Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 82

Humid August air and a wet smell hinting at a coming thunderstorm greeted Jennifer on the front porch. She shrugged to s.h.i.+ft the bag's weight before locking the door, and then lifted her trusty three-speed from the front porch to the sidewalk. As soon as she stepped off the old warped wood, it hit her. Did you leave the stove on? Is the door locked? Did you turn the bathroom fan off? Did you leave a lesson plan on the table?

Jennifer shook her head. Every single time she left the house, she had to do this. Sighing with resignation, she checked the door again and went through a mental checklist. She had not cooked on the stove in a week, the door was clearly locked, the bathroom fan had a fuse if it overheated, and she never put the lesson plans on the table. They were in her bag. Rolling her shoulders with a renewed confidence, she stumbled as she turned and almost bolted back to the house.

A black Dodge rolled down the street and stopped in front of the neighbors' mailbox. The illegal blacked out windows hid its interior, but she knew who was driving. She froze, then moved deliberately slow and ignored the threat the way she'd ignore a wasp buzzing about her head. You leave me, I leave you be.

Her trembling hands choked the handlebars as she pedaled. Jennifer could ride for an hour ninety-degree heat without breaking a sweat, but perspiration beaded between her shoulder blades. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the Dodge followed behind. She leaned into the bike and pumped harder on the pedals to increase her speed. The car kept pace.

The driver shadowed her as she stopped at the first intersection and pedaled across Commerce Street, the main drag. No one was out this early in the morning, at least not in this part of town. Thick silence was broken only by the thick rumble from the car, rolling along behind her.

s.h.i.+mmering beyond rising waves of heat was the high school. She would be safe once she made it to work.

After she reached the top of the hill, she sat up on the seat and eased up on the pedals to coast downhill. She was almost there. The school meant people: other teachers, students, and most important, a burly state policeman who served as the school's resource officer. She would be safe at the school.

Exhaust roared out of the Dodge as it launched past her left elbow by maybe a foot. Her heart jumped into her throat. The car swerved left and then right before coming to a lurching stop that blocked the road. Panicking, Jennifer choked on the brake as hard as she could. The font wheel locked and the handlebars jerked in her hand. The handlebars came alive in her hands. The bike went down and she went with it. She put her feet down to catch herself, and a shock of white hot pain shot up her leg as her bad ankle folded inwards and she went down. Her arm landed on the pavement and the loose gravel tore open her skin as she rolled onto her back.

The car doors simultaneously swung open and the car rocked on its springs as Grayson Carlyle stepped out from the driver's side. His pa.s.senger stood up and slipped on a pair of wraparound sungla.s.ses. Elliot Katzenberg, her brother-in-law, nudged her bicycle with his foot. Jennifer s.h.i.+fted into a sitting position and looked up at him while ice spread through her veins.

"You look like you could use a ride," he said.

She looked at Elliot, then to Grayson, and then back to Elliot. Her cell phone was in her hip pocket. Even if the fall didn't crush it to pieces, it offered little help. She couldn't call the police. Grayson's father was the chief of police. Elliot's uncle was the mayor. His father was a senator. Jennifer glanced around the deserted street. There weren't any witnesses. Instinct drove her to skid backwards on the street, pus.h.i.+ng with her heels and hands. Her ankle hurt like h.e.l.l.

Elliot offered his hand.

"Come on."

Jennifer pushed herself out of his reach and grit her teeth against the pain as she stood. She would die before she let herself be in an enclosed s.p.a.ce with Elliot Katzenberg ever again. She learned her lesson the first time. Hobbling over to the bike, she picked it up and start wheeling past the car.

Elliot calmly reached out and seized her hair. Frizzy auburn curls, woven into a single loose braid, hung to her waist. When Elliot's fingers closed around it and tugged, the pull on her scalp froze her still as liquid terror swirled in her stomach. She let out a little whimper. His voice clawed its way from memory to the forefront of her mind, stinking of grain alcohol and cheap fruit punch. Shut up, Jenny.

"Let go of me," she said.

