Книга - One Major Distraction

One Major Distraction
Linda Winstead Jones


Tess Stafford had one big secret. No one must know that she'd taken the job as cook at a private girls school to be close to the daughter taken from her at birth. The sexy new history teacher was one distraction Tess couldn't afford, but everywhere she turned, Flynn Benning was there–charming her, asking intimate questions.The hard-nosed former marine would rather chew nails than go undercover as a high school teacher. But a killer might be loose in the school, and Flynn had to keep the girls safe. Investigating the secretive Tess was his job–but falling for her was one variable the major hadn't anticipated….









“I’m wondering why I like you so much, even though you’re obviously lying to me.”


Flynn pulled Tess in a little bit closer. “I’m not lying to you,” she said softly. Not about this. “I just should have forgotten the whole thing and…and…what are you doing?”

Somehow he had moved in closer and all but buried his nose against her neck. “You smell good,” he said. “Like cinnamon and sugar and soap.”

Flynn didn’t smell so bad himself. His scent was masculine and it teased her senses in a way she hadn’t expected. But she wasn’t about to tell him so.

“I don’t have time for this,” she whispered.

“Neither do I,” he said, “and still I’m sitting here thinking…why not?”




One Major Distraction

Linda Winstead Jones







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




LINDA WINSTEAD JONES


would rather write than do anything else. Since she cannot cook, gave up ironing many years ago, and finds cleaning the house a complete waste of time, she has plenty of time to devote to her obsession for writing. Occasionally she’s tried to expand her horizons by taking classes. In the past she’s taken instruction on yoga, French (a dismal failure), Chinese cooking, cake decorating (food-related classes are always a good choice, even for someone who can’t cook), belly dancing (trust me, this was a long time ago) and, of course, creative writing.

She lives in Huntsville, Alabama, with her husband of more years than she’s willing to admit and the youngest of their three sons.

She can be reached via www.eHarlequin.com or her own Web site www.lindawinsteadjones.com.


With love for brother Tom and Party Marty.

Wherever life takes you—rock on.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14




Chapter 1


Flynn Benning had been shot at a number of times, and he’d been stabbed, once. He’d staked out bad guys in freezing rain and hundred degree heat. He’d crawled through a swamp on his belly and swallowed more sand than he cared to remember. And this…this was the worst assignment he had ever taken, bar none.

Laura Stokes had her hand up again. That hand wasn’t just lifted into the air, it waved and wiggled and the fingers danced. “Mr. Benning, Mr. Benning, Mr. Benning,” she chirped when he didn’t immediately acknowledge her raised hand. “This isn’t the way Mr. Hill did it. Today is Thursday, so we should have a review of the vocabulary, and tomorrow we’ll have the vocabulary test. That’s the way he always did it.”

Flynn glared, and the hand slowly drifted down. Laura Stokes was thirteen years old, redheaded, and wore glasses and braces. She was entering her gangly phase, and her voice was often whiny. Like now. He would feel sorry for her if she wasn’t getting on his last nerve. Again.

Laura’s more sedate schoolmate, Bev Martin, sat behind her and did her best to hide from Flynn and everyone else in the room. Bev leaned forward and whispered to Laura, no doubt advising her friend to back off before she got the entire class in trouble. Bev looked very much like Laura, in many ways. Her hair was a pale blond and she was taller, but they dressed the same and even wore similar small, gold-rimmed eyeglasses.

“I’m not Mr. Hill,” Flynn said as he leaned casually against the desk he had been calling his own for two very long days. He raked his gaze quickly across the room, taking in the fourteen teenage girls who were enrolled in this history class. Many were more confident and poised than Laura and Bev, and a couple of the others always looked a little bit lost. For the duration of the current assignment he’d be teaching this class and three others. “Until Mr. Hill returns, we’ll be doing things my way.”

A twisted trail had brought Flynn and his team to this exclusive all-girls school in rural Georgia. In the past two weeks the headmistress, one sour Dr. Harriet Barber, had reported not one but two break-ins to the local sheriff’s department. On the first occasion she’d found the window to her office open, when she was positive she’d locked it before retiring for the evening. The investigators had not taken that crime seriously, especially since nothing had been stolen. The second invasion had taken place in the same building. A window had been broken. Again, nothing was taken, but by this time Dr. Barber was livid. She’d insisted that a full investigation take place, including taking fingerprints. Since she was tougher than the sheriff’s investigators, she got what she wanted.

More than one set of prints had been found, of course, but after those who had access to the room were cleared one set of fingerprints remained. They were entered into a database, searching for a match.

On Monday morning, a mere three days ago, a match had been made. The fingerprints found on the windowsill matched those found at the scene of a crime that had taken place five years earlier, in Austin, Texas. A robbery gone bad had left the man who’d surprised the thief dead. All they had collected by way of evidence were the fingerprints and one blond hair. The hair was from a female, and there was no way to be sure if it had come from the thief or one of the victim’s many female friends. Just because they’d never been able to match the hair to any known acquaintances didn’t mean it hadn’t come from an innocent bystander, so to speak.

The man who’d been killed had been very influential. Rumor was he had connections to the government. Connections of the covert kind. The man had also been a friend of Max Larkin’s, and he was taking this personally. If the thief who’d killed Max’s friend was here, searching these old buildings for a treasure of some sort, Max wanted him caught.

Max Larkin worked in a consulting capacity for a government agency, and the Frances Teague Academy, an elite school for girls of middle and high school age, could be swarming with feds right now. Instead Max had hired the Benning Agency to get the job done. Max had hired the agency in the past, on more than one occasion. Their headquarters were tucked in back of a ratty old gas station in rural Alabama, but that didn’t mean they weren’t the best at what they did. Security, investigation, retrieval.

Hiring Flynn’s agency gave Larkin some control over the situation. More than he would have had if this investigation became official. At the present time there wasn’t enough evidence to interest the FBI—there was just enough to give Max hope that his friend’s killer might be caught.

Max was too close to the situation to be involved. He hadn’t taken it well when Flynn had told him he wasn’t welcome here until the job was done.

Four members of the Benning team had arrived at the school Tuesday night, after dark. They had moved in as quietly and seamlessly as possible, and Dr. Barber was the only staff member who knew the reason for the intrusion.

Quinn Calhoun was now a soccer coach, Dante Mangino was a janitor and Sean Murphy had taken on the position of computer teacher. His boyish good looks had the older girls all agog. Flynn was teaching history. They had taken the places of four employees Max had been able to quickly clear of suspicion by comparing their fingerprints to those taken at the scene of the crime. In order to explain away the departure of four male staff members at the same time, they’d concocted a viral disease that would be laying the missing teachers, coach and janitor low for at least a few weeks. In truth, they were all relaxing quite comfortably in a safe house in South Florida, courtesy of Max Larkin. Not that they cared. South Florida in February was not a bad place to be. It beat a cold Georgia school filled with curious girls any day of the week.

Flynn’s first instinct was to line up every employee on the grounds and take their fingerprints—along with a strand of hair from all the female employees, just in case. Max had nixed that idea at the outset. If the thief was watching, he’d be spooked by such an obvious inquiry, and that would never do.

Class was dismissed, the assignment for reading a chapter and writing a paper on the American Revolution made—even though, apparently, Mr. Hill would never do such a thing. Flynn would give the students a couple of days to work on their paper in class, which would save him from actually having to teach, at least for a while. After tomorrow, he’d have the weekend free. With any luck, they’d have Austin—the nickname they’d given the murdering thief—in custody by Monday. Not likely, but he could hope. Maybe Max would send him to Florida as a reward for a job so quickly and well done.

Not likely.

Flynn headed down the hall to the teachers’ lounge. He had fifteen minutes between classes. If Austin was watching, he had to look like one of the guys. If Austin was already here, he needed to find the bastard before someone else got themselves killed. It was possible the thief had come and gone, but Max was willing to bet otherwise.

The Frances Teague Academy was situated on well-manicured grounds, with a number of ancient oak trees growing here and there. The place screamed of old money. It had once been a small private college, and that’s what it looked like. For a period of several years, the place had stood empty. Had something of value been hidden here at that time? Maybe. Flynn hadn’t been able to think of any other reason for Austin to be there.

