Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (13 page)

“And
your
friend . . . ,” Nick spit out.

The captain vented with a heavy blast of air and leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his chest while he peered up with a tired expression. “Yes, Logan and I are good friends, but more importantly, he’s an influential member of our governing body, Nick, and a man I respect and admire. Just like I respect and admire you. But when I agreed to hire you, I was assured you were willing to start anywhere, do anything—”

“And I have,” Nick shouted, slamming his fist on Harmon’s desk. He’d give anything to just walk, but DeLuca’s warning grafted his feet to the floor.
“You have
no choice but to lay low, Nick, till our guns
are loaded and ready to fire.”

“Yes, you have, and you’re a good detective, but I need a man who can follow orders, and if that’s not you, then there’s the door.”

It took everything in him not to spin on his heel and leave both
of them in his dust, but Nick knew that wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted the payoff, and he and DeLuca had worked too hard to get this far. Blasting out his frustration, he glared at Harm, ignoring McClare altogether. “One month, and I still work my cases while school is in session during the day.”

“Two months,” Logan said calmly.

Nick all but scorched him with a scowl. “Six weeks, Supervisor—take it or leave it.”

Harmon glanced at McClare, who gave a short duck of his head. Logan’s eyes locked on Nick in unspoken threat. “If six weeks is enough time to teach Allison what she needs to know.”

“It is.” Nick stared him down, a tic pulsing in his cheek like the one in McClare’s jaw.

The supervisor studied him with cool deliberation. “Good, and you’re responsible for escorting her home after jiu-jitsu lessons three times a week.” His tone softened as the barest hint of a smile shadowed his lips. “I think you’ll find Allison an able student, Mr. Barone. As a little girl, she tended toward the tomboy. A competitive streak and an almost reckless thirst for adventure that’s given more than one gray hair to her mother and me, I can tell you that. She’s fiercely athletic, and if she were a boy, she’d give you a run for your money.”

Nick grunted. “Already has.”

Logan’s tone turned crisp. “As far as the school, you’re on duty first thing in the morning, during lunch recess outside, and back before the last class ends, remaining until everyone is home safe and sound, including my niece. And, of course, all handyman projects must be completed in a timely fashion to Mrs. McClare’s satisfaction.”

“Agreed.” Nick met his gaze with a hard threat of his own. “For ten times my salary—”

The captain launched to his feet. “You’re out of your mind, Barone—”

Logan interrupted, an edge of challenge in his voice as he slowly rose to his feet, his demeanor as cool as his tone. “No, Harmon, let him set the terms—my family is worth it. If Mr. Barone is willing to agree to six weeks’ employment as the school’s watchman, handyman, and jiu-jitsu instructor for my niece come Monday, then he’s worth it too.” He faced Nick head-on, assessing him through narrow eyes. “That is, if he’s willing to provide extra protection for Allison whenever she’s on the premises or on her way home.”

A nerve flickered in Nick’s jaw before he finally nodded his consent.

“Good.” Logan folded stiff arms across his chest. “Then I suppose there are only two conditions yet to be met, Mr. Barone, and I’ll need your word on both.”

Nick’s lip curled in sarcasm. “What, I can’t use a leash?”

Logan actually chuckled. “No, Mr. Barone, although I understand how that might make your job easier.” He sat on the edge of Harm’s desk with a faint smile. “You can’t let her know.”

Shifting his stance, Nick stared, head dipped. “Pardon me?”

“You see, independence is very important to Allison,” Logan said calmly, “and I don’t want her to know part of your job at the school is to keep an eye on her, to protect her so to speak, escort her home after jiu-jitsu or follow her unaware on nights she chooses to work late.”

Nick’s face screwed in a squint. “And just how am I supposed to keep that quiet,
sir
, when I’ll be shadowing her wherever she goes?”

“You’re a bright man, Nick, figure it out. Convince her you’re a gentleman who refuses to allow a lady to walk home or use a cable car by herself.”

Cable car?
The very words jammed in Nick’s throat, churning the acid in his gut.

Logan smiled. “Although my second condition will definitely make the first a challenge.”

Nick remained silent, unable to speak for the blockage of air in his lungs.

