Читать книгу Tempting Janey - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 5

The quietness bothered him.

It wasn’t natural, Dillon Reed told himself as he ambled down the main hall of Brookwood High School, where he was principal. This hall and the others should be teeming with students laughing, talking and slamming locker doors.

All that and more would start again soon enough, Dillon reminded himself with a quirk of his lips. First thing in the morning, in fact. But on this Wednesday evening, just after dark, the students were gone and silence was the order of the day.

Dillon didn’t make a habit of cruising the halls when they were empty. His purpose for having stopped by the school on this particular evening was to get his briefcase, which he’d forgotten. After that, he was headed to his sister’s, where he was expected for dinner.

But since he had some time to kill, he’d figured he might as well stroll down the main hall and check for new graffiti on the walls and lockers, something that never failed to raise his ire.

Dillon paused, feeling the silence close around him like a tomb. The place was downright gloomy without its usual hubbub.

What was wrong with him? He spent more than his share of time on the job, arriving way before the first bell rang and leaving long after the last one had sounded. In fact, he was on the premises a lot at night—the only time he could get his paperwork done—and the silence had never bothered him before.

What was different about tonight?

He wasn’t complaining. He loved what he did, loved every nook and cranny of this new building, loved every minute he spent walking the halls and grounds. He’d worked his way up through the ranks of the system, starting out as a teacher and coach, then moving up to guidance counselor, and now to principal.

He wasn’t content, though. He had his eye on a superintendent’s position. But he wasn’t in a hurry. Right now, he was content to remain hands-on with the kids. Keeping up with them kept him young in mind and spirit. When the time was right to make the move, he would know it.

However, he wasn’t interested in getting too far away from Hunter. This small South Carolina town of forty thousand plus, perfectly positioned between Charleston and Savannah, was home to him. And since he’d invested heavily in a chunk of land—land that he hoped to make into a profitable horse farm—he intended to be picky about future jobs.

A deep sigh escaped Dillon just as he reached his office and unlocked the door.

That was when he heard the noise.

When he couldn’t identify the sound, every muscle in his body tensed. He didn’t move; he almost stopped breathing as his military background booted his system into high alert. He listened.

Nothing.

Dillon almost wilted with relief. His imagination was obviously working overtime, which wasn’t a bad thing. Blatant mischief and much worse were problems that all schools had to contend with. It never paid to be careless, and he couldn’t let himself get overconfident that his facility was different simply because he ran it with an iron fist.

He had the door all the way open and had reached for the light switch when he heard the noise again. He stood still, feeling his heart up its pace and the hairs stand out on his neck. No mistake this time. Something was going on.

Suddenly a crashing sound, like that of glass breaking, interrupted the stark silence.

Someone else was definitely in the building.

The lab. That was his first guess. It was at the opposite end of this hall and full of plenty of breakable objects. Rage rendered him immobile for several more seconds before it hit his body like a shot of adrenaline.

He spun on his booted heels and charged down the hall, careful at the same time not to let the culprit or culprits know they had company.

Dillon had no idea what he would encounter, but it didn’t matter. Whoever was responsible for what was going down would pay dearly. No one destroyed Brookwood property and got away with it.

Another crash assaulted his ears just as he rounded the dark corner. He flinched, but his feet never faltered. Hoping to sneak up on the intruders unannounced, he hadn’t turned on the lights. That would have sent them scurrying out the side door of the lab before he could get to them.

When Dillon paused at the door and eased his head around, only the glow from a high-powered flashlight greeted him. Still, he was able to see two people, both males, both young, both wearing caps, masks and gloves.

Students, his instincts told him. Smart students, at that, having thought to shield their identity.

They were having a high old time, too, beating the hell out of the equipment. One had a baseball bat in hand, the other had a hammer. Broken glass, microscopes and computers were strewn about.

The place looked like a war zone.