Six redbrick buildings, all of them square and massive and studious-looking, made up the bulk of the campus. There was even ivy growing on the old walls. Two buildings were used for classes—one for girls of middle school age, one for high school. Two buildings were dormitories, for the girls who lived on campus and the female teachers. One, the smallest building, was housing for the male teachers and employees who opted not to live in town. The downstairs of that building sported a lounge of sorts, with an old television and a few mismatched chairs. Upstairs there were four small apartments, which were now occupied by the Benning agents.

The main building at the center of it all was where the administrative offices, the cafeteria and the gym were located. It was also the site of both break-ins.

The school’s only security to this point had been a service from the small town nearby—two men who drove through slowly a few times a day. While it was tempting to ratchet up security, such a move would surely scare Austin away, if he was watching. Best to keep things as low-key as possible, until they had something concrete to work with.

The old buildings had been well maintained, but they were still old, and showed their age here and there. The room Flynn stepped into looked like teachers’ lounges everywhere. There was a sagging couch someone had decided they no longer wanted, a round table with one leg that was slightly shorter than the others, a few mismatched chairs, a battered counter with a coffeepot and all the fixings, a narrow window that looked out over the grounds, and, of course, a few teachers.

A few suspects? Flynn didn’t even know with any certainty that they were looking for a man. They had assumed the thief and killer was a man, they referred to Austin as “he.” But that wasn’t necessarily the case. For all they knew, the blond hair had come from Austin. Was she here right now, searching for some sort of valuable hidden in the main building? Something worth spending months here to find? There were a handful of teachers who were new to the school this year, who could have come in for the express purpose of gaining access to the school. Two of them were in this room.

Serena Loomis was a math teacher, and she looked the part. Her dark hair was very short, her glasses were small and black-rimmed and she was always dressed very precisely, in tailored shirts and neatly pressed slacks. The woman looked like she didn’t ever wrinkle. Or smile. Her records said she was thirty-six, and she looked to be that age, or close to it.

Stephanie McCabe was a polar opposite from the math teacher. She taught English and was irritatingly bubbly. According to her file she was twenty-nine. She was pretty, blond and wore froufrou dresses and too much makeup. She also sold makeup, as a sideline, and had already tried to sell Flynn skin care products made especially for men. She hadn’t taken kindly to his response that where he was from skin care products for men were called soap.

Both women were new faculty members, which had moved them to the top of Flynn’s short list of suspects. Even though Loomis looked tough, neither of them actually looked like they were capable of murder, but you could never tell. Getting prints from Loomis and McCabe should be easy enough, but the move had to be subtle. No one had ever accused Flynn Benning of being subtle. He eyed their coffee mugs and wondered if it would be possible to scoop them up and retrieve usable prints.

As he crossed to room, Loomis nodded to him. McCabe’s smile died, and she made a dismissive huffing noise. Harry Kaylor, biology teacher, hovered over the almost empty coffeepot. His greeting was even less enthusiastic than McCabe’s. Kaylor was not one of Flynn’s prime suspects. He was getting close to retirement—had in fact passed retirement age—and had been at this school for more than twelve years. Unfortunately, none of the handful of male employees had been here less than four years, which all but eliminated them from suspicion.

It was just as possible, perhaps more likely, that Austin was living in town, watching and waiting for the right opportunity to break into the main building once again. All Flynn had to do was find out what he was searching for. And wait.

The door behind Flynn swung open, and a woman bearing a tray of cookies stormed in. She wore a shapeless white uniform, comfortable shoes and no makeup, and still she caught Flynn’s eye. There was something very pretty about the curve of her cheek and the color of her skin. Auburn hair, thick and wavy, had been caught in a ponytail, and something about it just begged to be set free. Made Flynn’s fingers itch.

“I baked more cookies than we need for lunch,” she said, her Southern accent soft but unmistakable, “and I thought y’all might like to help me finish them off.”

The response she received was much warmer than the one Flynn had gotten when he’d walked in. Of course, he hadn’t brought cookies. He also wasn’t nearly so pretty. The woman skirted past Flynn and headed for the counter by the coffeepot, where she deposited the sweets. Without asking, she took out the old filter and wet grounds and began to make a fresh pot.

“Bless you,” Kaylor said. “Your coffee is always so much better than mine. I’m not sure why.”

“I have the magic touch,” the woman teased.

She glanced over her shoulder to Flynn, and her smile dimmed. They hadn’t officially met, but he had noticed her in the cafeteria last night, dishing up grilled chicken breasts and steamed broccoli and rice. Last night her auburn hair had been caught in a hairnet that had not been particularly flattering. He liked the ponytail better.

When Dr. Barber had presented Flynn with a roster of the employees who had arrived in the fall, there hadn’t been any cafeteria personnel listed. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be thorough.

He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Flynn Benning. I just started teaching here yesterday. History.”

She continued to make coffee, ignoring his offered hand. “Tess Stafford.”

“Tess works in the dining hall,” Kaylor said unnecessarily, when it became clear that Tess didn’t intend to offer any more information about herself. “She takes good care of us, and brings us cookies and brownies and such, now and then.”

Flynn glanced down at the heart-shaped cookies on the platter by the coffeepot. Kaylor had already grabbed one, and Loomis and McCabe were both headed this way. “Hearts?”

“It is Valentine’s Day,” Stephanie McCabe said as she reached past Tess Stafford and grabbed one of the pink-iced cookies.

“Is it?” Flynn asked. “I hadn’t realized.”

Loomis snorted as she reclaimed her seat. “Don’t you watch television, Mr. Benning? Or listen to the radio? Or read the newspaper?”

“I don’t watch much television,” he admitted. And when it came to the newspaper, he usually read the first page and skimmed the rest.

Stephanie remained near the counter, standing right next to Tess Stafford. “When are you going to let me give you that makeover?” she asked, her eyes on the cafeteria lady’s face. “You have such good bone structure and such excellent skin tone, if you’d just get started with a good, daily skin care regimen…”

“I really don’t have time,” Stafford said as she finished with the coffeemaker and backed away. She came inches from running into Flynn. He did a quick recon. Age: probably mid-thirties. Height: five foot five inches, or thereabouts. Physical condition: above average. There were nicely sculpted muscles in her upper arms, and underneath that baggy white uniform she looked to be in excellent shape. Socially: awkward, cautious. She definitely hadn’t been eager to make friends with him.

Stafford scooped up the dirty mugs, much to Flynn’s dismay, and left the lounge with an awkward wave for the other teachers and the instruction to make do with the foam cups until she got the mugs washed and returned to the lounge. Tempted as Flynn was to tackle her and snag the fingerprinted crockery, he dismissed the idea. There would be other chances.

He headed for the coffeepot and the cookies. “She seems to know her way around the school pretty well. How long has she been here?”

“This is her first full year,” Kaylor said. “She settled in real nice, though, so it seems like she’s been here a lot longer.”

“Does she live on campus?” Some teachers and other personnel did. Others didn’t.

“She and another cafeteria worker have rooms on the second floor of the main building. The part-timers live in town, but Tess and Mary Jo have to start so early and work so late, it just makes sense for them to be close by the dining hall.”

“Makes sense.” Flynn took a bite of the Valentines’ Day cookie. His instincts where people were concerned were highly tuned, and he always listened to them. Tess Stafford had the look of a woman who was hiding something. Something big, something she didn’t want him to uncover. She put his senses on alert in a way the other women—who made more viable suspects—didn’t.

In preparing for this job, Flynn had seen crime scene photos of the murder in Austin. He wanted to believe it was unlikely a woman could commit such a brutal and bloody murder, but he had learned never to be surprised. Accepting that lesson had made life so much easier.



Tess had a good grip on the mugs, grasping them all by the handles as she hurried toward the main building. She thought, more than once, that she should’ve grabbed her sweater before heading out to deliver cookies. Some days the cold weather took her by surprise. In just a few weeks, the spring warmth would move in and everything would change. For now, there were cold days and colder nights.

The new history teacher set her teeth on edge, and she wasn’t sure why. He was extremely nice-looking, with very short blond hair, a chiseled jaw and a fit body. He had to be six foot two, at least, with wide shoulders and long legs and more than his share of muscle. He was old enough to be interesting, but was young enough to be, well, interesting. Late thirties maybe, judging by the lines around his eyes. He didn’t exactly look uncomfortable in his khakis and button-up shirt, so why did she get the feeling that the casual but professional outfit was not his usual garb? Maybe because he wasn’t built anything like the other male teachers around here. He didn’t look like any teacher she had ever known, here or in her own academic years.