Any semblance of humor on Logan’s face faded away . . . along with Nick’s peace of mind as the supervisor’s gray eyes took on a steely glint. “You are under no circumstances to ever lay a hand on my niece except in those cases necessitated by jiu-jitsu lessons, is that clear? And I want your word
and
your signature that you will not make advances.”

Nick started to hack, acid choking in his throat as much as the thought choked in his mind.
Advances? To Allison “Whack ’em Till They Weep”
McClare?
“Are you crazy?” he sputtered. “I may be a lot of things,
sir
, but suicidal isn’t one of ’em.”

Logan remained unfazed by Nick’s flippant manner. “Glad to hear that, Nick, because suicide is an apt description if I even suspect a glimmer of romantic interest between you two.”

A grunt rolled from Nick’s lips. “Yeah, well it’s not me you have to worry about, Supervisor, but I take no responsibility for any featherbrained ideas rolling around in her head.”

Logan’s lips pressed thin. “You better take responsibility, Barone, because I want Allison to despise you as much as you despise me.”

Nick seared him with a hard look. “Not possible, sir, but I promise it’ll be close.”

“Good.” The edge of Logan’s mouth tipped. “Much as I hate to say it, you’re the type of man who turns women’s heads, so I’m asking you point blank to . . .” A grin inched across his lips as he kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Hang it all, I can’t believe
I’m even saying this, but . . .” He glanced up, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Keep any ‘charm’ you may possibly possess under wraps around Allison because she seems to have a weakness for smooth talkers.”

“Come on, Logan, you even know this guy?” The captain grinned. “He speaks in grunts.”

Logan’s eyelids narrowed, assessing Nick as if he could peer into his very soul. “You know, Harm, my gut tells me one of Mr. Barone’s greatest assets is the fact people underestimate him. They see this crusty, hard-nosed cop and assume he’s a half-wit, but in my line of work, I’ve learned not to assume anything. So I’m asking again, Mr. Barone . . .” He offered a handshake, challenge in his eyes. “Do I have your word you won’t make advances to my niece?”

Nick stared at the hand before him, visions of Allison McClare’s ebony hair, angelic face, and inviting lips flitting through his brain, twitching his nerves. Steeling his jaw, he gripped Logan’s hand with more force than necessary, quite sure he’d never be in agreement with the man more. “Carved in stone,” he said, tone clipped, “or so help me, you can cut out my tongue.”

Logan laughed. “Don’t think I won’t.” Reaching behind him, he shoved a two-page document to the front of Harmon’s desk. “But to safeguard us both, I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a contract outlining the terms we’ve just discussed.” He removed an expensive ink pen from inside his jacket and scratched in the revised salary on both sheets before initialing them and offering the pen to Nick. “Hopefully this document will ensure I won’t have to.”

Nick snatched the pen and then the paper from the desk. “Lawyers,” he muttered, scowling as he read every single line. He slashed his signature in the appropriate place and tossed the
pen on top. “I bet you draft a contract for everything you do, counselor. Meticulous to a fault to ensure your payback is secure.”

“As a matter of fact I do,” Logan said with an easy swipe of his pen into his coat pocket. “Except with my family.” His eyes hardened like gray quartz. “With them, payback is never necessary because they mean the world to me, and I will do anything or destroy anyone to protect them.” He handed the second sheet to Nick. “Your copy of our agreement, Mr. Barone.”

Jerking it from his hand, Nick glanced at Harmon. “Are we through here?”

“Almost.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Since this is late Friday, you’ll start Monday morning, eight sharp, which is when Mrs. McClare arrives with my nieces. But I’d like you to stop in tonight to introduce yourself after school lets out, which I believe is in twenty minutes.” He peered up, arms folded once again. “Have you had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. McClare?”

Pleasure?
Nick’s lips went flat.
Not if she’s anything like her
daughter.
“No.”

Gaze averted to the floor, Logan’s professional air softened with the flicker of a smile. “Caitlyn McClare is one of the most remarkable women you’ll ever meet.” The smile faded as quickly as the kindness in the man’s tone when his eyes lifted to Nick once again. “My sister-in-law and her daughters and niece are the only women alive who have my ear, Mr. Barone, so I suggest you tread lightly and see to it there are no complaints.”