After seeing the havoc the little creeps had wreaked, Dillon’s rage threatened to choke him. This was the first time this kind of malicious destruction had taken place at his school. But no more. He was about to bring their party to a halt.

“Hold it, boys. Playtime’s over.”

“Oh, shit!” one of them yelled, then tore off toward the door. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here!”

The other one obviously needed no second invitation as he shot over the debris like a sprinter and dashed toward the exit, almost running over his companion in the process.

Dillon followed suit, only to curse silently. The door. He’d underestimated their closeness to the side entrance that made a quick exit possible.

By the time he reached their avenue of escape, the boys were through the door and racing across campus. Dillon chased them, but he knew he was wasting his time.

A nondescript pickup was parked in an area of almost total darkness not far from the lab. They jumped in it and took off before he could get near them, much less get a license plate number.

“Damn,” he muttered, sucking in a deep breath.

He’d screwed that up royally, he admitted as he turned and made his way back into the building. If he hadn’t been so cocky, so sure of his ability to handle the situation, he would have called the cops the second he heard the sound of breaking glass.

By the time he’d have investigated and found out what was going on, the law would have been there. But no, he’d had to plunge in headfirst on his own.

“Dammit,” he muttered again out of sheer frustration as he strode into his office. Once there, he called the police, then waited for their arrival, but not patiently.

What was happening to kids these days?

He’d asked himself that question untold times, but he still didn’t have an answer. Years ago, when he first entered the fascinating world of teaching children, nothing like what he’d just witnessed had ever taken place—at least not that he could remember.

How times had changed. Breaking and entering was actually considered a mild offense. Now kids were killing kids. Kids were killing parents. God, it made no sense whatsoever.

What it did do, though, was frighten the hell out of him. He was of the opinion that youngsters should behave and be responsible for their actions. He loved “his kids,” but they knew better than to cross the line he’d drawn in the sand. Or at least he’d thought so, he told himself, mentally kicking his own rear.

Apparently he’d misjudged his control, refusing to have security guards in the halls of his school. After all, he was an ex-Marine whose rough edge would help him handle any situation that might occur. Until now, that rough edge hadn’t failed him.

His thoughts were interrupted by two uniformed officers making their way into his office.

Following introductions, Dillon told them what had taken place.

“Too bad you didn’t get the plate number,” Officer Temple, the taller of the two, said.

When he had first seen them, Dillon had hidden a smile. One was as tall as a giraffe, the other as short as a Shetland pony. Side by side, they reminded him of Mutt and Jeff.

Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll admit the little creeps got the better of me. But I thought I could handle them and the situation.”

“That’s never a wise assumption, Mr. Reed, especially in this climate.”

“I know that now,” Dillon said harshly, again mentally kicking himself. It was damn embarrassing to make such a gross error in judgment and be caught at it. “Come on, let’s take a look-see at the lab.”

The officers made notes, then called the lab team to scour the premises, which Dillon knew would be a lost cause. The kids had played it smart. He’d noticed they were wearing gloves.

Officer Riley, the short cop, finally said, “We’ll do what we can, but you’ll probably have better luck checking around the campus yourself.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “That is, if you think it was some of your students.”

“Oh, I think that’s a real good possibility,” Dillon said in a grim tone. “I just hope the break-in wasn’t gang related.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Officer Temple said, his voice brusque.

Dillon tightened his lips. “I’ve suspected we have one trying to form on our campus, but I haven’t been able to prove it yet.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Riley said. “But gangs are springing up faster than cancer.”

Dillon remained silent as the lab team completed their work. Once they were gone, he made a quick inventory, then called the janitorial supervisor to clean up the mess. That done, he grabbed his briefcase, flicked off the lights and left the building.

First thing tomorrow morning, he would turn into a not-so-nice Santa. He would make a list and check it twice.

Dillon steered his utility vehicle through the gates of his hundred-acre horse farm. But instead of making a hairpin right turn that would take him to where his sister and brother-in-law lived, he braked and shoved the gearshift into Park.