Looks aside, he was undoubtedly one of those guys—those macho men who thought they could do anything and everything better than anyone else, who always felt compelled to fix everything that was broken, who expected women to fall at their feet if they smiled at them, who expected that everything in life would always go their way.

She’d had her fill of those guys.

In addition to his size and his build and his chiseled jaw, Benning also had great blue eyes that were too curious for Tess’s liking. She didn’t need curious at this point in her life. If anyone found out who she was and why she was here…

Before she reached the main building, something caught Tess’s eye and she stopped. Out by the soccer field, the new coach was talking with great animation to the new janitor. The back of her neck prickled, and it had nothing to do with the cool weather. Neither of them were quite right for their new jobs. Coach Calhoun was tough as old leather, even though he was years younger than Benning. His eyes were too sharp for a girls’ soccer coach, and he moved too quickly and precisely. He could be an athlete himself. A job as coach at a small all-girls’ school shouldn’t attract this type of man, and yet here he was.

The new janitor was definitely out of place here. He had long, thick dark hair, intelligent dark eyes and a body that would not quit. He also had a number of tattoos on his person, most of which she could only see a corner or an edge of. One just barely peeking over his collar, another on his forearm. Both were mostly hidden by an unflattering gray uniform. From what Tess knew of Dr. Barber, the woman would rather clean the place herself than hire a man who looked like this one. Didn’t make any sense at all.

Sean Murphy had come to work here at the same time as the other three. If not for that fact, she might not think him at all out of place. He was almost pretty, and did not have the toughness of the other three. He smiled often, unlike the others, and he actually looked like a computer nerd. A pretty computer nerd, but still…a nerd. But the fact that he had come in at the same time, combined with the fact that she’d seen Murphy talking to Benning last night after supper, raised her suspicions.

Something was up. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, but she didn’t like it. First the break-ins, where nothing was taken, and now this testosterone invasion.

From the soccer field, two heads lifted at once and turned her way. The two men were too far for her to see those eyes to know if they were really looking at her, and still she felt a chill. She rubbed her arms and started walking toward the main building once again.

As long as they weren’t here for her—and how could they be?—she didn’t care what they were up to.



Benning and his team were closed up in one small apartment—his—for the moment. No wonder Kaylor and most of the other teachers opted to live in town. These rooms assigned to the teachers were small—one-bedroom apartments with a sad little kitchenette in the main room and a very small bedroom attached. The bathroom was the size of a postage stamp.

“We need to gather as much info as we can as quickly as possible so we can finish this up and get out of here. We don’t know anything concrete about Austin, so we’re taking nothing for granted. Not even the supposition that he’s a man.”

“Do you know something we don’t?” Cal asked sharply. Cal would prefer to be searching for his sister Kelly. For the moment he was allowing the newly married Sadie Harlow, Flynn’s only female agent, to work that cold and frustrating case.

“No, and that’s just the point. We don’t have nearly enough information about Austin. Take nothing for granted. It’s possible the person we’re looking for—male or female—is right here searching for something. We need to accomplish two things right off the bat. We need to fit in as if we’ve been here a long while, so as not to raise any suspicions. If Austin has been watching from a distance, maybe he won’t notice that some of the faces have changed. If we moved in here with an openly armed team, he’d see and we’d lose him for sure. Make friends, do your jobs and keep your eyes open.”

“Number two?” Dante prompted.

“There’s something here Austin wants. Something valuable. If he hasn’t already found what he came here for, then we need to find it first. We get started with the who. Who doesn’t belong here? Who’s not quite right? Murphy,” Flynn snapped, “you take McCabe.”

Murphy groaned, saying nothing until Cal nudged him with an elbow. Then he laughed and said, “She says I’m a metrosexual. I don’t know what that is, but even though it has “sexual” in it, I don’t think it’s a good thing,”

“It means you’ll let her give you a facial,” Dante said with a laugh.

Flynn turned to Dante. “You get Loomis.”

The laugh died quickly. “The math teacher?”

“Yeah.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“She’s not blond, she’s flat-chested and I’m not a hundred percent certain she’s, you know, playing for the right team.”

“I caught her staring at your ass this afternoon when you were mopping the hallway so I don’t think you have to worry about what team she plays on.”

Dante grumbled, but not much.

“I’m not asking you to sleep with her,” Flynn said with a snort. “Just get friendly. Suck it up and do your job.” He turned to Cal while Dante mumbled. “You get Tess Stafford. I don’t have a lot of information on her yet. Dr. Barber apparently didn’t think to include her in the original list, since she lives in the main building and has no need to break in. Lucky is digging up what he can on her. She works in the cafeteria and—”

“No way,” Cal said, lifting his left hand to wag the ring finger and the attached gold band.

“This is work, Calhoun,” Flynn said sharply. “I’m not asking you to marry the woman. Just make friends. What’s the matter with you guys?” He looked from one agent to the next. It was bad enough that Lucky Santana had all but refused to participate in the undercover element of this operation. Not that Lucky would fit in here. He didn’t have the qualifications to be a substitute teacher, like Flynn and Murphy did, and he’d never pass for a janitor or a soccer coach. Besides, Lucky was still ticked off about losing his partner Sadie to marriage, and he was a bear to work with these days. He was at the home office in Alabama, handling research and moping.

This was a tough job for Flynn, for reasons he chose not to share with his employees, but from their standpoint this should be a walk in the park. “This is the easiest freakin’ job you’ve ever had and you’re whining like a bunch of pansies.”

“Okay,” Cal said in a calm voice. “You call Livvie and tell her what I’m doing on this job besides coaching soccer, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“I’m not afraid of your wife,” Flynn said darkly.

“What about her uncle, who seems determined that her every wish should be granted?”

True, Max Larkin could be trouble. “Fine,” Flynn growled. “You coach soccer and call your wife every night like a good boy, and I’ll take Stafford.”

Which wouldn’t exactly be a chore, as long as she didn’t turn out to be a cold-blooded killer.

Flynn smiled at Cal. “You can take Leon Toller.”

“The weirdo art teacher who likes to walk around talking to himself?”

“You prove Toller’s not Austin, and I’ll charm the cafeteria lady.”

Words he’d never thought to speak, or even to imagine.

“Yes, Major,” Cal said without emotion.

“I’m not a major anymore, Calhoun,” Flynn replied. Cal knew that. They all did. He’d been retired from the Marines for years.

This job was unlike any other he had ever participated in. He and his team usually went in with guns blazing. They didn’t pretend; they didn’t finesse. And yet here they were, undercover in a sea of little girls and academics, at Max Larkin’s request.

No doubt about it; he’d rather face a firefight any day.



Patience was not Dale’s strong suit, but that’s what this job called for. Patience. There was some pride in being adaptable to each situation, and that was soothing, in an odd sort of way.

At night this all-girl’s school possessed an unexpected serenity. The bustling of the day was over, the students and the teachers had retired for the evening and the grounds were silent. Warm light spilled through dormitory windows, while others remained dark. The thick Georgia air spread over the campus like a blanket. Even in the wintertime, it was humid here. The cold cut to the bone, some nights.

Fortunately these nighttime excursions were an infrequent requirement. Serenity aside, the cold was something jarring. Cancún was much nicer this time of year, and as soon as this job was finished that destination would call. This assignment paid nicely, enough to hide away quietly for a long time to come. Thinking of warm beaches almost took away the winter chill. Almost.

Weather was a small quandary, comparatively speaking. There had been a few strange faces on the campus today. After months of routine and monotony, strange was startling and unwelcomed. There was, perhaps, a logical explanation, but still, it was disturbing. Dale had never cared for being disturbed. Routine was much more soothing.

Eyes closed, Dale thought of Cancún and took a deep breath of the cold, humid air. In that cold air was a new scent, a touch of spring. And with the coming of spring came the end of this well-planned job. Not tonight, not tomorrow…but soon.




Chapter 2


“That looks good,” Benning said, flashing one of those charming smiles men used when they thought they were being, well, charming. “Did you make it yourself?”

