Witness Protection (Defenders of Love Book 1) (2 page)

"Excuse me, Miss. I'm sorry to get in your way. I...umm...I am a little lost. I guess my eyes were focused on room numbers instead of where I was walking."

Lucy couldn't help but smile back, despite her best effort not to.

"Oh...are you new here?"

"Yes, ma'am." The handsome stranger stuck out his hand. "Name's Logan Smith. I'm teaching World History."

Lucy eyed the man, instantly suspicious. Of course, lately she had become instantly suspicious of

everyone. Lucy accepted his outstretched hand.

"Lucy Taylor. I teach U.S. History. What room were you looking for?"

"Oooohhhh, Ms. Taylor! Who's the hottie?" The same girl from the parking lot called out, openly eyeing the school's newest instructor. Lucy flushed a deep crimson. They were standing in the middle of the main hallway practically holding hands. Quickly letting go of Mr. Smith's hand, she shoved her own into the pocket of her corduroy skirt. It irritated her that she missed simple human contact way more than she should.

"Don't you have a class to get to, Sarah?" Lucy used her sternest teacher voice to redirect the young lady. Sarah was all smiles as she waved to the new teacher. Lucy could see why, Mr. Smith was definitely nice to look at, a fact that was going to cause some unrest in the all female population. "The bell is about to ring, you know."

"Yes, Ms. Taylor." The girl scurried off giggling, her plaid skirt flipping around her legs as she moved. Lucy turned back to Logan. The man was definitely way too handsome for his own good. His students were never going to take him seriously. Why did she even care anyway?

Because that man is fine with a capital F, and you have been alone and lonely for way too long.

Lucy pushed thoughts of how handsome Mr. Smith was out of her mind and focused on the task at hand.

"Now, Mr. Smith, which room were you looking for?"

He checked the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. "Um, looks like room 212."

"Oh, that's easy. I can take you there. It's the room right next to mine. Follow me."

Damn! He's right next door.

The new teacher unnerved her, and she didn't need anything throwing her off her game. Suddenly very self-conscious, Lucy took off down the hall and through the throng of girls eagerly greeting each after a summer of camps and vacations. Without looking back even once to see if Logan Smith followed her, Lucy stopped short in front of her classroom.

"Your room is right there." She pointed to the open door about ten feet away from her own.

Logan flashed her a smile that lit a playful light in his eyes. That little shiver traveled the length of her spine once again. What the heck? Since when did the smile of a good-looking guy have any effect on her at all? Nothing had penetrated her shell since Salvatore.

"Thank you. I feel as lost as I did my freshman year of high school! Of course, back in those days I didn't have a pretty escort to show me around, so maybe this time around won't be quite so bad." He winked and then chuckled when Lucy blushed.

She averted her eyes, not accustomed to having conversations anymore with anyone, especially flirty, handsome men. In five minutes she would have thirty expectant teenagers waiting to see if she could teach them a thing or two. She didn't have time to wonder where Mr. Smith had come from or why he was stirring feelings deep inside her that she was absolutely certain she had locked away a long time ago.

"Well, everyone gets the jitters on the first day. You'll be fine. Let me know if you need anything." Lucy disappeared inside her room.

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. Her abrupt departure was on the rude side, but she was a little rusty on the personal interaction front.

Mostly, she just talked to her students, and

occasionally the television. She hadn't made a single friend in all the months since leaving New York.

She had no desire to get comfortable in this place and certainly didn't intend to die in the mountains of Virginia, no matter what the feds had to say about it. Lucy sighed heavily and dropped her bag on her desk. The mess that was her life would never be resolved. Not as long as a single member of the Ricci family was alive.

The shrill bell announcing the beginning of her school day filled the classroom and made her jump in her seat. Everything had her jumpy anymore. She had to give away her cat after she almost shot the poor feline in the middle of the night just for jumping off the windowsill. It had probably been a year since she last slept through the night.