The rational part of her mind was rapidly losing to the part of her that wanted to shriek, punch him in the face, and somehow hope he'd let go. She'd never outrun both men with an injured ankle. Elliot was the quarterback in high school. She knew from experience kicking him in the belly only made him mad. The first time she tried that, he hit her harder. His younger brother screamed his lungs out to get everyone else's attention at the party to finally pry him off her. Franklin wasn't there to save her this time.

"Get in the car," said Elliot. "I'm giving you a ride."

Fight-or-flight won out. Jennifer tried to pull her hair out of his grip by jerking her head, but his hand tightened and yanked her back. She grabbed at his wrist, trying to soften the pull on her scalp. He turned and pushed her towards the open car. Her ankle sent pain up her leg, and she let out a scream. Grayson kicked the front seat forward to shove her in the back seat. Through the corner of her eye, she saw something moving towards them. The two men spotted it too, and all three stopped their movements.

A long sleek car rolled down the street and came to a stop behind her fallen bicycle. The expensive car looked so out of place that she could hardly believe it was there. The softly purring engine went silent and the driver's door swung open.

"Who the h.e.l.l is that?" Elliot looked at Grayson, who shrugged in response.

The driver was almost as tall as Grayson, but about half as wide, with a powerful angular build. His green eyes looked right at her, and she saw a flash of something that resembled recognition. Of all the things to think at that moment, she thought he had pretty eyes, set in a narrow clean-shaven face framed by long dark hair tied loosely behind his neck. He looked out of place dressed in a salmon polo s.h.i.+rt and khakis, like he'd be better suited to a uniform, or maybe a suit of armor. He walked up to Elliot.

"What are you doing?"

"What are you, the crossing guard?" said Elliot. "Gray, get rid of him."

Grayson put a meaty hand on the stranger's shoulder and gave him a little shove. The stranger looked at him with more curiosity than anything else. Jennifer's breath came in quick, short gasps, and even though it was futile, her good leg trembled to run. The stranger stared at Grayson.

"You really don't want to do that," he said, then turned to Elliot. "Take your hand off Miss K."

"Miss K?" Elliot blinked. "What? Look, get the f.u.c.k out of here before you get hurt."

Jennifer's eyes darted back and forth between them. They were like the wrong ends of two magnets, forced together. Nausea coiled cold in her stomach. This was like being dragged back to the house and the party all over again. Elliot still held her hair, but he was distracted. I could hit him. I could punch him right in the throat. There was a vein on Elliot's neck standing out, pulsing. Her hand balled into a shaking fist that started to move, until she stopped herself. If she did that, then he would hurt her back much worse.

"Let go of her. Now."

Confused, Elliot stared at the stranger. He had that same look on his face when Franklin chased him out of the back bedroom, like a petulant child deprived of his favorite toy. Elliot's lips pulled back in a sneer, and the fingers on his free hand twitched before balling into a threatening fist. Grayson grabbed the stranger's arm and tried to pull him away.

Jennifer never saw anyone move that fast in her life. The stranger flowed out of Grayson's grip and stood behind him before the heavier man could react. He brought the heel of his open hand down on Elliot's wrist, and Elliot barked out a sharp cry of pain and released Jennifer's braid. She stumbled away and leaned on a lamppost, clutching at the pain in her scalp. Elliot stepped backwards until he leaned on the car, and rubbed his wrist.

Grayson positioned himself behind the stranger.

"Show me what you've got," the stranger said.

"Do you have any idea who you're f.u.c.king with?" Elliot snapped, stretching to his full height.

"Elliot David Katzenberg. Son of Senator James Katzenberg. You're the head of the city planning and public works office." He glanced over his shoulder at Grayson. "He's your a.s.sistant. Grayson Carlyle. Father is the chief of police. Do you know who I am?"

"No," Elliot said, blinking.

"I'd be glad to show you."

Jennifer nearly jumped out of her skin when a siren went off. A quick pulse and a flash of the lights came from Brock Edwards' cruiser as it rolled the wrong way up the street to park in front of the Dodge. The state trooper stepped out, scowling. Edwards pushed fifty with a spare tire hugging his midsection, but he was as compact and powerful as he ever was. He left his hat in the car and marched over to Elliot. The strap on his sidearm was unsnapped.

"Katzenberg, what are you doing?"

Elliot indicated Jennifer with a tilt of his chin. "Jenny fell off her bike. I was trying to help, but then this a.s.shole comes up and starts giving me s.h.i.+t."