Tess shook her head. “No. Mary Jo made the meatloaf.” Mary Jo stood at the head of the line, passing out salad. She was a very nice, bone-thin grandmother who had a room next to Tess’s but was only there during the week. On the weekends, she stayed with her son and grandkids who lived in town, and came in to work for a few hours each day.

Mary Jo and Tess were the only full-time cafeteria employees, and the only ones who worked the supper shift. They were especially busy in the evenings, which meant that she did not have time to entertain the new guy, or anyone else.

“Oh.” The big man who had parked himself in front of her looked almost disappointed. “What did you make?”

“You’re holding up the line,” she snapped.

“So answer my question and I’ll move on.”

“I made the scalloped potatoes and the apple pie,” Tess said through clenched teeth.

“They both look great.” Benning did his best to lean over the counter. He was so darn big he could almost do just that. “So, why don’t you have a date for Valentine’s Day?”

His bold question startled her. It crossed the line between friendly and flirting, and to be honest she didn’t have time for either. Finally Tess answered, “What makes you think I don’t have a late date?”

“Do you?”

With a wave of her hand, she shooed him down the line. “I’d like to get these girls fed, if you don’t mind.”

He grudgingly moved along, muttering something about her late date, and Tess turned her attention to the kids who were waiting in line for their supper. Not all the students lived on campus, but those who did were in this cafeteria for three meals a day. They were good girls, for the most part, and she liked her job more than she’d ever imagined she would. Some days it took her back to her own days in school. She’d been so naive, just like so many of these girls. But it had been a special time, one she remembered with fondness, for the most part.

Thirteen-year-old Laura came along just minutes behind Benning. She and her friend Bev were the last students in line, as usual, and for them Tess had a wide and real smile.

“Cute top,” Tess said, nodding to the striped sweater Laura wore.

“Thanks.” Laura squirmed as if the compliment made her uncomfortable. “My dad sent it to me last week.”

“It looks nice and warm, and that green is your color.”

Laura wrinkled her nose. She definitely did not like talking about herself.

“And Bev, you look fabulous in blue. It brings out your eyes.”

Bev gave in to an odd sort of smile, but it didn’t last.

“I saw you talking to Mr. Benning,” Laura said. “Do you like him, or something?”

“No,” Tess answered precisely. “I do not like him. In fact, the man really gets on my nerves.”

“He gets on my nerves, too,” Laura said.

“He’s a little scary,” Bev said in a low voice Tess had to strain to hear.

“He doesn’t do things the way Mr. Hill did,” Laura said in a slightly louder voice. The changes in her history class obviously upset her. Laura didn’t like change. And at thirteen, everything was changing, or soon would.

“Maybe Mr. Hill will have a quick recovery and be back in class before you know it,” Tess said optimistically.

“I hope so,” Laura said as she continued down the line.

“Me, too,” Bev said, cutting her eyes to Tess and trying that uncertain smile once again.

Tess’s smile died as the girls headed for a table in the dining hall. Laura and Bev were both awkward, but then they were at an awkward age. Neither of the girls thought they were pretty, but they would be, as soon as they grew into themselves and gained some confidence. She saw them glance at the table where the more popular girls sat, giggling and whispering and posing. They were either older than Laura and Bev, or else they had matured at an earlier age. There was no awkwardness at that table of pretty, self-assured girls.

Tess often found herself trying to help the girls in this school, above and beyond the duties of a cook. So many of them had been shuffled off because their parents didn’t have time for them, or because divorce had split up the family and boarding school seemed a safe and easy alternative. They all came from money, or else they wouldn’t be here; that new sweater Laura was wearing probably cost more than a week’s salary for Tess.

“More?”

Tess’s head snapped around to find that Flynn Benning was back and offering his plate for a refill of scalloped potatoes. The fact that he’d surprised her counted against him. Had he noticed her staring at Laura and Bev?

No, he was much too self-absorbed to notice any such thing. That grin of his was wicked and just short of smarmy. If he winked at her, she was going to throw the potatoes at him. How would he look wearing his second helping? He didn’t wink, and she scooped up enough scalloped potatoes for four men his size and slopped them into his plate with a twist of her wrist. “How’s that?”

“Thank you,” he said. “There’s just something extra special about these potatoes. I’m not sure what it is.”

Tess rolled her eyes and turned away, but not before she caught a glimpse of something unexpected in Benning’s blue eyes.

Suspicion.



He was a good judge of character, he trusted his instincts, and something about Tess Stafford raised more than one alarm. She was too savvy to be working as a cafeteria cook, server and dishwasher in a private school. In his day they had been called lunchroom ladies, and none of them had looked anything like Tess Stafford. She didn’t make much money here, the living quarters left a lot to be desired and making heart-shaped cookies for little girls and teachers might be fulfilling in some basic womanly way, but it definitely wasn’t challenging.

Not for the first time, Flynn wondered what the hell he was doing here. Only for Max would he put himself in this situation. Sadie Harlow—Sadie McCain, now, Flynn reminded himself—would be perfect for this assignment. It would be much easier for her to work her way into the closed circle of women employees without rousing suspicion. But Sadie had gone and gotten herself pregnant, and for some reason her husband, Truman McCain, had a problem with letting her hunt down murdering thieves in her current condition. Flynn almost snorted just thinking about it. He’d never imagined that anyone could forbid Sadie to do anything. Just as well. If she was here and pregnant, he’d have to worry about her himself. Besides, anything Sadie could do, he could do. How much of a challenge could Tess Stafford, who made heart-shaped cookies and served up three meals a day, be?

Tess was presently wiping down tables in a deserted dining hall. The students and the teachers who lived on campus had all headed for their dorms, and the other woman who worked in the cafeteria had retired for the night. Stafford was lost in thought as she wiped down a table where some of the messier girls had eaten supper.

“Need any help?”

Her head snapped up at his softly spoken question, and she stopped wiping. “What do you want?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “There’s not much to do in my room. I thought I’d help you out here so you can get to your late date. We wouldn’t want you to be tardy.”

She started scrubbing again, harder this time. “Okay, let’s get something straight, Mr. Benning. Just because I work in an all-girls’ school, doesn’t mean I’m desperate for a man to come along and charm me out of my orthopedic shoes. I’m not desperate for anything. I’m not looking for a man, and if I were it wouldn’t be you because you’re not my type.”

“Does that mean there’s no late date?”

“No,” she finally admitted, “there’s no late date. Not only that, I don’t want a date, late or otherwise.”

Tess Stafford was pretty and she knew how to stand up for herself, and she was also angry. A man was the cause, most likely. Wasn’t that always the story? It was like some sad country song. A good-for-nothing fella had broken her heart and stolen her life savings, and run off in the night with her dog and her pickup truck.

Charming her was going to be more difficult than he’d imagined.

“Okay, you don’t want a date, you don’t need a man. How about a friend? Got more of those than you need?”

Tess stopped wiping, but kept her eyes on the table. Had he touched a chord with her? Anger just beneath the surface aside, she seemed to be a nice person. The others who worked here liked her, but she didn’t let anyone get too close. He could see that from here. Hell, he’d seen it at first glance.

“You can start by calling me Flynn,” he said. “I get enough Mr. Benning during the day. Usually like this.” He raised his hand and waggled his fingers, “Mr. Benning, Mr. Benning, Mr. Benning.”

He saw the start of a reluctant smile. It just barely turned up the corners of Tess’s nicely wide mouth. “Kids can be relentless.” She began wiping again, slower this time.

“Tell me about it,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb and watching her work. Relaxed this way, she was very pretty. Very out of place in this stark room. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you clean, and then over leftover apple pie and some of your fabulous coffee, you can tell me all about the other people who work here. It’s tough being the new guy in town.”

She lifted her head and looked him square in the eye, as if trying to judge his intentions. “Sure,” she finally said. “Why not?”



Tess told herself that if she could figure out why Flynn Benning was so curious, if she could reassure herself that his being here had nothing to do with her, it would be worth spending a little extra time in his company.

Over coffee and apple pie, they started an awkward conversation. She had never been one to make friends easily, and he didn’t strike her as the gregarious type. Confident, yes. Gregarious, never.

She told Flynn what she knew of some of the teachers he’d be working alongside, general information that he could have gotten anywhere, and he listened carefully. Maybe too carefully, for someone who was a sub who wouldn’t be here very long. He was either way too interested in the goings-on at the Frances Teague Academy, or else he was way too interested in her.

