by Mindy Neff
“I think you can probably manage from here.”
“Chicken.”
“Excuse me?”
She wasn’t going to back down. He shoved his hands into his suit pants, his jacket stretching open. The way he held himself told her he’d already closed himself off from her.
“Adam, there’s something…special about you. I saw it last night. I’ve seen traces of it today. You’re sensitive to my thoughts, so don’t try to tell me otherwise. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Most people consider it a gift.”
His breath hissed out on a long, lonely sigh. Molly had the urge to reach for him, to wrap him in her arms and ease whatever caused his sadness.
“That wouldn’t be very smart.”
Her stomach somersaulted. “Isn’t that what friends are for? To offer comfort?” Breath held, she watched for his reaction, unsure why she was so determined that he admit the sensitivity. The thought of someone being able to read her mind gave her the willies, yet at the same time, with this man, it excited her.
She saw realization dawn, saw the scar beneath his brow whiten as the corners of his eyes tightened.
She reached out and placed her fingertips against the steel tendons of his arm. “Maybe you can tell me about it sometime. Not now,” she said when when his shoulders went rigid. “But if you need a friend… Well, I’m a pretty good listener.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He backed up a step and started to turn. “What time do you want me to pick you up in the morning?”
“Why would you pick me up?”
“Your car,” he reminded.
“Oh, damn. I forgot about the tire. Listen, this is probably out of your way. I’ll just call a cab.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve just offered me friendship. Isn’t that what friends are for? To give one another a lift?”
“I hate it when people throw my own words back at me.”
He smiled, and Molly felt something inside her give way. The man was entirely too attractive. And although she’d meant it when she’d told him there was no room in her heart for a relationship, it felt good to at least notice the awareness. She could use a friend. And if the bleakness she kept seeing in his eyes was any indication, he could, too.
“I usually leave around seven. Still, this is out of your way. I might even be able to get the tire fixed tonight.”
“You’re not going to an empty parking lot alone.”
“Adam,” she warned. “The quickest way to get me to do something is to tell me not to do it.”
“Okay, then, go ahead and do it. In the meantime, while you’re not doing what I just told you you could do, I’ve got a buddy who can run over and put a new tire on.”
Molly had to replay his words several times before they sank in. Her eyes narrowed. “You think you’re sneaky, don’t you? I’ve used that reverse-psychology trick on my students countless times. They’re usually smart enough to catch on.”
“Are they smart enough to accept an offer from a friend?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well?” he prompted. “Do I call my buddy or do I hang around here half the night worrying that you’ll be flitting off somewhere in the dark?”
“Why should you worry, Adam?”
He stared at her, his eyes straying to the tiny heart charm that rested against her chest. For a minute, she thought he was going to reach out and touch it. A part of her wanted to cover the charm—aside from a photograph, it was the only tangible reminder of Jason that she had left. She had no idea where the other half of the heart had ended up. She’d like to think it had been buried with him. It was more comforting to believe that than to imagine the exact match of her symbolic heart lying abandoned amid the wreckage of Jason’s car.
At last Adam raised his eyes to hers, and Molly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“I’m a worrier by nature, I guess.”
“Somehow I don’t think that characterization fits you.”
He shrugged. “So maybe I’m going through a change or something. Is there any law that says somebody can’t worry about somebody else?”
Ah, she thought. The macho ego going on the defense when threatened by softer emotions. She nearly smiled, but thought better of it. “Not that I’ve heard of.”
“Fine, then,” he said shortly. “I’ll be here at seven to pick you up.” He turned, his hands once again shoved deep in the pockets of his suit pants.
Her heart thumped unevenly as she watched his stride. Something about that gait sparked a familiar chord. Or maybe it was just his sadness she was responding to. He’d called himself a freak earlier. Yet she chose to see him as special. She had an idea he really would sleep in his car, just to watch over her.
“Adam?”
He paused.
“Thank you in advance for getting my tire fixed.”
He did turn then, and Molly grinned. “It’s safe for you to go home. I’ve got a ton of papers to grade, and I promise not to step a toe outside until you get here.”
Slowly the corners of his lips stretched into a wry smile. “Now, why, I wonder, does this feel too easy?”
Chapter Four
Molly was waiting at the curb when the Porsche pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex.
“I see you took my advice,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat.
“About what?”
“The jeans.”
He nodded once and glanced over his shoulder as he pulled out into traffic. “They’re comfortable.”
What an understatement. The denim hugged his thighs like a familiar lover. And it was entirely too early in the morning to be noticing things like that, Molly chided herself.
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Will you accuse me of sexual harassment if I comment on your dress?”
She grinned. “As long as the comment stops at the dress, you’re pretty safe.”
His eyes lingered at the flirty neckline of her floral dress. She had an urge to tug at the bust line, but controlled it. The flat, half-heart charm with its sentimental-lovers inscription seemed to heat against her skin as his gaze continued to linger.
“Pretty,” he murmured.
“Uh, Adam?” The Porsche was veering toward the curb.
“Hmm?”
“Shouldn’t you be watching the road?”
