Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“YOU CAN’T DROP me off at home?”
Back in his truck, Amy sounded worried as he peeled out of the gravel road that led away from the creek. Away from the site of a kiss that had him seriously questioning his sanity.
He had wanted to coax secrets from her, not just breathy sighs and hungry touches. Ah hell. He wanted all that and more. But he needed the truth about whatever it was she was hiding, damn it.
“Not enough time.” He cursed himself for not having J.
D. Covington followed sooner. But the police department was stretched thin to the point of breaking.
And who would have thought the kid would go right back to school his first day out of juvie?
Shouldn’t a family-court advocate have been making sure he stayed out of trouble?
“Zach’s place is on the way to the school.
If you think your sister is there, I could drop you off at the Chance house. ”
“No.” The adamant refusal was followed by Amy tucking herself against the passenger-side door.
Retreating.
Had she argued with her sister to inspire that strong of a reaction? Amy was prickly as they came.
Except when he kissed her.
Damn, but he wished they hadn’t been interrupted. That there had been more time to explore the attraction. Things had been intense with her during their teenage years. But nothing like this.
Shit. He needed to get his head back to the task at hand. The safety of the town came first.
“I’ll try to wrap things up quickly at the school, but I should at least check in.
” Turning out onto the main road again, he pressed hard on the accelerator but didn’t bother to slap a flashing light on the roof.
Heartache was quiet this time of day—the calm before the storm when classes let out at Crestwood and student drivers took to the roads with more speed than sense.
“Something’s going on in the parking lot.” She pointed to the teachers’ parking area near the football field.
“Fender bender, maybe?” He noticed one car was pulled up tight to another. Even from a distance he could read the body language of angry people leaning in toward one another. They were adults out there, not kids.
He really didn’t want to get involved in a faculty dispute when he’d heard J.D. was causing trouble. Apparently the principal had tried to handle the uproar the kid’s return to school had caused, but by noontime, the superintendent had gotten involved and phoned the local police.
“Shit. That’s Kate Covington. She teaches social studies at the school.” He could see her now as he pulled off the road and into the lot. “And the woman she’s arguing with was behind bars up until a few hours ago. Tiffany McCord had an affair with her husband.”
Who damn well still better be in jail tonight. The court system was hemorrhaging Sam’s arrests, it seemed. But there was enough evidence against Jeremy Covington that the guy couldn’t have possibly been given bail.
But Tiffany McCord... Sam had been surprised she’d remained locked up for as long as she had.
Belatedly wishing he’d put the flashing light on the hood, he navigated the truck through rubbernecking teachers and students who’d somehow filtered out of the school to witness the drama fast bordering on a reality-show shit storm gone rogue.
When he’d pulled up as close as he could without running anyone over, he slammed the gearshift into Park.
“Wait here. Keep the doors locked,” he told Amy before jumping down to the pavement.
“You cheating slut!” Kate Covington screamed, her face a mottled red headed toward purple. Tall and thin, the woman was normally soft-spoken and a well-liked member of the teaching staff. “How dare you show your face here?”
Tiffany McCord, a former pillar of the community with her position on the town board and a prominent area business owner, appeared to be unfazed by the other woman’s fury.
Virtually every other time Sam had seen her, she’d been slathered in makeup and sporting coordinated, expensive-looking clothes as if her life depended on her appearance.
She wasn’t so made up today, though, with a clean face and blond hair in a ponytail.
She looked more like her daughter, Bailey.
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not the only one who cheated. And if you would stop protecting him, you could put his ass in jail—”
“Ladies.” Sam stepped between the women before Kate could wring Tiffany’s neck. “Everyone should take a step back right now before this escalates any further. I think we can all agree the school parking lot is not the place for this discussion.”
Even though he’d been more than a little curious what Tiffany McCord had been about to say next.
Did she really think Covington’s wife had actionable evidence?
A wife couldn’t be compelled to testify against a husband.
But it would do Sam’s case a hell of a lot of good if the woman felt so inclined.
Kate Covington bared her teeth like a rabid dog. “Good. Keep talking, bitch,” she shouted at the other woman. “You’ll be right back in jail, where you belong.”