“You’ll only be working here until Scott Hill is better, right?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“Where do you usually teach?”

It was a perfectly natural question to ask a new teacher, but it looked as if he bristled a little. “I used to teach at a military school south of Atlanta.”

Military school. That she could see. The size, the bearing, the way he took charge of a room just by walking through the door. Military. “What happened?” she asked. “Why aren’t you teaching there this year?”

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. His shoulders squared, his spine straightened, and those eyes…the blue was almost electric.

“A new administrator comes in and decides she wants things done her way,” he finally said. “We were supposed to be sensitive and new-agey and it was all crap.”

Tess smiled, she could see it so well. “You told her so in just those words, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he answered, visibly calmer and almost sheepish. “Now here I am teaching at an all-girls school, which is ironic, I suppose. I look at some of these girls the wrong way, and I swear they’re about to burst into tears. I don’t do tears.”

She laughed out loud, surprising him and herself.

“It’s not funny,” he said, almost seriously.

“It is, actually,” she answered.

“Well, I probably won’t be here more than a couple of weeks. That’s what I was told, anyway. If I can get through this assignment without making any of the little girls cry, I’ll be fine.”

Well, crap. She liked him. The fact that he would stand up to an administrator who wanted to run things in a way he didn’t care for was one thing. But he was actually worried about making little girls cry. There was something unexpected about that, coming from a big man who was undeniably gruff.

Her pie was gone, her coffee cup almost empty. She’d told Flynn everything she could think of, about the faculty and staff he’d be dealing with in his time here. And she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Evenings were the toughest part of the day, for her. Alone in her apartment above stairs, the hours went by too slowly, and her imagination ran wild. She thought about getting caught, about losing everything she’d worked for.

But this was nice. She liked Benning, he apparently liked her, and even though it could never go anywhere it was nice to have someone to talk to. A friend, he said.

“So, Flynn. That’s an unusual name. Is it a family name?”

He grunted slightly and took a big bite of pie. The last bite. She waited patiently while he finished it off with a swig of black coffee. “Not a family name,” he finally said. “As a matter of fact, I was suppose to be named John William Benning III, but my mother had other ideas.”

“So, where does the Flynn come from?”

He pushed his plate and cup aside and leaned onto the table. He’d rolled his sleeves up, displaying utterly masculine forearms. She really, really wanted to touch them, just for a moment, but of course she didn’t.

“That’s enough about me,” he said. “What’s a woman like you doing working in a cafeteria? You’re smart, you’re pretty, you’re energetic and everyone likes you. So, why aren’t you married and raising a half dozen kids, or running a corporation, or teaching home economics or…”

Tess’s smile died. The man was way too curious about her. She grabbed the dirty dishes and stood, keeping her gaze on the last little bit of coffee that was left in the bottom of Flynn’s mug. “It’s getting late,” she said. “And I have to be up early in the morning to make biscuits.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she interrupted. “I just didn’t realize how late it was. The time got away from me.”

A very large, very warm hand shot out and gripped her wrist, and for a moment she was frozen. Flynn’s fingers were like a warm, soft vise. An unexpected electricity worked through her body. It had been a long time since she’d allowed any man to touch her, even in such a simple way.

It was so stupid, to stand here and imagine what it would be like to lay her fingers on that hard forearm, or fix the little crinkle in his collar, or run her palm against his short, fair hair. There wasn’t time for any of that in her life…not today, and not tomorrow. Maybe never.

“I’m sorry,” he said, letting his hand fall away. “I didn’t mean to push. Friends don’t push.”

Maybe he would be smart and not push now, as she hurried toward the kitchen. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she called back without looking over her shoulder. “Do me a favor and make sure the door is locked when you leave?”

“Sure,” he said softly as he left the dining hall. “I’ll double check to be certain the building is secure.”

Somehow that assurance made her feel a little better, even as she climbed the stairs to her little apartment.



Flynn didn’t rush back to his quarters in the men’s dormitory. The night was cold, the air downright icy, and yet the chill didn’t bother him at all.

Tess Stafford didn’t belong here, not in the cafeteria, anyway. She was hiding something, and he wanted to know what it was. Was she a natural blonde who hid her true colors under auburn hair color? Could someone who lied so badly be Austin? Could someone who didn’t dare look a man in the eye while she made a hasty escape kill a man for a painting and a handful of very nice jewelry? Could a woman who trembled at the innocent touch of a hand on her wrist be here planning another crime?

He didn’t think so, and Dr. Barber’s argument that she had no need to break into the building where she lived was valid enough. But until Lucky came back with a report that cleared her, he compared her fingerprints to Austin’s and he got hold of a strand of hair to compare to the one taken from the scene of the crime in Texas, Tess Stafford would remain on Flynn’s list of suspects. He couldn’t take her off the list just because he—unexpectedly and against his better judgment—wanted to sleep with her.

Tess might not be Austin, but she was hiding something. Something big. Something that kept her here.

There was to be a meeting in his room at ten o’clock—fifteen minutes—and he didn’t feel compelled to hurry. Instead he looked around, studying the darkened buildings where classes would resume in the morning and the dormitories where students and female teachers were either already asleep or getting ready for bed. Some of them would be asleep by now, he imagined. The windows that were still lit up were probably rooms of the teachers and the older girls.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Tess that he was terrified of making the girls cry. Most everything else had been pure fabrication. The military school, the background that had been manufactured for this assignment, it was all false. But he was truly terrified of coming face-to-face with a sobbing teenage girl.

His own little girl would be fourteen, if she’d lived. Denise would be thirty-eight. There were days when it seemed like ages ago that he’d buried his wife and daughter, and there were other days when it seemed like yesterday. His job didn’t normally require him to face his past. He’d grieved, and then he’d moved on as best he could. He hadn’t forgotten, but he had relegated that long-ago pain to a safe and remote place. These past two days had brought it all a little closer than he cared for. All these little girls reminded him too sharply of the one he’d lost.

All the more reason to find Austin and get out of here ASAP.

Cal and Murphy were right on time for the meeting, but Dante was running late. Flynn was in no mood for waiting, but he hated having to do anything twice. The three of them made themselves comfortable, Cal and Murphy on the couch, Flynn in a sagging chair.

Cal thought Leon Toller was just a sad, weird little man who didn’t have many friends because he spent most of his time in his own world. He was divorced, no surprise, and had three boys he didn’t see very often. That matched the info they had on him, so far. Cal had snagged a porcelain doodad from the man’s class, and it was already on the way to Max for fingerprint comparison.

While Cal was talking Murphy kept rubbing his cheek, until Flynn finally snapped. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“Stephanie gave me a facial. My skin feels different. It’s smooth.”

Cal started to laugh, then noted that Flynn was not amused and went silent.

“A facial,” Flynn repeated in a low voice.

“Yeah. It’s the only way I could, you know…”

“Get into her pants?” Cal asked when Murphy faltered.

“No,” Murphy said. “She’s not that kind of girl. She’s very passionate about her English classes and this line of makeup and skin-care products she sells. Most of it’s all natural. The makeup, not the English classes. She gave me a sample of a skin cream for men. It smells pretty good.”

“You are a metrosexual,” Cal said.

Murphy muttered beneath his breath, “I still don’t know what that means.”

Dante arrived, to Flynn’s great relief, slightly red-faced and not his usual cool self.

“Where the hell have you been?” Flynn asked.

Dante walked into the room, but didn’t sit. Instead, he paced. “The math teacher is a freak.”

Cal and Murphy both leaned forward, unduly interested. “In what way?” Cal asked. “She has six toes on one foot? She used to work at a sideshow as the bearded lady? What?”

“Not a freak in a bad way,” Dante said. “She’s aggressive. She knows what she wants and she goes for it. Man, does she go for it. I thought math teachers were supposed to be shy and repressed, but not Serena Loomis. No, there’s nothing repressed about her. Man, I’m sorry I’m late, but I didn’t think she was going to let me go.”

“You’ve been in her room all this time?” Murphy asked.

Dante shook his head. “No. She was afraid one of the students would see me going to her room, or leaving. There’s a gardener’s shed out back, so we went there. If Austin is a man, it’s not Serena Loomis. She’s, uh, also not blond. Natural brunette.”