He swore and jerked the wheel. Molly grabbed the seat for balance, her skin tingling where his gaze had rested so possessively. It unsettled her to realize how easily this man could raise her desire—with sharp, heart-pounding swiftness.
“I trust you didn’t make any nocturnal visits to the homes of your students last night?” Adam commented.
“If you recall, I was a little short of transportation.”
“Yeah. Like that would stop you,” he said dryly.
“Shame on you, Adam. I made a promise. And I always keep my promises.”
Adam’s fingers tightened around the padded steering wheel. Yes, Molly always kept her promises. He knew the only reason she’d agreed to stay put was that she’d responded to his emotions. That was another thing about her. They’d shared a unique closeness in their short summer together, reacted to one another on the same wavelength.
Maybe that’s why it was so difficult now for him to block her thoughts. And he’d heard her thoughts last night. She’d worried about him, about his disgust over his condition. Her desire to understand him was nearly tangible. But Molly wouldn’t force the issue. She’d wait for him to tell as much or as little as he felt comfortable with.
Well, he didn’t feel comfortable at all. She was perceptive enough to guess, smart enough to put two and two together.
She thought he was special. She was used to taking on the troubles of others. Typically she’d want to take on his. But he couldn’t let her. Each additional burden chipped away at her, taking tiny pieces of her with it.
He knew she wouldn’t agree with that assessment. Still
, he had to be more careful. He had to make himself keep a distance—to stick to his original plan to watch her from afar. She was beginning to draw too many parallels between him and Jason North.
Adam parked the Porsche right next to her blue Honda. The front right tire was darker than the other three, shouting its newness.
“What do I owe your friend for the tire?”
She hopped out of the Porsche to inspect her rusted vehicle as if it were a long-lost child. Hell, even her possessions received her vibrant attention. And Adam decided he was an utter fool for envying a damned car.
“Nothing. He owed me a favor.” That was a blatant lie. He’d bought the tire—as well as a new spare and a jack—and done the changing himself. He’d had a lot of excess energy he’d needed to work off after being with Molly yesterday.
“Then I guess I owe you, don’t I?”
“No.”
“Adam. You collected a favor, and I got the reward. Now I either owe you money or a favor.”
“You can pay me back by promising to stay out of East L.A.”
“Sorry. I can’t make that promise.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
The hemline of her dress danced in the breeze as they approached the gates that guarded the open quad. The school was built around a center square of concrete that sported an amphitheater. Glass doors led to individual hallways and classrooms. Since it was still early, the security guards hadn’t yet unlocked the gates.
“We’ll have to go through the office,” Molly said, then frowned when she caught a flash of a pea green jacket.
Eddie Martinez. Running as if a rival gang was hot on his heels.
She quickly scanned the surroundings visible through the iron gates, but there were no other students in hot pursuit.
“Adam. Something’s wrong.” Eddie Martinez considered himself way too cool to show outward panic like this.
“Miss Kincade! Man, you gotta come quick. Polikian’s got his hand caught in the mechanical vise over in auto shop.”
“Oh, no!” Heart pounding, she started for the office doors.
Adam felt Molly’s emotions, the fear, the urgency. And like a speeding freight train, roaring and unstoppable, he felt the surge of adrenaline whip through him, felt the pain and heat and distortion as his internal system went haywire. He didn’t bother to fight it, knew it was too late. Instead, he snagged Molly’s arm, ignoring the zap of electricity that arced between them, and shoved right through the iron gates.
“Dude,” Eddie drawled, his dark eyes wide with both awe and a panic he couldn’t quite mask, “how’d you do that?”
“It wasn’t locked.” His voice deepened, became raspy. “Let’s go.”
Molly gathered the folds of her skirt in her hand and jogged after Adam, her insides a mass of screaming questions. She didn’t have time to debate whether the gate was in fact locked or not. A kid was in trouble.
It seemed to take forever before they reached the auto shop. A mechanical motor whirred with strain. Shawn Polikian’s dark complexion had paled. Tears streaked his cheeks.
Molly raced over and hit the power switch.
“The gear’s stuck,” Shawn panted, trying to wipe his cheeks on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “I just wanted to fix my radiator…since classroom was empty…and—”
“Hold still,” Adam said, supporting the teenager’s arm.
Molly pushed in front of Eddie, needing to help and feeling useless. Shawn’s hand was clamped between the jaws of the vise—a machine powerful enough to hold an engine block in place. Splotches of blood stained the concrete floor and the tips of Shawn’s tennis shoes. There wouldn’t be a bone left in this kid’s hand that wouldn’t be crushed. She had a fleeting thought as to whether he was right- or left-handed.
The pain this child must be in! She glanced around for a pry bar, but didn’t see anything thin enough to wedge between the angry jaws of steel. When she looked back, though, Adam was easing Shawn’s hand out of its crushing trap. Her knees turned to mush, and her eyes widened.
Eddie, peering across her shoulder, breathed a stunned expletive she’d just as soon he wouldn’t. “How’d you do that, man?”
“’Mr. Walsh,’” Molly automatically corrected, her voice trembling, thready. She, too, would like to know that answer.