"He had her by the hair and he was trying to push her into the car," the stranger said without missing a beat.

Edwards looked at her. "That right?"

Jennifer could still feel Elliot's hand pulling at her hair, just like he did years ago when he used her braid to shove her face into a pillow while tearing at her dress.

"That's right," she blurted out.

Edwards snapped around to Elliot. "Get in your car and get out of here. I see either of you anywhere near the school, and I will arrest both of you. I better not get wind of you following her home again, either."

"You can't tell me what to do," Elliot snapped.

"Try me, you little s.h.i.+t," said Edwards. "I was putting bigger boys than you in handcuffs when you were a smear on your mother's panties. You want to go? We'll go. Otherwise, get the h.e.l.l away from my school."

Elliot scowled at the older man, then addressed the stranger directly. "Yeah, I'll be seeing you."

The stranger's face was neutral, but a tiny smirk betrayed him. "No. You won't."

Elliot looked at him, his face twisting in confusion, before he sank into the car. Grayson gave the stranger a hard look as he took the driver's seat and slammed the door closed. The big car rumbled to life, squeezed past Edwards' cruiser, and rolled off.

The aging policeman sighed, rubbed his forehead, and walked over. "You hurt?"

"My ankle," Jennifer sighed. "It's nothing."

"You have a sc.r.a.pe on your arm," said the stranger.

Jennifer flinched and looked down at her forearm. Of course, now it started to hurt.

Edwards sighed. "Hop in. I'll give you a ride down to the school. I a.s.sume you're not going to let me talk you into calling a subst.i.tute."

"No," Jennifer said, hobbling towards the car. "My bike--"

"I've got it." The stranger lifted it from the pavement.

"Toss 'er in the trunk," Edwards said.

Slumped in the front seat of the cruiser, Jennifer wedged her leg against the laptop computer bolted to the console. Edwards chatted briefly with the stranger, and then walked around to drop into the driver's seat. He wound the car around through a precise J-turn and headed towards the school.

"That guy looked familiar," Edwards said. "I've seen him somewhere before, I know it." He looked over at Jennifer and sighed. "When are you going to do something about Elliot? This is the fourth time I've had to chase him off from the school, Jennifer."

She shook her head. "What am I supposed to do? You think Grayson's brother will arrest him? His uncle and father won't pull strings and get him out? I don't want to talk about this again."

Edwards sighed, and muttered something to himself that she couldn't hear.

Nurse Meyers smirked when Jennifer flinched from the sting of antiseptic.

"How'd you get this?" The school nurse said, as she bandaged Jennifer's sc.r.a.ped arm.

Jennifer chewed her lip. My brother in law, who stalked and hara.s.sed me since my husband died, ran me off the road. I sc.r.a.ped my arm when I fell. That was before he tried to drag me into his car.

"I took a spill on the bike this morning. Just clumsy, I guess."

Nurse Meyers shrugged her plump shoulders, taped some gauze pads to Jennifer's arm, and secured the bandage with a pat. Jennifer pulled her hand back and wondered if the injury would develop permanent scars. Loose strands of hair dangled in her face, and she blew them away with an annoyed puff. The small nurse's office made her feel claustrophobic, so she muttered a thank you and hurried out, letting the heavy old door swing closed behind her.

It felt like hours had pa.s.sed since she left the house, but she still had plenty of time before the first bell.

Sighing, she drifted down the hall, trying not to limp. The nurse told her to stay off her ankle, but it wouldn't give her much trouble for more than a day or so. Jennifer counted herself lucky. She'd had worse.

A badly sprained ankle when she was thirteen essentially ended any chance she had to become a serious gymnast. Not that she had much of a chance to begin with, since she was too tall at just a hair short of six feet, and her mother constantly harped on how she always lumbered about without an ounce of grace. That injury was one of the most painful things she ever experienced, and thinking about twisted ankles sent s.h.i.+vers up her spine.

After she fished out her keys and unlocked her cla.s.sroom, Jennifer stripped off her pads, gloves, and helmet. She set her messenger bag on the desk, pulled out her laptop, and lifted the lid. A half sigh, half groan bubbled out as she saw the shattered screen. A few loose keys clattered like broken teeth onto the desk.

