Protective Instincts (3 page)

"You deserve beautiful things," he purred.

"But you shouldn't send me gifts. I mean it." She didn't recognize his voice or the lazy southern drawl. "The flowers were extravagant. The food was way past too much." She hit her pillow.

He seemed to ignore her. "You need a new robe, silky, sheer, and black, Sugar. That's some sexy body under all that terry cloth, smooth, sweet, warm from sleep. Are your beautiful, white breasts aching to be touched?"

Brit gasped, yanked bed covers to her chin. Someone had been in her house, had invaded her space. Her expensive dinner, the one he'd had sent, threatened to come back up. "Look, whoever you are --"

"Is the sweet place between your thighs wet, Darlin'? Bet you're wanting it as much as I do." A long pause was followed by, "Oh-h-h, Sugar, love the old claw foot tub. I can wash your …."

She'd hoped to learn who the pervert was by using her head and staying calm.
Don't let him get to you
. She swallowed hard before she could speak without choking. "I'm too tired for this," she started to hang up. She'd hit star-whatever, then call the police. Maybe she'd use a neighbor's phone, so he couldn't listen.

"Bet your heart's just pumpin' away, 'ma bella'. See you soon. Think about me, Darlin'. See you in my sweet dreams."

CHAPTER TWO

My God! The pervert watched her sleep? The idea made her shiver. He knew too much about her. The police, she had to call the police.

Brit slammed the phone, ready to snatch it back and leave it off the hook, when it rang again. "Damn!" It might as well have been a snake. She wasn't answering it this time.

The answering machine picked up. "Pick up your phone. I know you're there, Ms. Roberts." Mr. Samuels was calling at this hour? "Aw, come on, Teach. Your line was busy, I know you're awake."

Brit wanted to answer the phone, she really did. She wanted to carry on a sane conversation with a real person, someone she knew. But she couldn't bring herself to touch the cursed thing.

* * * *

Sam was ready to climb through the phone line. Something was terribly wrong. He'd known it just before he woke in a cold sweat, his gut in pain. The memory of her frightened amethyst eyes haunted him. Why had he dreamed about her? Why had she seemed so upset? He'd speed dialed Ms. Roberts' number before he realized he'd picked up the phone beside the recliner where he'd fallen asleep. All Sean's teachers' numbers were programmed into the phone.

"I'm comin' over." Sam was out of the chair as quickly as his sleep stiff body would allow.

"No! No, don't come over here."

"Something's wrong. I know it is." Still half-asleep, Sam held the phone between his chin and his neck as he shoved his feet into the shoes he'd discarded before dozing off.

"Everything's fine," she had told him. Why would she lie? He knew she had, because his premonitions were never wrong.

"So, why didn't you answer your phone?"

"I was half asleep. Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, but I'm worried about you. I'll be at your house in ten minutes." Sam had his keys and wallet in his hands, "or less. I'll explain but I really need to be sure you're all right, please."

He replaced the phone, then checked Sean's room. Sean lay sprawled across his bed, blond hair mussed, his hand dangling off the edge. Grabbing a sheet of paper, he scrawled,
Son, back soon. Don't worry. Gone to check on a friend.

Sam felt foolish. He raced across town, hoping he didn't get stopped for speeding. The streets were deserted. Good fortune had put each light on green or flashing yellow. He didn't think he'd have stopped if there had been a red light. The eerie feelings weren't as strong as when he'd awakened, but they wouldn't go away.

Her house was dark, except for the porch light and a warm glow from a window facing the street. The lady probably thought he was a lunatic. Sam didn't care. She faced him from the other side of the screen before he could touch the doorbell. Ms. Roberts looked fragile, clutching the large white robe at her throat. Her auburn hair was in disarray and she was beautiful.

"Please, let me in for a minute. I need to be sure you're really all right. You sounded so strange over the phone."

"I was trying to go back to sleep when you called. As you can see, I'm fine." She tried to hide a yawn. No way. He knew people and he had a teenaged son. She looked too shaky to be sleepy. He had to get her to talk or he would get no more sleep. She probably wouldn't either.

"If nothing is wrong, I'll go away. But you look like you'll break if anyone touches you. Has this anything to do with the bad guys you mentioned earlier?"

She flinched.

He'd made a hit. "I won't stay long. Please, just let me in for a minute."

* * * *

She let him in.

"I was only kidding about the bad guys earlier to see if you were paying attention." If only she'd known, there really was a bad guy. She shivered. God, she needed to talk to someone.