Nick’s mouth took a hard slant. “Even from your ‘independent’ niece?”

The smile was back. “No, I expect plenty of complaints from Allison, but they best be about your lack of charm, Detective, and not your teaching skills.” He stood and extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Nick.”

Nick ignored the gesture and adjusted the sleeves of his coat. “Well, that makes one of us, counselor. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like half my salary now, delivered to the station Monday before the end of the day, then the rest after the last lesson.”

Tone casual, Logan folded his copy of the contract in thirds and slipped it inside his coat. “I think that can be arranged.” His lips curved in a smile. “Afraid I won’t pay?”

“Not at all, Supervisor,” Nick said on his way to the door, thinking Logan’s money wouldn’t make up for Ming Chao’s grandson, but it’d be a start for his grieving old friend. “You’ll pay all right.” He never bothered looking back, slamming the door behind him.

Through the nose
and more.

10

J
eepers, Miss Alli, you really mean it? We’re gonna have a real, honest-to-Pete play?” The whites of Heidi Abbott’s blue eyes grew as big as her two elbow patches, both as faded and worn as the dirty calico dress they held together.

Allison laughed, her excitement equal to each of the giggling girls in her English/Drama class. Sunlight streamed through the shiny windows that Mrs. Lemp kept spotless, spilling across the polished wood floor while excited chatter spilled from the lips of each of her eight students, ages six to sixteen. The rumble of footsteps overhead reminded her school was now at an end, and Allison couldn’t help a tinge of regret. She’d come to love the ragtag band of students who tromped through the halls, always regretting when Mother rang the bell at the end of each day. Throughout the course of their first week, word of mouth had caused their ranks to grow, and now thirty-two eager young women attended Monday through Friday, thirsty to learn, including Miss Penny’s ten. Shocked and delighted with the numbers, Mother had already begun her search for an assistant principal to help out in the office when Vigilance Committee duties called her away. Allison had never seen her happier. Like a schoolgirl herself, Caitlyn McClare’s cheeks bloomed with the soft blush of purpose and pride, and Allison had to admit—the glow was catching.

“Of course I mean it,” Allison said with a chuckle. She closed her brand-new copy of
Shakespeare’s Comedies, Histories
and Tragedies
and stood to her feet, rounding her desk to hand out homework. “After all, what good would it be studying Shakespeare’s plays if we didn’t at least attempt one of our own? Especially with such a fine theater, right?”

“Right!” The class of eight shouted in unison.

“Can I be in it too, Miss Alli, please?” Lottie bounced in her seat, bobbling the cinnamon-colored curls on her head.

“Of course you can, La-di-da. Everyone who wants to play a part certainly can.”

“But who will watch the play, Miss Alli?” Ten-year-old Shannon Murphy blinked, serious brown eyes wide with concern amid a sea of freckles. She slapped a chestnut pigtail over her shoulder. “If we’re going to have a play, somebody has to watch.”

Allison paused, aware that most of the girls in the school were either orphans or the daughters of women who worked in the brothels, neither of which allowed for an abundance of family members to invite. “Well,” she said with a chew of her lip, thoughts scrambling to come up with live bodies, “not everyone in the school will be in the play, of course . . .” The seed of an idea suddenly sprouted and she caught her breath, a grin inching across her face.
But if the
play were a fundraiser and Mother invited people she knew
 . . . ?
A giggle broke loose and she clapped her hands. “I have an idea that just might bring in an audience, but I’ll need to discuss it with Mrs. McClare first, so let’s just see what happens, okay?”

“Yay!”

“But what play will we perform?” asked Angi Griffis, the shy sixteen-year-old beauty who’d lived with Miss Penny since the age of six, after her mother was murdered in a brothel.

“Well, since comedies are more fun than dramas,” Allison
said, “how about what we’re studying next week—
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
?”

“But I liked what we studied this week, Miss Alli,” Kara Grant said with a crimp of brows. “
Taming of the Shrew
was funny, so can’t we do that instead? Please, please?” Hands clasped in prayer, the little dickens begged with her eyes.

“Yes!” The consensus came back in an outbreak of squeals.

