, unexpectedly hungry. “You want to talk over dinner?”
“Up to you.” He salted and peppered his potatoes from the containers on the table.
Talking business was probably the only way to get through dinner. They seemed to be in some kind of uneasy truce. She was hungry, but nervous being with him one-on-one, so not like the usual Sunday dinners at her grandmother’s. She’d gotten over her mad and didn’t want to do or say anything to make him back away. He seemed somewhat relaxed tonight, more relaxed than she’d seen him in a while.
She put her fork down and pulled her file over. “All right. The basics then. I’ve been looking at the high school students whose homes have been robbed. You may have done all this yourself, but I’m going to start there. Let me know if I’m being redundant.”
“I looked over your matrix, but start there anyway.” He took a bite of his dinner. His eyes were on her and his complete and utter attention clenched her stomach. She took a couple of bites of potatoes before she began. Anything to settle her belly.
“We have sixteen robberies and sixteen students. Seven girls now and nine boys. Four seniors, six juniors, five sophomores, and one freshman. Blake Carlsson’s house was the only one not hit. Instead, according to your report, the car his father bought him was vandalized at the car lot. How they knew that is an interesting question. Town kids and rural kids have been chosen. Nine houses had more than one high school student living there, but I assumed the destroyed room belonged to the target. “
“Good assumption. Who’s the freshman?” He reached for his file folder on his side of the table.
“Athena Moreau, Homecoming Princess, Student Council.”
“Robbery number eleven.” He flipped his file open and scanned the page.
She put down her notes and ate several more bites, her thoughts tumbling down multiple paths—robberies, food, and how damn good Bret smelled. Even distracted, she moaned at the spicy smell of the meatloaf and took a minute to savor a few bites.
She looked up. He stared at her.
“What? Have I got something on my face?” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
“I don’t know many women who enjoy their food like you do.”
“I don’t know many women who don’t, especially Clem’s meatloaf.”
He looked skeptical, as though he didn’t agree and thought she faked her enjoyment of the meal. Frustration and repressed need rose up to sour the dinner, but she forced herself to take even bites of her potatoes and her salad. The familiar flavors settled her emotions.
She swallowed and returned the conversation to a safe subject. “Question.”
“Shoot.” He looked at his own plate, taking several more bites before looking at her again.
“How many kids do you think are involved?”
“We think two. But that’s only a guess. An educated one, but still a guess. Why?”
“Because I’ve compared these kids. They have commonalities, of course, but there isn’t any single one thing that pulls them all together other than that they attend Mustang High.”
He started to speak, but she raised her fork and pointed at him. “I’ve done the comparisons. Class schedules, known friends, after school activities, boyfriends or girlfriends, who lives by whom, who is mad at whom, all that. Faith Lancaster, our first victim, is a senior and has nothing whatsoever to do with Athena Moreau, our freshman, or Gwen Kramer, victim nine. They don’t overlap at all. So this only makes sense if there is more than one person picking the targets.”
“Agreed. In fact, I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the case. Although, I also think there has to be a leader so to speak.”
“A high school student?”
“I don’t think so. I think there is an adult inv
olved.”
“Why? What in the robberies suggests that?” She took a sip of water, washing away the remnants of her dinner.
He set down his fork, his plate empty. “Call it police logic, if you will. Most high school students are not capable of managing over a dozen robberies without leaving any clues. And their fencing connection is from Fort Worth, or at least that’s the address we’ve come up with for him. These kids don’t have those kinds of contacts that we know of.”
She briefly closed her eyes overwhelmed with the responsibility of pointing the police in a logical direction. “These are all good kids. I have no clue why someone would choose them. Could be the smallest slight. Who knows? It’s high school. You have no idea the kind of drama exists there. But only a few have been in trouble and it was minor stuff.”
“Who’s been in trouble? Nothing turned up in our database.” He rose and took her empty plate and his to the kitchen. She heard the pinging of a microwave, and a minute later he returned with dessert, Clem’s cherry pie, warmed to perfection. She groaned. She was going to have to run tomorrow, rain, shine, cold or windy. The calories in the pie were enough to add five pounds to her hips.
“Meg? Who’s been in trouble?”
“Tyler Murray was a handful in junior high. His dad is in the Army Reserves and went to Afghanistan. Tyler did a lot of acting out while he was gone.
His discipline stayed in the school structure. Although I think the chief talked to him. Diego James was on a fast track to prison like his father. Coach Gutherie got hold of him during freshman year and persuaded him to move from the canyon and into town to his grandmother’s and to try out for the football team. Now, he’s the team’s star receiver. In fact, did you know there has been much speculation he’ll be recruited to one of the big NCAA schools on a football scholarship?”
“I’d heard that. The connection to our perps might be in the relationships those boys had when they were in trouble. Who did they hang with?”
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 27