This man's masculine presence filled her hall. It seemed to narrow when he entered. He was so close Brit wondered if he could hear her heart beating double time. Black hair looked as though he'd run his hands through it a lot. His clothes looked slept in.

The light hanging from the ceiling of the entrance hall cast him in soft shadow. Sharp cheekbones and whisker-dark hollows tempted her to touch him. He was large and should have been intimidating, but his eyes showed concern and vulnerability.

His gaze moved slowly from her face to her bare feet, then back to stare into her eyes. Brit felt as though he'd examined her, reassuring himself she was unharmed. Why had he insisted on coming here in the middle of the night?

"Mr. Samuels?"

"Call me Sam, please. It's late at night for formalities, especially with you in that robe." His half laugh sounded nervous as he inclined his head slightly to indicate her robe. "Are you going to keep me in the hall or could we sit down while you tell me why you invaded my sleep tonight. You were frightened in my dream, then on the phone, and I have to know why."

The man seemed so earnest she knew she'd have to give him the reassurance he needed or he'd never leave. "Come into the kitchen. I was about to make hot chocolate."

He'd been dreaming about her? Strange, she'd gone to sleep thinking about him.

She led him toward the kitchen. The heavy floral scent lingered as they'd passed the living/dining room area where she'd had the florist put the flowers. That same smell followed them to her bright, airy kitchen where she'd tossed the damned things and would toss the left- over food. The combination of odors hung heavy, oppressive still.

Brit felt his gaze on her as she stood at the old, large stove. Her hands shook as she lit the gas burner. With deliberate movements, she lowered the flame. She'd hold herself together somehow.

"So, you were dreaming about me, huh?" she asked without turning to look at him.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, likely embarrassed. She'd love to hear more about the dreams and why he dreamed about her, but she wouldn't ask tonight.

"Some of my students say they have nightmares about me, but few parents mention having them." She stirred the milk on the stove.

"Real milk and cocoa in that chocolate?"

"No, half-and-half." She shrugged. She pulled a can of cinnamon from a shelf beside the stove and sprinkled some into the cocoa.

When she brought the saucepan over to pour the bubbling liquid into cups her hands barely shook. "Um, Mr. Sa–, ah, Sam?" She took the lid from a container of whipped topping," Want some?"

When he nodded, she dropped a dollop into his cup.

"Might as well. Sean and I drank real hot chocolate when he was younger. It let him get his worries off his chest."

"I know what you mean." She stared into her cup. "Daddy and I spent a few after-date hours over cups of the real thing. He believed in real, fat-laden comfort food when there was a problem to discuss."

She couldn't believe she was telling him about her past. Maybe it was his understanding dad manner. He seemed like he really cared. Maybe nerves were making her ramble. She wanted to tell all the little things he'd already know if they were friends. She wanted him to tell her all about himself. Totally wrong.

"You might as well tell me what's been keeping you awake nights. Maybe I can help."

"How did you know?" She hadn't checked a mirror since his call. Could she look that bad?

"If you're on the phone at two in the morning you aren't sleepin'. Why? Something frightened you. I saw you and your fear in my dream."

"Why would I be in your dream? I had a crank call." The robe slid down on her shoulder when she reached for her cup.

The man at her table stared at her as though he could read her thoughts. Did he realize how attractive he looked in rumpled clothes? It had been a long time since she'd sat across the table from a man.

It had been a long while since she'd noticed a man on a personal level. Mr. Samuels was a very physical presence.

She might as well tell him why she was awake at this ungodly hour. She needed to talk and he seemed determined to pull the truth from her. Staring into her cup, she exhaled heavily.

Gathering her courage, she looked into his eyes. "I had several hang-up calls this week. Tonight I had an obscene call. I was startled when he actually spoke tonight." How could she verbalize what the pervert had said to her? Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Brit continued. "It was just unsettling."

"No threats?" Sam asked as though he knew better. How could he?

"Not really. It was just a call. Now he's had his say, so he'll probably leave me alone and pester someone else."

"Don't count on it. Call the police and report the calls now." Sam stood and reached for the phone. "I'll dial."

She hesitated too long. He dialed information, then the police station. By the time Brit made her way to Sam's side, a deep voice called from the instrument she had begun to hate.

"Florence Police Department, Detective Johnson speaking."

After clearing her throat several times, Brit spoke into the receiver, "Hello, my name is Brittany Roberts and I – I need to report an obscene phone call and maybe a break-in."

