A glance at the clock tells me I've been waiting far too long. I can't sit any longer. I need to get up and stretch my legs. So, I do. Since they haven't read me my Miranda Rights, I'm able to move freely about the room. Every so often bending and touching my toes to stretch out stiff muscles.
Standing straight, I twist my body from side to side and think about why I'm here. Legally I could leave. If there were anything substantial on me, I'd be in cuffs right now. Instead, they're making me sweat it out with the hopes of getting a confession. Little do they know I was ready to confess the instant they sat me down in this room, but their tactics aren't working. It's just the opposite. "The longer I wait, the less interest I have in telling them anything." I think to myself.
The thought flits from my mind as quickly as it came when the door opens and in walks, two men—dressed in jeans and button-down dress shirts, each with a badge suspended from a chain and lying flat against their chests.
It's no secret who's a good cop from the bad. The older gentleman is ten or so years older than me. His face creased with years of fighting bad guys while the younger guy appears just out of high school. I believe he and I had been in Mr. Gantry's class together.
"Lance? Lance Freeman, is that you?" I ask, crossing my arms and challenging his authority.
He counters by stiffening his stance. "Detective Freeman to you, Mr. Harrington. Please, take a seat. My partner Detective Winslow here, and we have some questions to ask."
Detective? How is that possible? Lance and I didn't graduate but four years ago and while I didn't know much of him then I would've surely heard if he'd finished college. Hell, there would've been a parade. It's the one thing you can be sure of living in the town of Silvercrest. Any achievement is an excuse for a black-tie celebration, just like the masquerade ball hosted by the mayor over the weekend.
If he's made detective already it means, there was money involved.
I eye him cautiously, curious about his status and about what they might have on me, but his expression is that of a poker player and gives nothing away. Finding out my fate will mean more time in the cold metal folding chair. Reluctantly I take a seat. "Well get on with it then, I have homework to grade and tests to plan for tomorrow's classes."
Lance settles in the seat across from me while Detective Winslow perches a cheek on the edge of the table in front. Intimidation is his intent, but it has little effect. In my line of work, thick skin is a requirement. Teenagers are not kind people, especially those with money.
"Mr. Harrington, do you know why you're here?" Detective Winslow asks.
I have my suspicions, but there's no way I'm drawing attention to the fact. "Not specifically, no."
He nods. "Detective Freeman show him the pictures."
The young detective sets a folder I hadn't realized he was holding on the table. When he opens it, a school picture of Catarina Mills is the first photo I see. Even though it's in black and white, her fair hair and bright smile do not get lost in the colorless image. On the honor roll and class president, she's an outgoing and well-liked senior. She's also one of my students.
He slides the image across the table. "Do you recognize her?"
"Yes. That's Catarina Mills. Her friends call her Rina." I affirm.
"Can you tell us how you know Miss Mills?" The aged Detective questions.
I shift in my seat, unsure of where this line of questioning is going because it's not what I thought. "She's taking my English literature class. Why?"
Silence thickens the air, and a look passes between the two men before Detective Winslow says. "Show him."
My breath catches at the next image slid across the table. It's of a young woman lying in a field. Her school-issued blouse is disheveled and gapes open, exposing her bra, while her skirt lies across her stomach, and her panties are missing. Purple hues paint her skin at the wrists and ankles, inferring she'd been restrained at some point. A look at her face suggests the lifeless body is Catarina.
Bile rises to my throat, and I turn away. This situation is a lot more serious than I thought.
Chapter Two
Francis Harlyn Aldridge
One week ago…
"So…Did you try it?"
Taking a quick look around, I make sure no one is listening before leaning in toward Quinn's desk. "Dude, he didn't even get the head in before I was begging for him to stop. There is no fucking way people enjoy that."