"Good morning, Ms. Taylor. Did you have a good summer?" A young lady with big green eyes and tight ginger colored curls stood over her. Lucy looked up from her desk.

"Hello, Hailey. It was just fine. Thank you for asking. How was yours?"

"Umm, it was okay."

"Just okay?"

"Spent most of it watching my two little brothers. Not much fun in that."

Lucy smiled, memories of her own large family filling her with warmth and then a hint of sadness. "Little brothers aren't so bad, really. Some day when you are all grown, they will be your best friends."

"I guess. Whatever." Hailey shrugged and

headed to an empty desk in the front row. She was a good student, somewhat shy and reserved but friendly. She reminded Lucy of herself at that age. Lucy had two

brothers also, but they were older than her. Another twinge of nostalgia stung in her chest before she pushed all memories of her former life into the deep dark spot in her brain where she had forced them over a year ago. This was her life now. She'd done the right thing, and she could live with that.

For now.

Chapter Two

"Who
is
that?"

"He's so
hot
!"

"Way too good looking to be just a history teacher..."

"I saw him in the hall with Ms. Taylor this morning. She was smiling a lot, maybe he is her boyfriend!"

The giggles and whispers were just loud enough for him to hear. Considering the comments his classmates used to make about the strange, motherless kid who always hid in the back of the room, Logan enjoyed what the girls were saying, even if he couldn't actually let on. He also sort of like the idea of Ms. Taylor being his girlfriend, even if there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hades of it ever happening. She was fine enough to look at, but that lady was one cold fish. She was definitely all business and no pleasure in her sensible skirt and blouse. Teacher clothes, very different from the ladies he usually encountered uncover downtown. Besides, girlfriends required commitments, and he didn't do commitments.

Despite the whispers and meeting the good-

looking lady teacher next door, Logan James—um, Smith—was actually sweating bullets. An entire weekend of studying history books and watching online seminars had done absolutely nothing to prepare him for this day.

Logan carried with him a copy of the textbook, some notes that were supposed to resemble a lesson plan, and about a dozen packages of pens, half of them red. The night before he had dreamed that all of his pens had dried up, and he couldn't write anything down. The girls in his class laughed and threw ink at him. He woke up in a cold sweat and hit a supermarket on the way to the school.

He broke out in little beads of sweat along his forehead just at the memory of the dream. What a long day he had ahead of him.

How the hell am I supposed to pull this off?

Lieutenant George had to be out of his mind to think that Logan undercover as a teacher was a good idea. History had been one of his least favorite subjects in high school. Too many dates to remember. Too many wars and battles and laws and amendments. If he were honest with himself, none of the subjects had been agreeable with him. Logan hated school as a student and had absolutely no desire to ever return. As soon as he had two years under his belt at the community college and was old enough to carry a gun, he applied for the police academy. Once he was accepted, he never looked back and was perfectly happy getting the rest of his education on the streets. Now he was supposed to be a convincing example of an educator in a fancy college prep school? Oh man, he was way over his head on this one.

At least having Lucy in the next room was a

small perk. Despite the teacher clothes, that fiery personality of hers and the way her hips swayed in that skirt as she walked away was enough to feed a hungry man for a week. And he was hungry all right. When a man makes a habit of steering clear of love and relationships, there weren't too many options available to him to ease the ache. Unless he took matters into his own hands, so to speak. On most days he ignored it just fine, but this morning was different. There was a giant sleeping inside him, and Lucy Taylor had just poked it with a stick.

Logan took in his classroom. Blank walls, shiny floors, freshly washed blackboards. A crucifix hung on the wall above the blackboard next to a starched American Flag. The room was a new teacher's dream he supposed. He, on the other hand, would have been a whole lot more comfortable in the middle of an abandoned warehouse surrounded by bales of marijuana and heavily armed men guarding their profits.