“Yeah, man, I know who the dude is. Like, what’d he use? Magic or somethin’?”
“No magic,” Adam said. “Polikian here just needed to relax. That and Miss Kincade shutting off the power was enough to let his hand slip clear. Come on, son. Let’s get you up to the nurse’s office.”
Relax, my foot, Molly thought. She’d seen his tension, seen the surge of strength that seemed to race through his body, felt the heat and the taut hum of vibration beneath his skin.
She didn’t imagine he was on steroids—his muscles were sleek and defined rather than bulky. And although his clothes didn’t suddenly split off his body like those of the Incredible Hulk, something odd appeared to happen to Adam whenever he confronted danger or experienced heightened emotions.
Molly considered herself a fairly open-minded person, yet Adam Walsh astonished her. There was something almost…superhuman about him. Which was a perfectly absurd thought. She folded her arms around her middle, trying to hold the confusion at bay.
He turned, his arm around Shawn’s shoulders. When his piercing amber gaze locked on to her, Molly sucked in a swift breath. The dark scowl he wore had nothing to do with Shawn Polikian’s crushed hand and everything to do with her private speculation.
This man could hear every thought in her head! He might have tried to deny it, but she knew better.
She glared right back at him. “So?” she challenged. What do you expect? I don’t understand any of this. Help me!
The shake of his head was almost imperceptible. Lightning swift, his scowl eased, replaced by a bittersweet, achingly hopeless look that was almost too painful to watch.
Neither of the boys even realized what had passed between the adults.
“I’ll drive Shawn over to the hospital,” Adam said at last. “I doubt the school nurse is equipped to deal with this hand. Why don’t you pull his file and notify the parents?”
“Do you want me to go with you?” On some deep level she couldn’t define, she knew that a hospital was the last place Adam would choose to enter. And fancying herself having an insight into this man—this near-stranger—was ridiculous, Molly thought, mentally rolling her eyes at her own arrogance.
Next thing, she’d be imagining she had ESP, too.
“You wouldn’t like it,” Adam said, his voice strained.
Damn it! She might have accepted that this man had the gift of thought sensitivity, but it still jolted her when he did it.
“Besides,” he continued as if they were having a regular conversation instead of talking in shorthand, “the Porsche only has room for two. Come on, kid.”
He stumbled slightly, then righted himself. Molly frowned and took a step toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” The word was terse, barely audible, as if his energy had been drained.
“Are you sure? Adam—”
“Don’t fuss, Molly.”
She stared at him for a long moment, worried. At last she nodded. “Take care, Shawn,” she soothed, running a gentle thumb along the boy’s tearstained cheek. “You’re in good hands with Mr. Walsh.”
Very powerful hands.
EDDIE MARTINEZ MADE IT to third period.
Lamar Castillo didn’t.
Oh, well, Molly thought. She’d deal with Lamar’s absence later. Right now she needed to restore some order to the classroom.
“All right, guys. Settle down.” Half the students in class towered over her—including the girls—but Molly knew how to get tough when the need arose. It didn’t happen often. Her students respected her. And she made it a point to return that respect.
A paper airplane sailed across the room, hurled by Jorge, aim
ed at Terry. It veered off course, and Molly snagged it in midair.
“That’ll be enough, Jorge. Terry, sit down.” She closed the classroom door after the final bell, but it opened again.
“Manny, you’re late.”
“I was hurrying, Miss Kincade.”
“Yeah,” she drawled, watching him strut into the room at a snail’s pace. “I can see how out of breath you are from hurrying so fast.
“Eddie,” she called, noticing that her newest student was slouched against the wall, inching his way toward the door. “Don’t think I don’t see you. There’s an empty seat right up front. Plant yourself.”
“I just remembered an important appointment.”
“Sit,” she commanded. “You’re on my time now.”
He shrugged and pushed off the wall. Much hand slapping and swaggering ensued as he made his way to the desk she’d pointed out. Molly ignored the rituals—and the off-color comments volleyed back and forth. Why did these kids feel as though they had to save face over something as natural and good as coming to English class?
“Eddie, you’re doing yourself a favor by being here. Not me.”
“Yeah, well, it’s pretty dumb.”
She raised a brow. “Tough guys flip burgers for minimum wage. Keep that in mind.” She picked up a slim book from her desk and handed it to Sabrina, who sat in the first desk. “Pass this back to Eddie. We’ve just started a study on Shakespeare’s sonnets. It won’t take much for you to catch up.”
“Poetry?” Eddie rolled his eyes and tossed a droll grin to his buddies in the next row. “What do we need to study that stuff for? It’s not like it’s gonna help us be well-adjusted…citizens or nothin’.”
She walked over and placed a finger under his chin, tipping up his gaze. The students erupted with oohs and meaningless advice aimed at Martinez.
“Eddie Martinez,” she said softly. “You’re a little fraud. You want everybody to think you’re dumb, but you’re not.”
“What do you know?” he grumbled.
“You’re smart enough to tell me Shakespeare writes poetry. I only mentioned the author’s name. I didn’t say anything about the subject.”