She laughs, but not a quiet don't draw attention to yourself laugh, it's a howl capable of calling a pack of wolves and everyone in class turns. With their collective eyes on us, heat tints my cheeks, and I want to crawl under the desk, but I don't. If I show any trace of weakness, my popularity will fizzle straight into the hands of Katherine Mills, and that's not something I'm prepared to give up, especially not to her. No, I hold my ground and laugh right along with Quinn, even if my cackle is as fake as the tits my mom had installed last year.
Once we've quieted, and the class has lost interest, she continues. "Just keep trying, you may not think so now, but eventually you'll be begging for it."
"I highly doubt it. This weekend was a mistake. I can't keep going back; otherwise, he's going to get the wrong idea."
Fanning out her fingers, she checks the perfectly polished nails before her tired eyes meet mine. "You should keep hold of that leash as long as you can, there's nothing wrong with using someone for a good fuck now and again, at least until something better comes along."
"Ladies, I hope I'm not interrupting." Mr. Harrington asks, addressing us both, but pinning his hard stare on me.
Those hazel eyes combined with the deep timber in his voice sends chills over my skin, making it impossible to think I didn't notice him approach—something which is so unlike every other girl and me in this class. We can't call it a day in English Lit without scoping out the door every afternoon waiting for the hottest teacher in school to step through.
Today he's in fitted chinos and a white dress shirt. Some may think it's dull, but he once told us he dresses in the school uniform to fit in. Puts him at our level, but I say far from it. With the five o'clock shadow on his strong jawline and thick wavy hair I'd love to run my hands through, there is no hiding that kind of sexy. And don't even get me started on his glasses.
The thought of him hearing our conversation…well, let's just say, if my cheeks were heated before they're on fire now. I bite my lower lip and lower my eyes. "No, sir."
Quinn, not one to shy away from confrontation, is unapologetic for the disturbance; instead, she shows a little more leg and flutters her lashes. "Winston, you look especially nice today. Is that a new tie?"
"Thank you, Miss Raynor, no, it's not. And once again, call me Mr. Harrington." He corrects, tapping his fingers on her desk before turning to the rest of the students. "Class, I'd like you all to take your seats and open your books to Act IV. For scenes I, II, and III, once you've read through, close your books, and we'll talk through what you think Shakespeare is leading up to at this point in the play."
There's a shuffle of book bags and the grind of chairs across the wooden floor as everyone settles in. I do the same, reaching down for my own, fumbling through until I find my copy of Hamlet. When I rise back up, I'm shocked to find him leaning over me. He's so close the heat off his forearm warms my back, and I see his knuckles whiten as his fingers press against my desk.
I clear the knot in my throat and chance a glance at him but instantly wish I hadn't. The look of disappointment in his beautiful features makes my stomach sink.
"Stop by my desk after class today Harlyn." He tells me and, without further explanation, heads to the front of the room.
There's no asking if I'm available or to set some aside some time later in the week, it's more an order that should annoy me but has the opposite effect. The thought of being alone with Mr. Harrington sends a wave of need straight down to my core.
"Hmmm, is he extra fucking hot today, or is it just me?" Quinn sighs, fanning hers
elf and pulling me from my teacher's dream.
The question is rhetorical, but I answer anyway. "It's not just you," I mutter.
"What'd he want anyway? A quickie in the teachers' lounge?"
My eyes snap to hers.
"Fuck. No…Really?" She asks excitedly.
This time it's my turn to laugh, she's not that gullible, but it's fun to tease. "Of course not. He did tell me to stay after class, though." I offer her a wink before casually turning in my seat and opening my book.
"Bitch, you have got to get you some of that. He's ten times hotter than that loser Lance, and you can bet Mr. Harrington has popped a few virgin ass cherries in his time."
"Quinn!" I gasp out. "Shut up! I don't need the whole fucking class knowing."
She leans in and whispers, loudly. "You'd better give me all the details."
It's probably nothing, or I suppose it could be about my grades. With Lance suspiciously showing up wherever I go, I haven't been doing much studying. Usually, it wouldn't be a big deal since bribing the teachers in this place for anything higher than a C is considered normal. But Mr. Harrington is a hard ass and isn't easily swayed. My parents have already tried.
