His Brother's Keeper. Dawn Atkins

      

      CHAPTER TWO

      “YOU©LOOK LIKE YOU©SAW a ghost,” Conrad said to Gabe after Cici walked away.

       “I guess I did. That was Robert’s girlfriend—the one who got him arrested and sent to Adobe Mountain, while she skated free and clear.” That had been the first domino in the terrible tumble that ended in Robert’s death two years later. “She’s the new principal, believe it or not.”

       “Damn. I hope you were pleasant.”

       “She caught me up short.” He’d been terse, which wouldn’t make her more inclined to cut him slack. “Now she wants to talk. About rent, I guess.” Which he couldn’t afford. With the twins’ beauty-school fees to pay, he barely made ends meet driving cab and working landscaping jobs.

       “What the hell. You got time for a coffee first?”

       “Nah. I’ve got to drive a shift. Why? You struggling?” Conrad was two years clean and sober, but he sometimes needed company when the urge to drink got bad.

       “I meant so you could blow off steam.”

       “And not step on my dick?”

       “Pretty much. You’ve done the same for me.” Conrad had been a professional wrestler until booze broke him. Gabe had hired him, no questions asked, reading his recovery in his determined eyes and proud stance.

       “I’ll behave. I have to. Close up for me, would you? I’d better allow some time to throw myself on her mercy.”

       “Only if you swear you’ll count to ten before saying anything hard.”

       He raised his right hand. “I’ll do my best.”

       Later, heading down the hall to see her, he noticed his pulse kick up. She’d been cute as a kid. Now she was beautiful—short and shapely, and sexy as hell. Her voice was still girlish, but it had heft to it—like a creek with a powerful current beneath its deceptively bubbling surface.

       She dressed well. No surprise. Expensive and formfitting, but classy. And it was still there—that vibration in his blood when he looked at her. Less than useless at the moment.

       As he neared her office door, he saw she was bent over, dragging a cardboard box into the hall, the tight blue skirt riding high on a fine pair of legs—great muscle definition and a nicely balled calf. Runners’ calves were leaner, so maybe dancing. Tennis? Some regular activity that also did great things for her glutes, now that he looked more closely.

      Mm-mm-mm.

       He realized he was staring like a teenager and jolted forward. “I’ll get that.” He bent for the box, but she held on, lifting with him, despite the fact the carton had about a hundred pounds of books and she was in heels.

       She had color in her face from bending and her hair floated around her head like duck down. Her eyes were that same unusual color—big, bright and blue.

       She gave off a familiar sweet smell.

       Same as in her car the day she’d dented it. He’d figured the scent came from all the candy jewelry she wore back then. Except today she wore a gold locket and an expensive-looking watch, no candy beads to be seen.

       She seemed to realize it was dumb to wrestle with him and let go of the carton. “If you’d put it on the table in the hall, I’d appreciate it.”

       “Those, too?” He nodded at the boxes stacked in her doorway.

       “Please. I’m going to set up a faculty library.” She tucked her shirt into her waistband. It wasn’t low-cut or lacy, but it hugged her shape like something a stripper might shimmy out of.

       When he finished, she was sitting behind Charlie’s battered steel desk, which had been spiffed up. She’d dusted the computer Charlie never touched and replaced his stacks with a neat rack of color-coded folders, a legal pad and pen at the ready, and some goofy desk toys—small magnetized pieces of metal that could be shaped into a sculpture, an acrylic box of blue water over white sand balanced on a pointed pedestal, tiny Tinkertoys, small cans of Play-Doh and a gel-and-glitter-filled wand. A magic wand? Really?

       He stood across from her, hands on his hip. “You kept Charlie’s poster.” He nodded behind her at the shot of Marcus Moreno, MMA star, with the fighter’s description of what made a champion.

       “I haven’t finished redecorating. Have a seat please.”

       He wanted to say, Just say your piece, but knew he had to seem friendly, so he sat, scooted closer to the desk and softened his expression. His sisters said he always looked too fierce.

       He touched the water box, setting it rocking. “This is cool.”

       “Desk toys reduce anxiety, ease tension and boost creative problem-solving abilities.”

       “And cast spells?” He picked up the pink wand and waved it in the air.

       “You’re missing the point.” She took it from him, her fingers soft against his for an instant. He felt a small jolt. Her eyes shot to his, wide with surprise. Damn. It was mutual.

       “Watch.” She tilted the wand between her fingers so the pink beads and bits of glitter and stars slid slowly downward, then up again. It was kind of hypnotic, but he kept getting distracted by the sight of her breasts just past the wand. “See? Soothing, right?”

      Depends where you look. He cleared his throat. “Like magic.”

       She set the wand on her desk and smiled uncertainly, her face now pink. He’d made her nervous, he could tell. “It was a shock to see you.”

       “Yeah. Me, too.” Let’s get to the point so I can get out.

       “How have you been?”

       She wanted to chitchat? “Good. You?”

       “I’ve been good. And your mother? How is she?”

      Now she cared? She hadn’t given a crap while she was getting Robert to steal jewelry for her, keeping him out all night, scaring their mom to death. After Robert’s murder, his mother had dissolved into painkillers, becoming a shadow for five long years, her eyes empty even when they were open. She’d gotten clean, but relapsed again. For the past five years, she’d been solid, thank God.

       “She’s fine,” he said flatly.

       Cici’s smile faltered, but she rattled on. “Gosh, your sisters must be in college by now.”

      That’s it. The twins were none of her business. “Look, let’s skip the small talk and get to the point.”

       She recoiled as though he’d slapped her, her cheeks flaring red. Before he could apologize, she recovered. “The point,” she snapped, “is that I need your gym for my after-school program. Without a lease, I could make it effective today, but I’ll give you two weeks to find another location and move.”

       This was worse than he’d expected. Much worse.

       “In the meantime, I need to see the liability waivers for each student. Mr. Hopkins doesn’t appear to have held on to our copies.”

       “You’re kicking us out?”

       “Yes. That is my point.” Her blue eyes lit with fire, her chin was up, her jaw firm, no give at all. “I’m sure you can find a more appropriate venue for a fight club than a middle school.”

       Anger flashed like a series of struck matches along his nerves. There were no venues he could afford, appropriate or otherwise. Not nearby, anyway. “What about the Discovery kids I train?”

       “They’ll join my program. We offer tutors, workshops, guest speakers and other enrichment activities.”

       “My guys aren’t into any of that.”

       “That’s