Page 8 of Teach Me
Chapter Four
He was supposed to be working on the Bennett case.
Yeah, right.
What was he doing instead? Mooning. It seemed to be a chronic condition, and he hadn’t found the cure yet. Nothing seemed to be able to erase the image of a woman with innocent eyes and a fuck-me body. The memory of Jess wouldn’t leave him alone, no matter how hard he tried to get away from it.
Jess and the man who’d cornered her. The jerk had been familiar. Did Conlan know him from somewhere?
Did it matter? He wasn’t going to see her—or the jerk—again.
He wasn’t.
Out of instinct, his fingers settled on his thigh and traced the ridge of scarring beneath his jeans, the only physical reminder of why he shouldn’t allow himself to get so caught up in thoughts of a woman. Most of his scars were on the inside, the results of a fucked-up childhood and seeing too many other people’s fucked-up childhoods, but the memories the thick scar on his leg evoked were a visceral kick to the gut every time they came up. Lee had been gone for almost five years now, and still his loss felt like a bomb had gone off in Con’s chest mere hours before.
He closed his eyes and let the memory of Lee and that night overpower him. It felt like yesterday, like it had just happened—the pain of his wounds, the suffocating heat and choking sand of the Afghani desert, the life-altering sight of Lee being mowed down by enemy fire.
Because of a woman. Because Lee hadn’t wanted to live without the one woman he thought he loved.
They’d been the three musketeers growing up, Conlan, Lee, and Jack. Roaming the woods around Lake Lanier, learning to fish and hunt from Con’s dad, competing for girls and cars and beer in high school. Only Lee had stuck with one girl: Sarah. So sweet, so innocent. Until she got her claws in Lee. She’d dragged him around by the balls all through high school. Lee couldn’t see it, wouldn’t dig beyond the false image he’d built up in his mind. She would cheat, and he would break it off. She would beg, and he would forgive her. He’d say he’d had enough, but still he’d go back for more. It was like watching a yo-yo get yanked around for years and wondering just when the tiny string attaching it to its owner would finally break.
It had, in Afghanistan.
The bitch hadn’t even given him the courtesy of a Dear John letter. No, a friend had mentioned Sarah’s wedding announcement in a note sent with a care package from home. When Lee confronted his girlfriend over the phone, she’d told him their twisted relationship was finally, officially over, and hung up on him.
Lee believed her; when the wedding was held, he had no choice. He stopped caring—about anything.
Two tours in hell and terrorists’ bullets hadn’t killed Lee; one phone call had. Suicide by the enemy, in this case a boy barely old enough to shave but with adequate muscles to heft and fire an AKM. Lee had stepped in front of a bullet meant for Con, wounded and helpless in the dirt, but it was the relief in his friend’s eyes as he turned to face his fate that woke Con night after night, screaming for Lee to stop, to bring up his weapon. It was as futile an act now as it had been then.
Growing up with a mom too much like Sarah for comfort had warped his view of relationships enough, but it was the memory of his friend, eyes blank, blood trailing past his opened lips, that reminded him again and again why he’d never, ever allow a woman that kind of power over him. He could lust after them, fuck them—and he did—even be friends with women, but they would never truly matter. He wouldn’t let them in that deep.
Except Jess Kingston, with one sidelong glance from those soft brown eyes, had blown that resolution into as many pieces as the Frankensteined gun truck he’d been bombed out of that day.
Forget it—he wasn’t going to get anything done here tonight. He threw a dirty look at the files scattered across his desk. Might as well try again at home, preferably after a long ride on the Harley and an ice-cold beer or two. He gathered everything he’d need and shoved it into his saddlebag. His chaps were lying over the arm of a chair by the window. He strapped them on, threw the saddlebag over his shoulder, and stalked toward the hall.
He could hear Lori on the phone before he reached the front desk. Their receptionist’s short, curly hair covered her face as she leaned close to her computer monitor, flipping through screen after screen as she used her soothing voice on the person on the other end of the phone line. He and Jack teased her about that tone, how she could mesmerize anyone with a mere word or two, but given that they dealt with a lot of desperate women in dangerous situations, women who were often at the end of their rope before they found the safety JCL Security could provide, her talent came in more than handy.
“Yes. Right. I’m not seeing…” Theclickof her mouse provided a ticking clock for the long seconds of silence as Lori searched for an appointment. Finally she shook her head, curls bouncing, before seeming to notice Con on the other side of her desk. “Can you hold just one moment, please, Ms. Kingston?”
Kingston.Con’s heart jumped from his chest to his throat at the realization that Jess had actually called. Lori didn’t seem to notice as she put the call on hold and spun her chair to face him. Her frown spoke her displeasure before her words could get out.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Time, that’s the problem.” Lori’s frown deepened. “I have a prospective client on the line needing private instruction and nowhere to put her.”
He planted his fists on the edge of Lori’s desk, leaning over to look at her computer screen. “Explain.”
Lori ticked off on her fingers. “David’s on paternity leave with the new baby. Regan is on vacation for the next two weeks, and you are off rotation until the Bennett trial is complete. We’re short; all the instructor slots are full.”
He turned the problem around and around, but no matter which way he looked at it, the only answer he found was the one he’d hoped to avoid. The reason he hadn’t given her his name with the card was because he couldn’t trust himself to teach her. Now it looked like he had no choice. She needed this appointment—she needed help. The sheer pleading in her eyes when she’d looked to him this morning attested to just how desperately she needed it. And he was the only one who could make sure she got it.
He dropped his head, his eyes closing as the weight of inevitably settled on his shoulders. Fate was such a bitch.
When he raised his head, he could see his conclusion reflected in Lori’s eyes. He nudged his chin toward the phone. “Put her in at the end of my schedule tomorrow night. Six o’clock.”
The lines around Lori’s mouth eased. “Sure.” She reached for the phone but paused when he called her name. “Yes?”
He wavered, unsure for the first time in a very long time how best to handle the situation. “Don’t…don’t tell her my name, okay?” He should be the one to explain this.