Instead, the space he now occupied indefinitely was cluttered with desks and bookshelves. Not a single thing he could shoot at. His gun was his security blanket. He couldn't even carry a gun into St. Mary's without completely blowing his cover. Of course, that didn't mean he was unarmed. A couple of strategically placed knives, as well as a small canister of pepper spray in his backpack, kept company with zip ties that could double as handcuffs in a pinch. No, Logan was not totally unarmed, but he was completely unprepared for what he was about to do.

How dangerous could a bunch of girls in plaid miniskirts be anyway?

The shrill ring of a bell pierced the quiet room. Logan nearly jumped out of his loafers. It reminded

him of the buzzers used in the jail when cells were

opened or closed. After a two month undercover stint in the city jail, he had heard enough angry bells to last a lifetime.

The door to room 212 flew open and a steady stream of girls in grey and maroon skirts and white blouses filed past him, the loud whispers punctuated by giggles and finger pointing.

Logan took a deep breath and walked to the teacher's desk where he stashed his backpack underneath but well within his reach. As he stood and looked out on the sea of expectant faces, his tie suddenly felt more like a noose.

Another shrill bell and the room fell silent. Twenty-five tanned, smiling faces looked at him curiously. Logan cleared his throat, reaching for the bottle of water he had shoved in his back pocket. The water was warm, but it took the edge off the dryness. Logan cleared his throat again. This was going to be a very long day.

"Good morning. My name is Mr. Smith." Why couldn't the Lieutenant have been more creative with his name? Smith was about as generic a name as they could come up with. No flair.

Not that a high school history teacher needed flair.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith!" All twenty-five girls spoke in unison, their sing song voices taunting him as though they knew he didn't belong at the front of their classroom.

"I'm new here."

Duh!

"Yes, Mr. Smith!" They chorused. It was like a flashback from a grade B movie.

"This is World History."

"Yes, Mr. Smith." The class chorused again, this time many of them dissolving into giggles.

Over two dozen sets of eyes stared him, waiting to see what he would do next. He saw one girl drop a note over her shoulder onto another girl's desk. His own teachers would have snagged the slip of paper and read it aloud, embarrassing the sender and the receiver in front of their peers. He knew this from personal experience. Jenny Lawson had never spoken to him again after that. It was like being in ninth grade all over again. He had no idea what to do next.

"Mr. Smith?" He looked down at the girl in front of him. She was smiling, the only genuine smile in the room. The rest of the students were whispering as they looked at him and back at each other.

"Yes...?"

"I'm Stephanie Rourke. You might want to start with taking attendance. Your roll sheet is on the corner of your desk."

Take attendance! Another, duh!

"Thank you, Stephanie." He smiled back at her.

The roll sheet was right there, he just needed a pen. Stepping behind his desk, Logan grabbed his backpack from underneath and set it on top. Pulling open the zipper, he completely forgot about all the pens until the packages fell out in an avalanche of red and blue and black. The room erupted in laughter as embarrassment heated his face. He tried to ignore how much the whole thing was like his dream but his hands shook. And his stomach knotted.

Come on, James! Pull yourself together! They're just kids and you are a grown man with a gun.

He really wished he had his gun on him right

then. Not to shoot anyone, just to feel the confidence of its weight on his hip. Shoving all but one package of red pens back in the bag and stowing it back under his desk, Logan settled in the uncomfortable desk chair, pulled out a pen, and began calling roll.

Long didn't even begin to describe the seven and a half hours Logan had to pretend to be a high school history teacher. The final bell of the day sounded loud and shrill against his ravaged nerves. As the final grey and maroon plaid skirt exited the door of room 212, he collapsed into the wooden office chair that swiveled sharply under the sudden unexpectedness of his weight.

He had managed to muddle through the rest of the day without any more pen incidents and his classes seemed to get kinder as the day went on. Teaching was absolutely horrible. There was no way he was going to survive this job.