Flynn leaned back in his chair, on edge and impatient. “Murphy is a woman and Mangino got laid,” he said sharply. “Did we manage to gather any other useful information tonight?”

A breathless Dante nodded his head. “Maybe. Serena mentioned that there’s a parents’ weekend coming up in two weeks,” he said. “Considering how much it costs to attend this school, we have to look at every parent who’s going to be here that weekend as a potential target. Maybe what Austin wants to steal isn’t here, but will be. He took jewels before.”

“Killed for ’em,” Cal added.

Dante dismissed his momentous evening and turned his attention to the matter at hand. “We’re talking about a one-day event, which means anything of value will be in the possession of a parent. That means we’re looking at armed robbery, not simple theft.”

With that bit of information, the mood in the room changed. Back to business; they didn’t have time to spare.

Flynn nodded to Murphy. “I’ll need a list of all those parents. Dr. Barber will cooperate, I’m sure, but she has been less than thorough.” First Tess was left off the list of new employees, and now this. Surely she knew that the parents’ weekend would be of interest.

Then again, they hadn’t told her everything, either.

“I want to go outside the school for information, as well. I want everything.”

Murphy left the couch. “You got it.” Since their computer genius was a night owl, he’d probably have something substantial to report by morning. Cal promised to help, after he called his wife again, and Dante headed for his room, apparently for some well-deserved rest.

When they were all gone, Flynn went to the window to look over the campus. Crap. He wanted to be out of here ASAP, but this was a deadline he could do without. If he didn’t find Austin in the next two weeks, he’d have a campus brimming with potential victims. He could insist that the parents’ weekend be canceled, and Max could make it happen, but if they did that Austin would be spooked and might not resurface for years.

Besides, there was no guarantee that the target was among the parents. All they knew with any certainty was that Austin had been here.

He tried to imagine Tess Stafford planning to rob one or more of the parents, in between baking cookies and brewing coffee and giving the most inept of the girls a little extra smile and conversation. And he couldn’t make it work.

But he knew too well that didn’t mean Tess Stafford wasn’t the one he was looking for.



“Time for bed,” Truman said gently. “You need your sleep.”

Sadie looked away from the computer screen long enough to smile widely at her husband. He had always been overly protective, but now that she was pregnant he was downright possessive.

A part of her actually liked it.

“I think I found her.”

Truman cocked his head and smiled at her. Sometimes just looking at him still made her heart go thump. “She’ll still be there come morning.”

“Maybe,” Sadie muttered. Kelly Calhoun never stayed in one place very long, but she did have a tendency to come back to the South on a regular basis. “I don’t want to lose her again.”

Truman laid his hands on her shoulders and massaged lightly. “Are you going to call Cal and tell him?”

Sadie shook her head as she typed the last of the e-mail message to the private eye who’d found Kelly. Maybe. “No. I don’t want to get his hopes up and then come up empty-handed again. He’s been through that too many times.”

Her husband bent down and kissed her cheek. “You’re a good friend,” he said. “And a good wife,” His hand settled over her stomach. “And a good mother.”

Sadie smiled at the computer screen. Once she found Kelly for Cal, she was going to take some serious time off. Like maybe until the last of the kids started school. She’d never imagined she could feel this way.

“So,” Truman said, leaning against her and hanging on lightly. “Where is she this time?”

“Close,” she answered, then she finished her e-mail and glanced up. “Kelly’s back in Georgia.”




Chapter 3


Saturdays were nice on campus, even when it was cold. Peaceful. Quiet, in a way that touched the soul. On most Saturday mornings and many weekday afternoons, if it wasn’t too cold, Tess took a turn or two around the nature trail that wound through pine trees and old oaks and thick underbrush. The path itself, which circled around the soccer field and cleared the thick growth on the side nearest the parking lot, was kept clear of debris and poison ivy by the landscaping crew that came in once a week. The kids walked and ran on this trail, in their spare time or as part of their physical education class. And still, when she walked the path alone it felt as if no one else ever came here. The wild growth and the whisper of trees was miles away from the sparkling appliances of the massive kitchen.

Tess walked briskly around the path to stay warm, her eyes on the soccer field where one of the teams was practicing. It was the middle school team, she knew. The Ladybugs. Laura and Bev were on the team, though from what she’d seen in weeks past they didn’t get to play much. Neither of them was athletic enough to get a lot of playing time. Of course, the entire team was less than athletically stellar. Maybe they’d improve before the season started, but from what she’d heard that wasn’t likely. The soccer teams usually both finished last or near last in their divisions. Coach West had been very laid-back, and if his complacence had been a part of his coaching style she could see why the teams hadn’t done well.

Coach Calhoun wasn’t at all laid-back. He yelled at the girls when they made a mistake, and there had been one or two times when she’d been sure he was literally pulling out his hair. It was early in the soccer year, and some of the newer girls had a tendency to run in the wrong direction or use their hands when they shouldn’t. As one of the girls used a hand to deflect a ball, Calhoun ran across the field to yell at her, up close and personal.

Quinn Calhoun was as out of place at this all-girls’ school as Flynn Benning. Maybe he’d been fired from the same military school at which Flynn had once taught. Military certainly described them both, though neither Dante Mangino nor Sean Murphy fell into that category. And still…she was sometimes sure the four of them were up to something. Then again, her imagination had gotten the best of her in the past, and here she was again—imagining trouble.

She hadn’t come out here to think about Flynn! In fact, she was here in part to get him out of her mind. Tess turned her attention to the soccer field, as she took a turn in the path. Laura had her hair up in a curly ponytail this morning, and Bev’s was styled much the same, though her ponytail was straight and sleek. Those two stuck together, whenever they could. That was a good thing. Laura needed a good friend. She’d heard enough from Laura to know that her sorry excuse for a father hadn’t been much of a friend to her, and apparently that new stepmother of hers didn’t care to spend any more time with the kid than she had to. Still, Laura was thirteen, so it was possible her observations were colored by teenage angst. Tess wanted to see for herself what kind of father Jack Stokes was.

Tess had already begun to worry about the parents’ weekend coming up. Two weeks from today, the campus would be swarming with mothers and fathers anxious to explore the school and meet everyone. Would cafeteria personnel be included in that list? Would Jack even bother to come? And if he did, was it possible that he wouldn’t even recognize her after all this time? Thirteen years was such a long time, and she’d changed. She’d changed very much.

Tess walked briskly, keeping up the pretense of getting her morning exercise. But as often as she could, she watched her daughter.

Jack had stolen her baby from her, and if she could find a way to steal her daughter back without breaking the girl’s heart she would. She hadn’t been able to think of a way to reclaim Laura without turning the girl’s world upside down and inside out, so she watched when she could, and tried to be a friend, and cried herself to sleep at night when it seemed like she would never find a way to fix everything in her life that was broken….

“Hey, Red.”

Speaking of friends. “Good morning, Flynn,” she said as the big man moved into step beside her. “I’m surprised to see you up and about so early on a Saturday.” Especially since he’d missed breakfast. Dammit, she’d actually looked for him this morning, as she’d served up pancakes and sausage.

“I slept in, but I hate to waste the whole day in bed. Not that there’s anything wrong with spending the day in bed,” he added suggestively.

The caution she had set aside for a while Thursday night was fully in place this morning. What did Flynn want? If he was just looking for a friend, he could turn to any man or woman on campus. Why her? She wasn’t the prettiest, or the smartest, or the most influential woman on campus.

Did he think she’d be the easiest? Did he think that because her job was intellectually undemanding she’d be flattered that he was paying her this extra attention? So flattered that she’d fall on her back when he smiled at her and uttered a few kind words? If that was the case, he was in for a surprise.

Jack had taken advantage of her, making her believe that he cared about her. That he loved her. All along, he’d been using her, taking advantage of what she’d thought had been love. Well, she wasn’t eighteen anymore, and she hadn’t been easy about anything for a very long time.

“This is nice,” Flynn said, glancing into the woods on the right side of the track. Like her, he had dressed in jeans and a T-shirt for the morning’s exercise, though his clothes fit in a different way than hers did. His T-shirt was a little too tight. His jeans fit him almost too well.

