Mary Baxter - Tempting Janey

By the time he reached their avenue of escape, the boys were through the door and racing across campus. Dillon chased them, but he knew he was wasting his time.

A nondescript pickup was parked in an area of almost total darkness not far from the lab. They jumped in it and took off before he could get near them, much less get a license plate number.

“Damn,” he muttered, sucking in a deep breath.

He’d screwed that up royally, he admitted as he turned and made his way back into the building. If he hadn’t been so cocky, so sure of his ability to handle the situation, he would have called the cops the second he heard the sound of breaking glass.

By the time he’d have investigated and found out what was going on, the law would have been there. But no, he’d had to plunge in headfirst on his own.

“Dammit,” he muttered again out of sheer frustration as he strode into his office. Once there, he called the police, then waited for their arrival, but not patiently.

What was happening to kids these days?

He’d asked himself that question untold times, but he still didn’t have an answer. Years ago, when he first entered the fascinating world of teaching children, nothing like what he’d just witnessed had ever taken place—at least not that he could remember.

How times had changed. Breaking and entering was actually considered a mild offense. Now kids were killing kids. Kids were killing parents. God, it made no sense whatsoever.

What it did do, though, was frighten the hell out of him. He was of the opinion that youngsters should behave and be responsible for their actions. He loved “his kids,” but they knew better than to cross the line he’d drawn in the sand. Or at least he’d thought so, he told himself, mentally kicking his own rear.

Apparently he’d misjudged his control, refusing to have security guards in the halls of his school. After all, he was an ex-Marine whose rough edge would help him handle any situation that might occur. Until now, that rough edge hadn’t failed him.

His thoughts were interrupted by two uniformed officers making their way into his office.

Following introductions, Dillon told them what had taken place.

“Too bad you didn’t get the plate number,” Officer Temple, the taller of the two, said.

When he had first seen them, Dillon had hidden a smile. One was as tall as a giraffe, the other as short as a Shetland pony. Side by side, they reminded him of Mutt and Jeff.

Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll admit the little creeps got the better of me. But I thought I could handle them and the situation.”

“That’s never a wise assumption, Mr. Reed, especially in this climate.”

“I know that now,” Dillon said harshly, again mentally kicking himself. It was damn embarrassing to make such a gross error in judgment and be caught at it. “Come on, let’s take a look-see at the lab.”

The officers made notes, then called the lab team to scour the premises, which Dillon knew would be a lost cause. The kids had played it smart. He’d noticed they were wearing gloves.

Officer Riley, the short cop, finally said, “We’ll do what we can, but you’ll probably have better luck checking around the campus yourself.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “That is, if you think it was some of your students.”

“Oh, I think that’s a real good possibility,” Dillon said in a grim tone. “I just hope the break-in wasn’t gang related.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Officer Temple said, his voice brusque.

Dillon tightened his lips. “I’ve suspected we have one trying to form on our campus, but I haven’t been able to prove it yet.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Riley said. “But gangs are springing up faster than cancer.”

Dillon remained silent as the lab team completed their work. Once they were gone, he made a quick inventory, then called the janitorial supervisor to clean up the mess. That done, he grabbed his briefcase, flicked off the lights and left the building.

First thing tomorrow morning, he would turn into a not-so-nice Santa. He would make a list and check it twice.

Dillon steered his utility vehicle through the gates of his hundred-acre horse farm. But instead of making a hairpin right turn that would take him to where his sister and brother-in-law lived, he braked and shoved the gearshift into Park.

While the engine purred, he stared into the darkness. At the moment he was lucky. The late-August clouds had drifted away from the nearly full moon, giving it carte blanche to shine for all it was worth.

Dillon took advantage of that treat. To the left, he could see the cabin that sat atop the hill. One day he planned to remodel it so that he could live there. He could envision its homey coziness, with smoke snaking out of the chimney from a wood-burning fireplace on a cold day, and a dog—the Heinz-57 variety—sitting beside him.

The only thing missing from that picture was a woman.

Muttering an expletive, he focused his gaze on the shack, over which towered several huge oak and pine trees that kept it shaded all year long. Beyond, but not visible to him now, was an acre of cleared land. From there, a narrow gravel road wound through the dense thicket like a tunnel. Occasional clearings offered glimpses of the nice-size pond below, which had been filled with catfish. Any time he wanted fresh fish, he just had to cast a line.

Dillon continued to pat himself on the back that he’d had the foresight three years ago to buy the land when it was offered. Despite the hefty bank note he would be paying off for a long time to come, he didn’t regret it.

This place was his lifeline. Without it, he didn’t know what he would have done. Probably have sunk into the depths of despair and been content to wallow there.

Grimacing, he refused to let his mind wander down that forbidden path. He had too much ahead to look forward to. His horse farm had the potential to begin paying off soon, now that his prized piece of horseflesh was almost ready to be bred. And he was starting a new school year that held a lot of promise.

For a second, Dillon’s mind reverted back to the incident in the lab. He grimaced again but refused to let himself dwell on that, either. The school problem he could correct; the past he couldn’t.

Suddenly he realized he’d been lollygagging far too long. His sister, Allie, was probably ready to skin him alive. She believed in punctuality, no matter what. Nothing wrong with that, he reminded himself.

Thinking of his sister, a legal secretary for an affluent attorney, made him smile. That smile remained intact as he parked in front of the modest three-bedroom home on his property, a home he’d generously lent to Allie and her husband, Mike, who worked as his foreman.

His smile widened as the porch light flipped on and Allie opened the door. “It’s about time, brother dear,” she called out, a hand braced on one hip.

Dillon stepped out of his truck and heard the comfortable crunch of leaves and pine bark under his feet. He inhaled, positive he could smell fall in the air, then said, “Hey, sis.”

“Don’t you ‘hey, sis’ me. You’re late.”

“I can explain,” Dillon said, walking onto the porch. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her next to him.

A smile flirted with her lips. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Ah, give me a break, will ya?”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

They parted as they walked into the cheerfully lighted living-dining room combination, where the smell of freshly baked bread permeated the air.

“Before I hear your excuse, how about a hunk of banana-nut?”

“Ah, my favorite,” Dillon exclaimed.

“I shouldn’t let you have any,” Allie said with a mischievous glint in her eye.