“But there are boy parts,” ten-year-old Denise Hogan said with a scrunch of her nose. “I don’t like boys—they’re nothing but pests and they smell bad.”

“Denise Therese Hogan!” Allison said with a cock of her brow, fighting the squirm of her lips. “That is
not
a nice thing to say.”
Except about Nick
Barone.
“And they do
not
all smell bad, young lady,” she emphasized with a lift of her chin, thoughts of Mr. Ga-roan pinking her cheeks.
Unless you have
an aversion to Bay Rum and animal crackers . . .
Pushing thoughts of Mr. C.P. from her mind, Allison pursed her lips. “Besides, all of Shakespeare’s plays have men in them and since we don’t have any men here, some of you will just have to play the boys’ parts.”

“What about Mr. Nick?” Lottie suggested. “Petruchio’s handsome, and so is Mr. Nick.”

“Oh, yes, he’s gorgeous!” Angi said with a dreamy sigh. “And perfect.”

Alli’s smile went flat.
Yes, a natural bully
. She cleared her throat. “I think we need to stick with something a little lighter like
A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
” she said loudly, hoping no one would notice the fire in her cheeks over mention of the Neanderthal who’d broken his promise. And he called
her
a loose cannon—ha! Oh, if only she were! She’d have promptly blasted that nasty look off his handsome face when he’d called her a liar in front of Uncle Logan. She stifled a grunt, thinking the barbarian would
make a perfect Petruchio—browbeating Kate into submission with his club. Clapping her hands to get the girls’ attention, she raised her voice over both giggles and whines. “I’ll have copies of
A Midsummer Night’s
Dream
for each of you next week so we can get started, all right? Class dismissed, and don’t forget your homework is due Monday,” she called after them, “and, Angi, you’ll help Lottie with hers as usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Angi said with a smile. She held out her hand at the door. “Come on, Miss La-di-da—Miss Penny needs our help shelling peas.”

“But Teacher needs me to sharpen pencils, don’t you, Miss Alli?” The little tyke whirled around with a plea in blue eyes that melted Allison to the spot.

“Yes I do, as a matter of fact,” she said with a wink at Angi while collecting pencils from the groove in each of the desks. “I’ll walk her next door when she’s done, Angi, all right?”

“All right, Miss Alli. Good night.”

“Come on, little girl,” Allison said with a tweak of Lottie’s neck. “I’ll put you to work.” Squeezing her hand, she led her over to the pencil sharpener where Lottie perched upon a polished wooden stool handmade by Mr. Nick himself, for her birthday, she’d proclaimed proudly. Alli hadn’t the heart to deny her when she’d asked if she could bring it to school to sit on it while sharpening pencils, since that was her job. Alli watched as the sweet little thing fondled the inscription with chubby fingers before arranging her faded, hand-me-down dress over it with loving care.

“I just love my new stool, don’t you, Miss Alli?” She sighed again. “Mr. Nick is the nicest boy I know, don’t you think?”

Nice?
Allison issued a silent grunt.
If you’
re six years old.
She handed Lottie the pencils and bent to kiss her cheek, wondering for the umpteenth time how someone as cantankerous and
annoying as Nick Barone could be so loving and kind to a little girl. She studied the perfectly crafted furniture that bore Lottie’s initials in equally perfect scrollwork and tried to imagine the same hateful man bent over Lottie’s stool with chisel and knife. Burnished with a rich mahogany stain, the stool bore the mark of a master with Lottie’s initials relief-carved in graceful script that clearly indicated talent and artistry. And yet this was the very grouch who’d betrayed her confidence without batting an eye. The pencil sharpener ground along with her teeth. “Ha! Nick Barone, nice?” She muttered under her breath, reluctant to admit a heart might actually beat in the Neanderthal’s chest. With a twinge of guilt, she blew a stray hair away from her eyes. “Well, who knows—maybe there’s hope for the cretin yet . . .”

“What’s a cretin?” Lottie asked, face upturned in innocence.

“W-what?” Allison blinked, painfully aware the pencil sharpener had stopped. She pressed a hand to her cheek.
Goodness
, did I really say that out loud?