While the engine purred, he stared into the darkness. At the moment he was lucky. The late-August clouds had drifted away from the nearly full moon, giving it carte blanche to shine for all it was worth.

Dillon took advantage of that treat. To the left, he could see the cabin that sat atop the hill. One day he planned to remodel it so that he could live there. He could envision its homey coziness, with smoke snaking out of the chimney from a wood-burning fireplace on a cold day, and a dog—the Heinz-57 variety—sitting beside him.

The only thing missing from that picture was a woman.

Muttering an expletive, he focused his gaze on the shack, over which towered several huge oak and pine trees that kept it shaded all year long. Beyond, but not visible to him now, was an acre of cleared land. From there, a narrow gravel road wound through the dense thicket like a tunnel. Occasional clearings offered glimpses of the nice-size pond below, which had been filled with catfish. Any time he wanted fresh fish, he just had to cast a line.

Dillon continued to pat himself on the back that he’d had the foresight three years ago to buy the land when it was offered. Despite the hefty bank note he would be paying off for a long time to come, he didn’t regret it.

This place was his lifeline. Without it, he didn’t know what he would have done. Probably have sunk into the depths of despair and been content to wallow there.

Grimacing, he refused to let his mind wander down that forbidden path. He had too much ahead to look forward to. His horse farm had the potential to begin paying off soon, now that his prized piece of horseflesh was almost ready to be bred. And he was starting a new school year that held a lot of promise.

For a second, Dillon’s mind reverted back to the incident in the lab. He grimaced again but refused to let himself dwell on that, either. The school problem he could correct; the past he couldn’t.

Suddenly he realized he’d been lollygagging far too long. His sister, Allie, was probably ready to skin him alive. She believed in punctuality, no matter what. Nothing wrong with that, he reminded himself.

Thinking of his sister, a legal secretary for an affluent attorney, made him smile. That smile remained intact as he parked in front of the modest three-bedroom home on his property, a home he’d generously lent to Allie and her husband, Mike, who worked as his foreman.

His smile widened as the porch light flipped on and Allie opened the door. “It’s about time, brother dear,” she called out, a hand braced on one hip.

Dillon stepped out of his truck and heard the comfortable crunch of leaves and pine bark under his feet. He inhaled, positive he could smell fall in the air, then said, “Hey, sis.”

“Don’t you ‘hey, sis’ me. You’re late.”

“I can explain,” Dillon said, walking onto the porch. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her next to him.

A smile flirted with her lips. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Ah, give me a break, will ya?”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

They parted as they walked into the cheerfully lighted living-dining room combination, where the smell of freshly baked bread permeated the air.

“Before I hear your excuse, how about a hunk of banana-nut?”

“Ah, my favorite,” Dillon exclaimed.

“I shouldn’t let you have any,” Allie said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Dillon merely grinned, knowing that her threat was empty. She loved for him and everyone else to compliment her cooking, especially her bread. She was known for that specialty all over town.

But then, Allie was known for a lot. She lived to entertain. She enjoyed people, and they enjoyed her. At thirty-eight, two years his junior, her face was still relatively unlined, although she had prematurely gray hair that she didn’t bother to color.

Like him, she was tall and rawboned. Yet her height and build didn’t make her less attractive. Her vibrant blue eyes and ready smile made for a charming combination.

He loved her dearly and couldn’t imagine his life without her, since he had no other family. Their parents had died in a freak auto accident a long time ago. Since then, they had stuck together.

That was why those dark circles under her eyes and that pinched look around her mouth, visible in the light, gave him cause for concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She made light of his inquiry. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” he said, not quite ready to let her off the hook.

“I might be coming down with the same virus that struck the office.”

“As long as that’s all it is.”

“Stop nagging,” she chastised in a light tone. “You’re worse than some old woman. A lot worse than Mike, and he’s bad enough.”

Dillon laughed. “All right, you win. For now. So where’s that bread?”