He sighed heavily. The sound of silence had never been so beautiful. Ten minutes later, every last giggling girl had exited the building to chauffeur-driven Cadillacs and fancy sports cars. He even caught a glimpse of a stretch limo from his classroom window. Aunt Clara had made him and his cousins take the bus until they were old enough to get jobs and save for their own vehicles.

He had spent the latter half of his childhood being raised by his Aunt Clara who had inherited a tidy sum when she became a widow, but she never flaunted it to anyone.

Neither he nor her own two sons had ever lacked for anything but they had been raised to appreciate the value of a dollar. It was a very different lifestyle, it appeared, than most of the students at St. Mary's.

Footsteps in the now empty hall slowed outside his door, hesitated, and then moved on. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his bag from under the desk and then peered out the window on his door at the retreating figure of Lucy Taylor. Inexplicably drawn to follow her, he stepped out into the otherwise deserted hallway and used long strides to catch up with her.

"How was your day, Ms. Taylor?"

Her head snapped around to look up at him. Logan was a good six inches taller. He had always preferred long legged beauties almost as tall as he was, but he could certainly see the upside to a petite figure as well.

What was
wrong
with him? She was a virtual stranger, and, by the flash of annoyance in her eyes, not at all interested in his thoughts on the subject of their corresponding heights.

Her hard expression softened somewhat as recognition settled into her blue eyes. There was something odd about the mix of blue eyes and blonde hair with her smooth, olive skin. The blonde was a bit too brassy, the eyes a bit too blue to be natural. Still, his body's unexpected response to her had him confused.

Focus, James! You need a friend in this building. No sense breaking your three-year dry spell now. There's no time in your life for messy involvements anyway.

"It was long, Mr. Smith. Very, very long. How about you? How was your first day at St. Mary's?"

Logan chuckled. There were no words to describe the horror he felt for teaching.

"Long for me too, Ms. Taylor. I had no idea how many teenage girls there were in the world! And please, call me Logan."

"Well, if you will excuse me, Mr....um...Logan, I

must get to the office. Have a great evening."

She practically took off at a run as Logan stared after her, stunned at the obvious dismissal. She didn't even tell him he could call her Lucy instead of Ms. Taylor. He should have followed her, but she was gone so fast it caught him off guard. His charm usually worked on the ladies, but this one seemed impervious.

"Everything all right, Mr. Smith?" A small, almost shy voice from behind him made him jump. He hadn't heard anyone approach in the empty hall. Logan turned slowly to find a familiar face whose name he had absolutely no memory of.

"It's Stephanie, Mr. Smith. Stephanie Rourke from your first period class."

A slow smile spread across his face as the name rang familiar in his mind. "Oh, right. Hello, Stephanie. I didn't hear you come up behind me."

"No one ever does. My father says I'm stealthy like a ninja!" She giggled and then her face fell serious. "Don't worry 'bout Ms. Taylor. She's strange like that. Never talks to anyone unless it's a student in her class. "

"Really?" Logan was intrigued. His detective's mind loved a mystery and there was no doubt Ms. Taylor was a mystery. "Has she been a teacher at this school for very long?"

"No, sir. Last year was Ms. Taylor's first year as a teacher. And if you ask me she should have stuck with whatever else it was that she did before.

Her lectures are boring." Stephanie scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Not like you, of course, Mr. Smith. I bet you can be pretty funny when you want to be. I am looking forward to learning all about world history from you."

From the embarrassed look she was giving him,

it appeared that Stephanie Rourke might be a bit intrigued with her young history teacher. Logan could definitely use an ally on this assignment.

"So, no one knows what Ms. Taylor did before she was teacher?"

"Nope. She just showed up here in town about a year ago. She rents a cottage on the lake from my daddy. He's in real estate."

The faint click of high heels echoed from around the bend in the hall. Lucy was on her way back. It would do no good for her to find him standing around discussing her with a student.

"Well, thank you for trying to make me feel better, Stephanie. I'm going to head home now. You have a good night, okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Smith."

"Oh, and Stephanie?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith?"

"Thanks for your help this morning."