"You didn't mention a probable break-in," Sam mouthed.

She shushed and waved him away.

Brit answered more questions than she put on true-false tests for her students and hung up the phone.

"I'll explain about the break-in, but I've got to get dressed before the police get here."

She escaped to her bedroom to put on slacks and a bulky sweater. When her doorbell rang, she walked down the hall carrying a brush.

"You can do this," Sam whispered. He held out his hand palm up.

When she placed her hand in his, he squeezed hers gently.

The doorbell rang again. Brit bit her upper lip, squared her shoulders, then walked toward the front door.

"Coming," she called. "Be right there."

Officers Briggs and Jacobs were straight out of a television cop series. Briggs wore his uniform and his short haircut with a pride that made the military types look slouchy.

Introductions took only seconds. Jacobs seemed to take the reason for Sam's presence in stride, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about finding a father visiting his son's teacher hours after midnight. Briggs acted less accepting.

Brit hated to talk about her naïve acceptance of the food and flower order mix-up. The officers looked skeptical. She should have been suspicious, but Florence was a quiet little town.

"What makes you think there might have been a break-in and when?" Jacobs arched an eyebrow and looked like he could see if she lied.

"He said some things when he called this morning."

"Just tell us as much as you can remember, please." Briggs said.

"It was all so awful."

"We have to know before we can evaluate the situation."

Brit heaved a long sigh. "He mentioned my claw-foot bath tub and my robe — and what he wanted to do with my body." She repeated as much as she could, avoiding looking at Sam or the officers when she spoke of the sexual threats.

"Has anyone been in and out of your house but you?" Jacobs wrote in his notebook. "Any repair men around?

"No."

"Have you noticed signs of forced entry?" Briggs narrowed his eyes.

"I haven't looked yet, but I haven't had time to think, really. There was no reason to before tonight."

"Ms. Roberts," Briggs angled his body toward her. "Have you noticed anyone who seemed to be hanging around when he shouldn't be?"

"No." She shook her head. "I haven't really noticed anyone suspicious, but I haven't looked for anyone who didn't belong."

Jacobs nodded his graying head as he continued to take notes. "Anyone follow you around in the grocery store? Offer to help you with your groceries?"

"No one, Officer."

"Come on too strong, maybe not take 'no' for an answer?"

"No," Brit shook her head, toying with her sweater's hem.

"Maybe you flirted with someone who misunderstood, thought you were offering more?" Briggs suggested.

Sam moved from the protective position he'd adopted, advancing on the offensive questioner. He fisted his hands tightly against the need to hit the man. "Officer, I fail to see the reasoning behind your suggestive question."

"A lady can smile at a man and make him think she's interested, even if she isn't. Some men get strange ideas these days." Briggs cleared his throat, his posture remained stiff. His gaze riveted on Sam's face. "What were you doing when Ms. Roberts got the call?" His accusation slipped through.

"Sleeping. At my house, near here."

Briggs frowned. "So you rushed over when the lady called?"

"I called her." Sam felt his face flush. The accusation there couldn't be his imagination, asshole. He cleared his throat. "I had a nightmare about her being in danger and couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong." Sam wished he could take back those words. He didn't want these Keystone cops to think he was sleeping with the teacher. He hadn't breathed a word about his premonitions in more years than he had fingers and toes.

Both cops handed Brit and Sam business card. Briggs reached for the door to leave, giving Sam a strange look.
Does that cop believe I called her, then raced over here to save her?

"Call either of us if you remember anything else, ma'am. Not much we can do about the phone call. We could stay on alert for a stalker or a break-in."

Sam stayed after the boys in blue had finally gone. He forced his manner to be gentle. He still wanted to hit something. He touched her slender shoulders.

"You did just fine."

Brit looked ready to drop, but he wanted to make sure she would be all right alone.

"Stay for one last cup of chocolate? I can nuke it."

Sam joined her for a last cup of hot chocolate for the road. The kitchen was old but well remodeled.

"So, who did your remodeling?" He liked the clutter of racks of utensils and copper-bottomed pots hanging like decorations. "You use all those things?"

"Yes, I love to cook." Her smile wavered. "I sanded and painted and did most of the work on this room. It's good therapy." She stood and started to leave the kitchen.

"You need caller ID, and a thorough check of all door and window locks, and an alarm system. This house is old, but we can fix any areas for easy forced entry."