"I'm sure it's not like that." I correct, lifting my eyes to the front where I catch him staring.
Most would look away, but he doesn't. His eyes stay on mine as he stretches back in his chair and places his hands behind his head. Maybe it is like that.
I shift in my seat, causing the hem of my skirt to ride higher on my thighs. If it were any other man, they'd chance a glance, but I know he won't. Something is intriguing and sexy about having that much control. I'd never really noticed that about him before.
Just as I consider dropping my hand beneath the desk and satisfying this sudden onset of need—giving him a real show—a timer goes off. It breaks our connection. He clears his throat and pulls his attention back to the rest of the classroom. "So, who can tell me how far you've gotten and what you think the author was thinking at this point in the story?"
A slurry of perfectly manicured nails shoots skyward as soon as the words leave his lips. It's their chance to impress him even though the majority are not going to deliver even the slightest inkling of what the story is about. Which is fine because it means he'll spend another twenty minutes explaining his view, and we can watch him pace about the front.
"Rebecca…How about you go first?" He asks.
She giggles and shifts in her seat at the fact he's paying attention to her. "Ok, Mr. Harrington. I made it to scene II. In summary, it seems that Hamlet has killed someone, and the king and queen feel he's crazy."
I'm mindless to whatever else she says, all I can think about is what Mr. Harrington wants after class.
Is it about my grades?
Am I in trouble?
How did I not know his lips move like that when he speaks?
"Harlyn, how about you?"
"Umm, what?" Random giggles come from the other girls, and I pin a narrowed stare on them. "Could you please repeat the question, Mr. Harrington?"
He shakes his head. "Pay attention, please. Catarina, can you enlighten Miss Aldridge on what I've asked?"
"I'd be happy to."
I'd be happy to. I scrunch my nose and mock her in my mind.
After repeating the question with a snark that makes me want to punch her in the face, she begins to explain her thoughts on each scene. But she doesn't stop there. Spiraling into a black hole of her thoughts on the entire story, she eats up the rest of our class time, talking nonstop until the bell cuts her off.
I should feel some sense of relief. It's over, but my heart is racing, and a million things are spinning through my mind as I watch each student exit the room. This is it, time alone with the man I lie awake thinking about every night before I sleep.
"Definitely DO everything I would do," Quinn states, eyeing me and then Mr. Harrington.
I smack her on the arm. "Would you get out of here?"
"Gladly." She says, sauntering toward the front of the room. "See you tomorrow Winston."
"Quinn, I'm not sure what you get away with in other classes, but here I'd like to be addressed as Mr. Harrington." He corrects her once again this time the annoyance is in his tone.
Quinn is one of my best friends, but sometimes she can be a total bitch, and now is one of those times. Hearing his name roll off her tongue sends a twinge of jealousy straight to my gut. It's stupid. He's never shown any interest in either of us, but if one day he did, it would be her.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I gather my things intent on moving to the front since no other kids are here, but as I'm bent over, I don't notice his approach and moving to stand I bump right into him.
His strong hands grip my arms to keep me from falling back into the chair, and I must crane my neck to meet his eyes.
Heat flushes my cheeks. If a hole opened up in the floor right now, I'd be more than happy for it to swallow me up. But it doesn't, and I'm left standing here in the hands of a hot teacher who smells of spicy cologne.
"Hmm, at a loss for words. I find that interesting since you and Miss Raynor talked through my entire class." He says, taking a moment, his eyes dance between mine before letting go of my arms and taking a step back. "Please, Miss Aldridge, have a seat."
"I'd rather stand."
Propping himself up on Quinn's desk, he lightly crosses his arms over his chest. "Suit yourself. Do you know why I've kept you after class?"
"No, sir."
