âWell played!â Admiration danced in Coleâs blue eyes. âYou helped convince Becca Iâm off the marketâI could kiss you.â
Kate inhaled sharply, but it didnât seem to put any air in her lungs. âItâs, ah, probably best if you donât.â She started to take a step backward.
âOh, I donât know.â His voice dropped lower. âBeccaâs got spies everywhere.â
âCole, I â¦â Her voice was husky, unfamiliar. Though he was no longer touching her, he stood so close her thoughts were short-circuiting. Could she allow herself to kiss him in the name of convincing Becca he was taken? A flimsy excuse, at best, but so tempting. She swallowed. âI have to go.â
âCan I call you later? We didnât finish our conversation.â
She lifted up on her toes, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. It was a peck, nothing more, but effervescent giddiness fizzed through her. Sheâd surprised herselfâand she could tell from his sudden, absolute stillness that sheâd shocked him.
âJust in case any of Beccaâs spies are watching,â she murmured.
Prologue
Kate Sullivan had barely spoken on the ride from the middle school to the house. Sheâd worried that if she opened her mouth to say something, she would start yelling. Or crying. Neither seemed like a good idea while driving.
As they walked in through the garage door that led to the kitchen, her thirteen-year-old son, Luke, broke the tense silence. âI know youâre pisââ
âLanguage!â She spared him a maternal glare over her shoulder.
âI know youâre mad,â he amended. The patronizing emphasis he put on the word was the verbal equivalent of rolling his eyes. âBut it really wasnât my fault this time.â
Lord, how she wanted to believe him. But the fact that he had to qualify his declaration of innocence with âthis timeâ underscored the severity of his recent behavior problems. As an elementary school music teacher, Kate worked with kids every day. How was it that she could control a roomful of forty students but not her own son? Over the past few months, sheâd received phone calls about Luke fighting, lying and cutting classes. And now heâd been suspended!
If Damon were alive...
Her husband, a Houston police officer killed in the line of duty, had been dead for two years. Sometimes, standing here in the familiar red-tiled kitchen, she could still smell the coffee he started every day with, still hear the comforting rumble of his voice. But no amount of wishing him back would change her situation.
She didnât need the imaginary assistance of a ghost. What she needed was a concrete plan. Maybe something radical, because God knew, nothing sheâd tried so far had worked, not even the aid of professional therapists.
âIt wasnât my knife,â Luke continued. âIt was Bobbyâs.â
Fourteen-year-old Bobby Rowe and his hard-edged, disrespectful peers were part of the problem.
âWhich I tried to tell the jackass principal.â
Kate slammed her hand down on the counter. âYou will not talk about people like that! And you arenât going back to that school.â It was a spur of the moment declaration, fraught with logistical complicationsâshe could hardly homeschool and keep her job at the same timeâbut the minute she heard the words out loud, she knew deep down that a new environment was the right call. She had to get him away from kids like Bobby and away from teachers who were predisposed to believe the worst of Luke because of his recent history.
âNot going back?â His golden-brown eyes widened. Heâd inherited what Damon used to call her âlioness coloring,â tawny blond hair and amber eyes. âI only got suspended for two days. I canât miss the last three weeks of school.â
âMaybe not,â she conceded, âbut I donât have to send you back there next fall.â
âBut itâs my last year before high school. All my friends are there!â
âYouâll make new ones. Non-knife-wielding friends.â
âYouâre really going to send me somewhere different for eighth grade just because you donât like Bobby?â