Sam had no choice but to tighten his hold on her waist while she struggled forward.
A few of the other teachers in the crowd tried to help him by urging her to settle down. Others ushered kids back toward the school—a losing proposition—and a couple of brave souls circled the wronged social-studies teacher and tried to catch her flailing fists.
“You want me in jail?” Tiffany asked, an amused smile on her face. “Where Jeremy is? It’s almost like you’re trying to matchmake.”
Kate Covington lost her mind then. Windmilling her arms, she shrieked and swore until spittle flew from her mouth.
Tiffany McCord could have gotten into her car and out of harm’s way at any time since she was the one blocking the other woman’s exit.
But instead, the newly freed McCord remained just an inch or two out of reach, like a cat taunting a chained dog. What the hell was her goal here?
So much for his quick stop at the school.
“Mrs. Covington.” He kept his voice low and attempted to be as calming as possible. “Please regain control of yourself. You don’t want to put your job at risk—”
She slashed at his face and tried to make a grab for the gun at his waist.
Which was how she ended up on the ground in cuffs.
Damn. It.
He read the woman her rights while the school principal belatedly put in an appearance.
Reaching for his phone to call for backup—something Sam had hesitated to do earlier since he didn’t want to pull the patrolman away from guarding his son—Sam realized he’d left his cell in the truck in his haste to reach the scene.
He glanced toward the pickup and met Amy’s gaze through the windshield. She had a phone to her ear.
Hopefully she’d decided to call the station.
Either way, he didn’t think he’d be giving her a lift home anytime soon.
AMY QUICKLY REALIZED she should not have answered Sam’s phone.
She had debated what to do when it rang the first time, but she’d ignored it. When it rang again shortly afterward—the caller ID showing a local number but no contact name—she started second-guessing herself.
Sam didn’t appear to have any kind of police radio in the truck. What if the only way his department could contact him was by the phone? For all she knew, there could be a holdup taking place nearby or a kidnapped child.
He’d want to know.
But as soon as a young woman’s voice had burst through the phone, pleading with Amy to reassure Sam that the caller was working hard to get her life in order so she could see Aiden again... Amy was in way over her head. As in drowning.
“Ma’am.” She cut the woman off midsentence while watching Sam try to reason with the feuding pair in the parking lot.
Her grip tightened on the portable baton in her purse, the stress of the conversation making her tense.
“I just happened to have been holding the sheriff’s phone.
He’s on police business. I don’t know him well at all. Could you call him back?”
She didn’t want to get involved in his personal affairs. Even if she hadn’t kissed him, she’d want to keep the mother of his child at arm’s length. Now? She didn’t want to end up in a hissing match like the two ladies ready to draw blood on school grounds.
Thank God Sam could handle himself. Her heart had been in her throat when the teacher tried to reach for his weapon.
But Sam had moved with ease for such a large man, quickly incapacitating the woman while not harming her, which she knew from her self-defense classes wasn’t as easy as he made it appear.
Thankfully, a police car had pulled into the parking lot a few moments after the scuffle.
“No. Please. He hasn’t been picking up when I call.” The woman sounded urgent. “I just want to hear how Aiden is doing.” Her voice hitched. “I miss my baby so much even if I’m not in a good place right now to take care of him.”
Amy closed her eyes and wondered what to do.
As much as she wished she hadn’t fielded this call, she couldn’t just hang up on the woman if those emotions were real.
Still gripping the baton in her lap, she watched out the windshield as Sam turned over the social-studies teacher to a young uniformed officer.
“Aiden is fine,” she admitted, aching for whatever this woman was going through. “I saw him this morning, and I can assure you he’s being well taken care of.”
“Oh, thank you. So much.” Her tearful relief was so obvious Amy had no doubt the other woman’s condition must be serious.
Otherwise she’d be taking care of the baby she clearly cared about.
“I just—” She sniffed on the other end of the call, the connection a bit unsteady as if she spoke from somewhere rural.
“Can you tell Sam that I’m working hard to get better?
That I will come back soon to see Aiden? ”