Something flashes in his eyes at my response, but it's gone as quickly as it came. "As I'm sure you're aware, your grades are not up to par for the school standards, and that's concerning. Your homework was spot on at the beginning of the year, and you aced all the tests. Now …you'll be lucky to pass. And if I'm honest here, it's going to impact your ability to graduate." He shifts against the desk crossing his feet at the ankles. "Would you like to talk about it? Maybe problems at home or with a boyfriend." The last word he says with a little more grit than necessary.
Is there something going on? I think about his question. My parents are gone for months at a time; if I don't graduate, I lose millions of inheritance money from my grandfather, and I am attracted to my teacher. "Umm, no sir, not really," I tell him, holding his gaze, and wondering how he could be spot on with what's happening in my life.
With a narrowed stare, his expression turns cold. "I'll not tolerate lying in my classroom Harlyn. I don't see how your grades have dropped so drastically, yet you say nothing is going on. Actually…" He stands and starts walking toward his desk. "…maybe you're not ready for my help. You can go."
I scoff at his brush-off. If he doesn't want me here, then I'm not staying, but when I bend to retrieve my bag, images of my parents leaving time after time swirl through my mind. They'd rather be anywhere but here, in Silvercrest with me. If Mr. Harrington is offering to help, and I don't have to go home to an empty house, then why not. Other than Quinn and Lance, I have no one. "There is something."
Mr. Harrington stops mid-step almost to his desk, but he doesn't turn around. "Go on."
"Not expected to return for a couple of weeks, my parents are out of the country, and without their guidance, I guess I'm not studying as hard as I should." It's mostly bullshit. I mean, my parents are out of town, but they could care less if I studied or not. I'm going to ace this class, and then once I'm standing on that podium, it'll be the biggest fuck-you they've ever seen.
"Anything else? A boyfriend, maybe?" He asks.
Taking a moment, I consider how to answer. It's none of his business, even if my relationship with Lance is a bit rocky right now, I'm not going to tell him anything about us. With a hand on my hip, I go on the defensive. "And what if I do?"
"Do you spend a lot of time together?" He asks, turning his dark eyes and threatening stare on me.
"I guess, but why does that matter?" I ask, offended by his prying.
He takes a step closer, and I drop my bags. If I
need to run, there's no fucking way I'm dragging these books with me. "It matters because I'm going to tutor you after school every night until your grade is satisfactory."
"Tutor me? No, that's not going to happen." I argue, taking a step back. "I've got things after school..."
"Like?" He asks, closing in.
The chair hits me in the back of the leg, and I drop into my seat. I have nothing after school but need to think of something, and quick. "Job…yes, I have a job. My parents think it builds character."
He leans down, one hand on the desk and one on the chair caging me in. I can feel his warm breath on me. "Not anymore, you don't." Grabbing my bag, he sets it on the table. "Tell your parents you're quitting. I'll expect you here every night after the final bell rings.
"But…"
"Harlyn, it's not negotiable." With that, he straightens himself and heads toward the door, tossing out, "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," as he exits the room.
I'm left there, alone, and dumbfounded, wondering what the fuck just happened.
Chapter Three
Francis Harlyn Aldridge
When I leave Mr. Harrington's room, the halls are empty. There's still an hour of school left, so everyone is in their last class. Since mine is study hall, I've decided to ditch and just head home. Quinn will be pissed I didn't wait for her, but I don't give a shit. I need to get somewhere and think.
It's not a minute after I've exited the building when my phone starts chiming.
Him: Hey babe
Him: U on your way
It's Lance. I'm supposed to meet him at his place after school, then we'd planned on hanging out by the pool at some friends' house. Well, his friends. I have nothing in common with them, especially when they start drinking. Don't get me wrong, I can hold my liquor with the best of them, but after my day, I'm not in the mood for dealing with a drunk jealous boyfriend.
He's not the type I'd seen myself with. Bad boys generally aren't my thing. Everyone in this small town knows that in high school, Lance was the epiphany of a bad boy. His days of skipping class and getting drunk got so bad his parents sent him off to a military boot camp.
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