Her jeans and T-shirt were both loose-fitting, easy to move in and chosen for comfort, not to make an impression on the opposite sex. So why was Flynn looking at her like he was impressed by what he saw? Sometimes just the way he looked at her made her anxious.

They left the wooded portion of the track behind and moved into sunlight. From here, it was a few minutes to the main building. She’d planned to walk the track a couple more times, but suddenly the peace of the morning turned tense and uncomfortable.

“Enjoy it,” she said, veering off the track and heading toward the parking lot. “It’s going to be a pretty day.”

There was a moment, she knew, when Flynn thought about following her. But after a moment’s consideration, he continued walking briskly around the track and allowed her to make her escape.

Maybe she did like him, but there was no room in her life for a man. All she cared about was getting her daughter back, and nothing, not even Flynn Benning, could distract her.



Laura Stokes had her hand up again. Great. “Yes?” Flynn said in a decidedly unfriendly tone of voice.

The girl’s hand drifted down. “How long are we going to spend on the American Revolution? Usually we just spend a week on each chapter. We’re getting behind. It’s Monday, so we should begin a new chapter.”

“We’re going to study the American Revolution until you get it,” Flynn said sharply.

“I get it,” she said in soft exasperation. A couple of girls near her agreed.

“Not to my satisfaction, you don’t.” It didn’t make any sense to him that the teacher who was currently sun-bathing in Florida had skipped from chapter to chapter as it suited him, not studying American history in chronological order. Moron.

His other classes were more well behaved than this one. At least, they did their work quietly and didn’t ask so many questions. He might growl at her, but he liked the fact that Laura Stokes had the guts to question him. The others didn’t, for the most part, though he had caught one brave high school girl trying to nap through European History.

Flynn was about to assign another paper when the students were saved by the ringing of his cell phone. Sadie came up on the caller ID. He stepped into the hallway, ignoring the whispered voice that informed him cell phones were not allowed in class. Laura again, he knew it.

“Benning,” he said as the door behind him closed.

“Is Cal with you?” Sadie asked.

“No. If you want Cal, call him. I’m not a freakin’ messenger service.”

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Sadie said, a smile in her voice. “I asked about Cal because I don’t want him to know we spoke. Not yet.”

Flynn leaned against the wall beside his classroom door. “Kelly?”

“She was right here in Georgia, and I missed her by two days.”

Flynn uttered a softly spoken single word that would have Laura reporting him to Dr. Barber, if she heard him.

“But this time, she told someone where she was headed. A woman she worked with. I explained things as best I could, and she gave me an address. Truman and I are headed that way.”

“Where?”

“Colorado.”

“Great,” Flynn muttered. Every lead they found for Kelly Calhoun took them nowhere, and he didn’t have great hopes for this tip.

“I just wanted to let you know where I’d be. Don’t say anything to Cal until I come up with something solid.”

“Got it.”

“I’d drive straight through,” Sadie said, exasperation in her voice, “but Truman won’t allow it. He says I need my rest. For the baby,” she added, a touch of wonder and joy in her voice.

Flynn’s heart did a sick flip. “I can’t believe you’re letting any man besides me tell you what to do, but in this case McCain is right. Get your rest. Cal wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick.”

“Don’t mention sick to me,” Sadie said with a groan. “I’d heard about morning sickness, but—”

“I gotta go,” Flynn said abruptly, interrupting his one and only female agent. “I left a class of whiny little girls alone, and I hear ’em getting out of hand. Wanna trade jobs?”

Sadie laughed. “No thanks. Have fun.”

Flynn ended the call and dropped his cell phone into his pocket. He opened the door on a classroom full of well-behaved students, who waited for him with an unnatural patience. A few of them whispered to friends, but they weren’t anywhere near getting out of hand.

But that excuse was better than telling Sadie, or anyone else, that pregnant women were as tough for him to take as little girls.



Flynn Benning had obviously taken her abrupt flight from the walking trail as a rejection of some sort. He hadn’t done more than nod and say hello for the past four days. In a way Tess was relieved. In another way, she kinda missed talking to him.

Maybe she should make more of an effort to get to know the other teachers. It was possible that Flynn was right, and what she really needed was a friend. After all, if Laura was here next year, odds were Tess would be here, too. Might as well make things as pleasant as possible.

Tess carried a plate of brownies and clean mugs into the middle school teachers’ lounge. There was only one teacher present, Stephanie McCabe. That was a disappointment, since Tess was pretty sure she and the English teacher had nothing in common. Nothing at all.

But she might as well give it a shot.

“Hi,” Tess said as she laid out the brownies and arranged the coffee mugs. She turned around and leaned against the counter. “I love your skirt. It’s so…colorful.”

Stephanie smiled widely. “Thanks. I made it myself.”

“You did?” On purpose?

“I make a lot of my own clothes. It’s so hard to find just what I want in just the right size.” The English teacher wagged a finger. “You know, when you’re off duty you should wear more color. I know Dr. Barber probably insists that you wear that godawful uniform when you’re working, but even when you’re not you wear such dull colors. Hot pink. You should definitely wear lots of hot pink.”

“I like blues and greens,” Tess said, wondering if this wasn’t a really, really big mistake.

Stephanie pursed her lips in disapproval. “Turquoise, then.”

“Next time I go shopping, I’ll look for some.”

The woman smiled, as if she’d accomplished something great in convincing Tess to try a new color. Then she leaned slightly forward and lowered her voice. “Have you heard about Serena Loomis and the new janitor?”

She hadn’t heard anything, but she’d seen those two together enough to know that something was going on. “No, not really.”

“It’s shocking. Surely Dr. Barber has heard what’s going on. I’m surprised she hasn’t fired them both. If the students ever find out what they’re up to, she will.”

“They’re adults,” Tess said, trying not to sound too defensive. “As long as what they do after hours doesn’t interfere with their jobs here…”

“I suppose,” Stephanie said sharply, her smile gone.

Tess grabbed a couple of dirty mugs and headed for the door. Strike one. Not that she was surprised that she and Stephanie McCabe hadn’t hit it off right away.

But the awkward conversation had only made her miss Flynn more—and she’d never expected that.



Flynn backed off for a few days, because he knew if he didn’t Tess was likely to bolt. He’d scared her, somehow. So he smiled, and he complimented her on her cooking, but he didn’t go out of his way to spend time with her. He didn’t ask for seconds, and he didn’t hang around the dining hall after everyone else had left.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping a close eye on her.

Lucky had her checked out, and from all appearances she was clean as a whistle. He’d lifted her prints last week, from a glass she’d left sitting on a dining hall table. They didn’t match Austin’s. He hadn’t taken a hair to check for a match to the one blond hair that had been found, but she had the coloring of a natural redhead, and he’d checked very closely for pale roots.

Social Security number was legit. Her real name was Teresa, but Tess was a common enough nickname. Stafford was her married name. A few years back she’d been married, for less than two years, to one Peter Stafford. Irreconcilable differences didn’t tell him squat as to why the marriage hadn’t worked. Didn’t matter. It just so happened that she’d been on her honeymoon in Florida when Austin had committed the crime in Texas.

Tess was hiding something, but she was exactly who she said she was…and she definitely wasn’t the killer he’d come here to catch.

They were making progress with the others, too, if you could call finding squat progress. Toller’s prints weren’t a match to Austin’s, and neither were Loomis’s. A dozen other teachers had also come out clean. They hadn’t gotten McCabe’s fingerprints—yet—and they hadn’t been able to get their hands on one of her blond hairs, either, which were always sprayed into submission and didn’t dare to fall out. The next step was to break into her room and have a go at her hairbrush.

Even though he no longer thought Tess might be Austin, something about the woman stunk to high heaven. Not literally. Literally she smelled amazingly sweet. Not perfumy, like some of the other teachers who apparently swam in cologne, but lightly fragrant, like woman combined with whatever she’d been baking that day.

Like he had time to notice how any woman smelled.

It was her college degree in computer science that stunk the most, figuratively speaking. Why was she working in the cafeteria, when she was as well educated as any employee in this school? Sure, the market for computer nerds had shrunk some in the past few years, but there was still plenty of work out there where she could use her skills, like teaching.

Flynn had survived more than a week of teaching history to girls who couldn’t care less about what had happened last year, much less hundreds of years ago. Some were studious and did the work in order to earn a good grade, others did what they had to in order to get by. Still others all but dared him to fail them. They did half the work, they didn’t study, their papers were sloppy and incomplete.

