Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

"Then why did you?" Steven asked, handing her a plastic bag filled with… He narrowed his eyes and stared. Dog biscuits ? These, too, she snatched from his hand and shoved in her purse.

"Why did I what?"

"Why did you buy those shoes if you didn't want them?"

She stopped, her hand on her palm pilot. When she looked up, her dark hair parted Like a waterfall and Steven felt his heart stop. She was smiling. Grinning, even. Frowning, she was striking. But smiling… She was absolutely beautiful. And her smile made his own lips curve up. Warmed him, inside and out.

"My friend talked me into buying them," she answered. She reached for one of the shoes, holding it up for a rueful inspection. "I told her I'd probably fall and break my ankle."

Steven laughed out loud, physically feeling the burden lighten from his shoulders. Not forgotten, not by a long shot, but lighter. For the moment. Suddenly uncomfortable, Steven stood up. Her eyes followed him, not looking away as he found himself wishing she would.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I wasn't watching where I was going and I ran into you as much as you ran into me. You've been very polite and I've been surly. I've had-" She shrugged. "A bit of an intense day. I know that isn't a good excuse, but it's the best one I've got. I hope you'll forgive my bad manners."

Steven cast his eyes around the school's lobby seeing the papers still strewn about. "It's okay. Let me pick up your papers." He could hear the brusque note in his voice and hated it, just as he hated it every time it came out. But it had become a part of him, part of the shield that kept all nonessential peo-ple at bay. Still, he hated the way her violet eyes widened and her dark brows scrunched together, puzzled.

Jenna stayed where she was for a long moment, offensive shoe in her hand. The change in his expression had been abrupt, laughing one moment, then distant the next. She wondered what she'd said. He'd started picking up the strewn papers. As he leaned forward, his golden hair picked up the reflection of the overhead lights, taking on a reddish gleam. He was tall and powerfully built and she found herself mentally comparing him to Mr. Lutz as she set the shoe aside and began gathering papers. Both men were tall, but the similarity ended there. Lutz used his size and physical power to intimidate. The stranger had a gentle touch. After her initial surprise when he'd picked up her foot, she'd felt no fear at all. Lutz's eyes had been cold as ice. This man's were a warm brown and crinkled around the corners when he laughed.

Her hands stilled. Brad Thatcher had dark hair and a slender build. But her student's eyes were brown and crinkled around the corners when he laughed. In fact, Brad's brown eyes and warm smile were a lot like those of the man gathering her scattered papers. She closed her eyes as heat rose in her cheeks and she pressed her hands against her face. Brad's eyes and smile were exactly like this man's. Like father… like son. Oh, Lord , she thought, swallowing the groan that had started in her throat. This man was Brad's father. She'd called him an incompetent idiot. And she'd practically shown him her underwear. Some first impression she'd made.

She looked up, unsurprised when she saw her purple folder in his hands. He was reading a test in the folder, his face a study in helpless, frustrated misery. He looked up and met her eyes and she felt as if she'd taken a rabbit punch to the gut. In his eyes she saw a riot of fear, disappointment, and a weariness that made her heart clench.

"You're Brad's Dr. Marshall," he said quietly.

She nodded. "And you're Special Agent Thatcher."

He slid Brad's test back into the folder. "I'm Brad's father, yes.

"We need to talk, Agent Thatcher."

Friday, September 30, 4:30 P.M.

Leaning one shoulder to the wall, Victor Lutz watched the principal pace the threadbare carpet of his office with growing impatience. "It's quite simple, Dr. Blackman. Overrule her."

Blackman looked up, his scrawny face tight with anxiety. "I can't do that," Blackman said.

Lutz didn't blink. "Why not?"

Blackman paced to the window and, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, looked through the glass to where the Friday night football crowd was beginning to assemble.

Lutz shook his head. Blackman was a fool and Lutz was growing very tired of having to deal with him. He pushed away from the wall. "Blackman."

The principal's head whipped around at the curt address.

"I asked you a question. Why not?"

Blackman swallowed and pushed his glasses up his thin nose. Cleared his throat. "Because technically she's right. Rudy is failing her class. School policy-"

"I don't give a flyin' rat's ass about your school policy," Lutz interrupted with a snarl. "I want Rudy to play. Today."

"I can't do that. Today," Blackman added quickly. "I need time."

"How much time?" Lutz asked, mentally planning to beat the shit out of Rudy for his sheer stupidity. It would have been so easy for him to pass that test. There were ways to manage situations like this. But did his blockhead of a son think? No. He walked into the class, unprepared, and handed in a blank sheet of paper. Idiot. Just like his mother.

"A few weeks."

"Unacceptable," Lutz bit out. "I want Rudy playing next week, Dr. Blackman, or you'll find your plans for the new stadium severely underfunded."

Blackman swallowed. "That stadium is not for my benefit, Mr. Lutz. It's for the school."

"Bullshit." Lutz smiled and watched Blackman's trembles creep up a notch or two. "Your promise to build a new stadium is the only thing keeping your contract negotiations open for next year. You lose your job, you lose everything." He shook his head. "For a man who makes his living administrating, you've done a piss-poor job on your own finances. Here and at home." Blackman's face slackened in shock and Lutz chuckled. "I make my living based on obtaining information and using it most effectively. I know everything about you, down to the color of the boxers covering your pathetic skinny ass." He placed his hat on his head. "You'd be wise to remember that." He held up a finger. "One week. This time next week Rudy is back in the game."

Blackman jerked a nod. "One week."

Satisfied, Lutz took his leave, carefully closing the door behind him.

Friday, September 30, 4:40 P.M.

Steven helped Dr. Marshall to a chair at the worn table that dominated the teachers' lounge and wordlessly pulled up a second chair for her foot. She lifted her foot to the chair, silently grimacing.

"You should ice that ankle," he said.

She met his eyes, visibly smoothing her grimace to a smile, and once again he felt warmth curl around his heart. A man could get used to such a comfort. Unfortunately Steven Thatcher could not be such a man.

"We keep an ice pack in the freezer," she said, gesturing to a refrigerator in the corner.

Easily he found it in the freezer door. Murmuring her thanks, she gestured to an empty chair.

"Please sit, Mr.-I'm sorry. Agent Thatcher."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He sat. And waited.

For a full minute she stared down at her hands before lifting her head. "You saw Brad's test," she said abruptly and Steven could only nod. His voice seemed stuck in his throat. She leaned forward, her expression now earnest. "Brad was in my basic chemistry class last year, Mr. Thatcher. He made it a year I'll never forget. He loved to learn. He was always prepared. He was polite, alert. Now he's not any of those things."

Steven closed his eyes and massaged his temples, a headache pounding behind his eyes. "When did you see him change?"

He felt her fingers close around his wrist and pull his hand from his face. He opened his eyes to find hers narrowed and worried. "Are you okay, Mr. Thatcher? You look pale."