A press of the power b.u.t.ton gave her only a mournful bloop, and twisted rainbows flashed on the screen. The laptop was dead. She turned on her ponderously slow and buggy school-issued desktop computer. Her eyes fell on the ruined laptop again and her teeth clenched. The computer wasn't a necessity today, but she'd have to spring a little for a replacement. White hot fury surged in her chest and she had to stop herself from tossing the whole bag through the window.

d.a.m.n him.

A glance at the clock reminded her the kids would leave the cafeteria soon, free to roam the building. She opened the cla.s.sroom door and almost walked into Krystal Summers.

Every teacher had a shadow, even the painfully indifferent or incompetent ones. Krystal was in Jennifer's freshman cla.s.s her first year, and followed her around ever since, even to the point of switching cla.s.ses.

As a senior, she should've known better than to slip the cafeteria watchers and head down the halls before the bell. Yet, there she was, lugging her overstuffed backpack. The girl dressed in black, and wrote angry poetry in the margins of her notebook. Krystal's hair was purple this year, but her face s.h.i.+ned with bubbly enthusiasm when she saw Jennifer.

"What are you doing here?" said Jennifer.

Krystal skipped right to the point. "Whose car is that?"

"What car?

"There's an Aston Martin in the parking lot. Todd said it was really expensive, like a million dollars. It has a V-12."

Jennifer shrugged.

"Is it a teacher?"

"I don't know, Krystal." Jennifer sighed. "Go back to the cafeteria."

What would a car like that be doing in the teacher's lot? It had to be the same man who interrupted Elliot's s.n.a.t.c.h attempt earlier. Not many people were cruising around Paradise Falls in absurdly expensive supercars. Her finger stung. She had her wedding band pinched in her fingers, and was worrying it around her ring finger.

"What color is it?" Jennifer asked.

"Blue. Like a sky blue. It's really pretty. Todd said they can paint them any color you want, instead of picking from a list, you know? There's a new teacher this year, right?"

"Four, I think," said Jennifer. "I haven't met any of them yet."

"Do you think the car belongs to one of them?"

"I can't imagine someone with that kind of money teaching,"

Krystal's eyes scrunched as she leaned forward. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Krystal crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. "Something's up. What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing is up," Jennifer snapped.

Krystal wilted a little. "Oh. Okay. I'll see you later. I have you for AP English."

"Right," said Jennifer. "I'll see you then. I didn't mean to snap..."

Krystal nodded, but looked at the floor as she shuffled away down the hall. Great. Jennifer leaned against the cool brick wall and breathed out slowly. Her hands shook. She had hallway duty anyway, so she might as well stay out here. As she paced from one side of the hall to the other, the light on in the cla.s.sroom across the hall from hers raised suspicion. Someone moving around inside threw a shadow on the wall every time he pa.s.sed the frosted gla.s.s window.

The other teachers arrived. Her boss, Julius Kazmeyer, rolled a cart down the hall to his cla.s.sroom. It carried a misshapen a.s.sortment of random junk, papers, coffee cups, Scantron sheets, and the other teaching debris. Why he took that all home with him, especially over the summer, she had no idea. The department head was set in his ways and abrasive to the extreme, and Jennifer generally avoided him unless there was a mandatory meeting. One of the oldest teachers in the building, Kazmeyer had Jennifer's father for a student, yet he appeared unchanged from year to year.

Rachel, whose cla.s.sroom was right next to Jennifer's, sauntered down the hall. During Jennifer's first year teaching, Rachel quickly became her mentor and then kept Jennifer's cla.s.ses on track when she took her bereavement leave. If not for Rachel, Jennifer might've quit and not even finished the year. More than once, Jennifer spent the remaining part of her afternoon crying her eyes out on Rachel's shoulder. Despite everything, Jennifer lit up when her colleague approached.

"Hey you," Rachel said.

She lowered three big tote bags and a backpack full of supplies to the floor. Every teacher except Jennifer brought in everything the first day. For two weeks before cla.s.ses started, Jennifer prepped her cla.s.sroom on and off. Rachel swished and swirled her tie-dyed cotton skirt as she fished out her key and opened the door.