“You said, ‘Maybe there’s hope for the cretin yet,’ and you said Mr. Nick’s name.” She tipped her head in question. “Does that mean you think he’s nice too?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” Alli said with a squeeze of Lottie’s shoulder.
Nice and cranky
. “I’ll let you finish up here while I erase the blackboard, okay?”

“Goodness, Al, what a week, huh?” Cassie all but limped into the room, dropping into one of the desks to massage her ankle. “I’m going to have to talk to Aunt Cait about letting me wear my cowboy boots instead of these awful button-up shoes. I’m telling you, God did not intend for women to wear three-inch heels.”

Allison grinned and lined up the desks, pausing to lift her skirt for Cassie’s benefit. “Tell me about it. I made the mistake of wearing these brand-new kid slip-on heels, thinking they’d
be more comfortable than my awful lace-ups.” She scrunched her nose as she continued to straighten things up. “Now I have blisters on both feet.”

“Well, at least you can slip yours off under the desk,” Cassie said with a moan, attempting to knead the toe of her leather shoe. “I may never walk again.”

“And I may never breathe again.” Palms flat to the front of her whalebone corset, Alli sucked in a deep breath—or tried to—wishing she were as free-spirited as Cassie, who’d conveniently left her corset at home. “At least you’re not wearing that new whalebone S-curve Mother bought for us,” she whispered loudly, sneaking a peek at Lottie as she blissfully sharpened away. “I may just follow your lead and leave it at home, at least when I teach.”

“Oooo—shocking!” Cassie’s green eyes sparkled like emeralds. “The adventurous tomboy finally surfaces in the well-bred Allison McClare, defying convention at last.” She blew several honey-blond strands out of her eyes from her Gibson Girl pompadour. “I knew I’d make a country girl of you yet.” Glancing at the watch pinned to her pale-yellow shirtwaist, she shot to her feet. “Ooops . . . forgot Miss Tuttle sent me to fetch you for an impromptu meeting with Aunt Cait.” The sharpener stilled, and Cassie shot Lottie a grin. “Hey, no fair—I don’t have anybody to sharpen
my
pencils.”

“I’ll do it for you, Miss Cassie,” the little girl said with a sweet smile over her shoulder. She blew on the tip of the last pencil she’d sharpened and carefully bundled them in a cup.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cassidy McClare—Miss La-di-da’s
all
mine!” Alli swooped down on the tiny angel and gave her a monster hug that sent little-girl squeals bouncing off the walls. “Come on, honey bun—I need to take you home.” She glanced up at her cousin. “What’s the meeting about, Cass, do you know?”

Cassie stretched and made a sad attempt at stifling a yawn.
“Well, it’s the last day of our first week, so I’m guessing Aunt Cait wants to powwow over what worked, what didn’t, et cetera.”

“Probably.” Alli took Lottie’s hand. “Will you tell her I have to take Lottie home first?”

“Sure.” Cassie tweaked Lottie’s neck, coaxing a giggle. “See you soon, Miss La-di-da.”

Steering Lottie out, Alli made their way to the kitchen, Lottie’s contented sigh floating down the hall. “Jeepers, Miss Alli, I sure hope I grow up to be a teacher like you and Miss Cassie someday.”

“Well, if you study real hard, you could very well be, as smart as you are, young lady.”

“Gee whiz, that’d be swell!” She glanced up as Alli led her across the flagstone walk in Miss Penny’s backyard. “Do you like being a teacher, Miss Alli?”

Alli smiled, joy swelling inside over the satisfaction she experienced as an educator. “Oh, yes, Lottie, I love it. I think being a teacher is one of the most noble professions a person can have.”

“Me too,” she said, face beaming. Lottie’s little shoulders suddenly sagged. “I’m sad for Mr. Nick, though, ’cause he’d like to be a teacher too, but boys can’t be teachers, can they?”

Alli frowned. “Well, some are, of course, but not at our school.” She paused, brows knit as she put a hand on the knob of Miss Penny’s kitchen door. “Mr. Nick is a police detective, Lottie—whatever makes you think he’d like to be a teacher?”

Lottie looked up, gaze innocent and as soft and serene as the blue sky above. “’Cause he told Miss Penny he’d like to teach you a thing or two, but she said he couldn’t.”