“Have you had dinner?” she asked, facing him from in front of the cabinet.

“Nope, but I’m not hungry—except for a huge piece of that bread.”

“I’ll be glad to heat you a plate of peas and corn bread.”

Dillon eased down into one of the kitchen chairs. “Thanks, but I’ll pass tonight. Just the bread, ma’am.”

A few minutes later, he was rubbing his stomach and grinning at his sister, who was staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Well?” she asked.

He reached for his cup of decaf and took a sip. “Well what?”

“Jerk,” she muttered.

He laughed out loud. “All right, it was the best yet. But then, you know that.”

“It’s nice to hear it, anyway.”

“By the way, where’s Mike?”

Allie made a face. “It’s Wednesday, remember? He’s playing poker with his buddies.” She paused and gave him a pointed look. “I wish you had someone to hang out with.”

“I’ve been at the school,” Dillon said, intentionally ignoring her last provocative statement.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Dillon told her about the break-in.

“Did it ever occur to you that you could’ve gotten hurt?” Her tone was incredulous.

“That was the least of my worries. I just wanted to catch the little shits.”

She let out a deep sigh. “I wish you worked as hard on perfecting your personal life as you do on that school.”

“Now, Allie, don’t start,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.

She went on as if he hadn’t said a word. “Are you still seeing Patricia Sims?”

Dillon curbed his impatience, but barely. “Actually, I’m taking her out Saturday evening. It’s her birthday.”

“Well glory hallelujah.”

“But don’t get your hopes up, sister dear. She’s just a friend and will never be anything else.”

Allie threw up her hands in dramatic fashion. “I give up. You’re hopeless.”

“Hey, I’m happy with things just the way they are.”

“I don’t believe that. It’s time you were interested in another woman, for heaven’s sake. It’s been three years since Elaine’s death.”

Dillon didn’t respond right off, thinking that if Allie only knew what a disaster his marriage had turned out to be, she wouldn’t be pushing him in that direction again. But she didn’t know, and to tell her now would serve no purpose.

He marveled that his dirty little secret had remained just that. In a town this size, he couldn’t believe Allie hadn’t been bombarded with the truth. He suspected the reason for that oversight was that she and Mike had only recently moved back to Hunter. Mike had worked for an oil-drilling company in Texas until he’d gotten hurt and had to quit.

“I know you’d like to have a child. Lord knows, you and Elaine tried hard enough. If I recall, she miscarried twice.”

He made an effort not to wince visibly. But every time that subject was mentioned, it was like someone had scratched the scab off an old wound, leaving it raw and oozing again. “You’re right, I would like to have a child, but not enough to remarry.”

“Oh, Dillon, I hate to hear you talk like that. You have so much to offer a woman.”

He gave her a halfhearted smile. “You’re just biased.”

“Maybe a little, but—”

“Hey, give it a rest, will you? Like I said, I’m content with my life. I have my eye on being a superintendent one day, plus I have the farm, which I’m determined to turn into a profitable business—with Mike’s help, of course.”

He paused and reached for Allie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “So you see, you don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“What you are is hardheaded,” she said, withdrawing her hand and getting to her feet. “I’ll send some bread home with you.”

He stood. “Is that a hint to leave?”

“Of course not, silly,” she said with a grin. “But it’s either do something constructive with my hands or slug you.”

He chuckled. “I’d best be going, then. Anyhow, I need my rest. The rest of this week and next is shaping up to be a killer, what with football season officially starting and the break-in to sort out.”

“I hope you find out who’s responsible.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn out to be gang related. I’ve been lucky so far.”

Allie shivered. “Kids are not like they used to be.”

“You got that right.”

They walked arm in arm to the door, where Allie handed him his doggie bag. He thanked her, then kissed her on the cheek.

He was almost to his vehicle when she said, “By the way, don’t forget to pick up a box of candy or some flowers for Patricia.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”

She flashed him a smile. “No, brother dear, I don’t.”

Dillon simply snorted.