If he could’ve gotten away with it, he would have had half of them running laps after class, but he supposed that was Cal’s job, for now. Maybe he could have them do push-ups when they misbehaved. Girls or not, they needed discipline. And as far as he was concerned, they still didn’t get it where the American Revolution was concerned.

Since Tess had seemed more than happy to have him at a distance, he was surprised when, as she handed him a plate full of meatloaf and scalloped potatoes—it was Thursday evening, after all—she looked him in the eye and asked, “What are you doing after dinner?”

“Nothing,” he said as he placed his plate on the tray that already sported a small bowl of salad. Next would be the apple pie, laid out at the end of the line for the diners to snag as they passed, just like last Thursday. Dr. Barber insisted on structure, even in the dining hall. “Why do you ask?”

She screwed up her nose a little, as if she wasn’t sure about what she was about to do. “Stick around?” she asked softly.

There wasn’t time to ask why. A couple of giggling girls were coming up behind him. “Sure,” Flynn said as he moved toward the pie. “Why not?”



Tess didn’t want to do this, but who else could she turn to?

“Mind telling me what we’re doing here?” Flynn asked as she led him up the narrow stairs. “I’d like to think you just couldn’t stand it anymore and have been overcome with the need to jump my bones, but…”

She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him.

“But every now and then you look at me like that and I know I’m not going to be so lucky. So, what’s going on?”

In the second-story hallway, there was plenty of space for him to walk beside her, and he did. Mary Jo was downstairs, finishing up the last of the dishes. The older woman mistakenly thought that Tess’s meeting with Flynn was some sort of date, and since it pleased the older woman so much and was, after all, a plausible explanation, Tess had allowed Mary Jo to assume away.

“Mary Jo and I each have a room up here. The rooms aren’t anything to brag about, but they’re convenient and they come with the job.” She pointed down one short hallway. “We’re down this way, along with an old office where Dr. Barber sometimes comes when she wants to work uninterrupted. The other rooms up here,” she continued down the hallway, rather than making her usual turn, “are used mostly for storage. Books, records, old furniture, that sort of thing. Dr. Barber is paranoid about school property being stolen, so the rooms are always locked. Always,” she said again, with emphasis.

The hallway had a musty smell, as if the scent of old paper had seeped from the books and records and into the very walls.

“This morning, when I was headed down to start breakfast, I noticed that the door to the corner room was not only unlocked, it was slightly ajar.”

“What time?” Flynn asked, all business now that he knew why she’d asked him to come upstairs.

“Five-fifteen. When I checked later, the door was closed and locked.”

He nodded. “Did you ask Dr. Barber about the open room?”

“No. I went to see her after breakfast, but she’d gone to a one-day seminar in Atlanta. She won’t be back until later. I didn’t want to tell her secretary, especially after I found the door locked again. What could she do? Call the sheriff and tell him I saw a door ajar? They wouldn’t take something like that seriously. They’d just laugh at me.”

Outside the door that was once again locked, Flynn looked down at her. The lighting at this end of the hallway was dim, but she could see very well the stern cut of his jaw and the deadly serious gleam in his eyes. He believed her, thank goodness. She’d known he wouldn’t laugh at her for being alarmed about something so apparently inconsequential.

“Why me?” he asked. “Why come to me with this?”

She pursed her lips, slightly. “Because you’re one of those guys who fixes things when they’re broken. A woman hands you a problem, and you solve it. It’s part of your caveman mentality, your need to be leader of the pack, your macho and occasionally useful need to solve every mystery that crosses your path.”

“Thank you, Red,” Flynn said, adding after a moment, “I think.” He tried the doorknob, and found it locked tight. “Hairpin?” he said, thrusting out his palm without turning to look at her. Of course, he knew she wore a few hairpins, when her hair was pinned up and back for work. At least she’d stuck the hairnet in her pocket as she’d led him up the stairs.

She gave him a hairpin. He bent it with capable fingers, then dropped down and gave his attention to the lock. In a matter of seconds Tess heard the tumbler turn. The door opened.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Misspent youth,” he answered. “Surprised?”

“Not really.”

They stepped into the room, which was exactly as it had been this morning. Cold, musty and apparently undisturbed. Tess reached for the light switch, but Flynn stopped her.

“No light. Someone might be watching.”

She let her hand fall. “Right. I didn’t think of that.” And he had, of course. Those guys always thought of such possibilities.

“What’s stored in here?” he asked as he walked to the corner of the room. Moonlight shone softly through the uncovered windows, keeping the room from being completely dark.

“Records, looks like,” she glanced at a battered cardboard file box that caught a shaft of moonlight. “Old ones, it seems.”

Flynn studied the boxes for a moment, puzzled and lost in thought. He looked at the old books stored on the bookshelves with just as much interest, and then he moved to the window. There were two windows in this corner room. Tess walked up behind Flynn to try to see whatever it was that he saw. There wasn’t much. One window looked over the front entrance to the campus and the soccer field. The other faced the largest of two girls’ dormitories.

Flynn let out a long, slow breath, and then he opened one window. Not only was it unlocked, the windowpane lifted easily and without making a sound. He closed and locked the window, then seemed to think again and unlocked it. The second window opened just as easily and silently. Flynn ran his fingers along the windowsill.

“It’s been recently oiled,” he said softly.

“Why?” Tess asked, her voice just as low.

“I can’t think of any good reason,” Flynn said, and then he muttered a vile word beneath his breath.

Movement caught Tess’s eye, and she pointed to the figures that were running between this building and the dormitory. “Look. Someone’s out there in the cold.”

“I see them,” Flynn said, unconcerned. “It’s just the janitor and the math teacher, headed for the gardener’s shed. Again.”

“Oh,” Tess said, deflated but more than a little relieved. Everyone knew about Dante Mangino and Serena Loomis. Everyone but Dr. Barber, that is, who would probably have a stroke if she thought anyone was having sex on the grounds of her school. The fact that the odd couple were so obviously enjoying themselves would be another strike against them.

Flynn left the windows, and everything else in the room, as he’d found them, and he locked the door as they stepped into the hallway. For a moment, he leaned against the wall and gave the matter some thought, and then he looked down at her. He had never seemed quite so tall and imposing as he did at this moment.

“Why did you come to me?”

“I told you, you’re one of those guys who…”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You didn’t have to go to anyone with this. It’s no big deal, right? Someone was snooping where they didn’t belong. Anyone with a credit card or a hairpin could get into this room in a matter of seconds. Could’ve been some bored student poking around…”

“At 5:00 a.m.?” Tess asked sharply.

“There are a hundred logical reasons for this room being unlocked this morning. Why does it alarm you so much?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Intuition,” she said. “I don’t know what Dr. Barber told you, but this month there have been a couple of break-ins. Nothing was taken, that I know of, but something just isn’t right. If there’s anything going on here that might in any way endanger—” she almost, almost, said my daughter “—the students,” she continued after a very short pause, “then I want it taken care of.” And Flynn Benning was the man to do it. How did she know that? Intuition, again, she supposed. “Do you really think it was just a bored student?”

“No. I wish I did.”

They walked back down the hallway, moving slowly. Instead of proceeding down the stairs when they reached them, Flynn sat on the top step. After a moment’s hesitation, Tess lowered herself to sit beside him. As usual, he looked slightly ill at ease in his khakis and button-up shirt, as if they were a costume he put on in order to do his job. She knew how he felt. There were times she felt like she was in costume, pretending to be someone she was not, in order to be here. His brow furrowed, a little, and his mouth thinned.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do.”

He relaxed there, sitting on the step, looking very much as if he belonged here, in spite of his outfit and the stern expression. Wide-shouldered and tougher than he had to be and cynical in a way that cut to the core…he was oddly fetching. The cut of his jaw and the width of his neck were masculine and handsome. Much as she wanted to think otherwise, she did not have time for fetching men who weren’t going to stay. Even fetching men who were going to stay would distract her from her reason for being here.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to look.

“I’m wondering if I can trust you as much as you apparently trust me,” he finally answered, leaning back slightly against the top step. “I’m asking myself if I’m crazy for believing you. For all I know, you’re yanking my chain.”





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