“What?” A cop edge sharpened his words. “You did what?”
His tone vibrated in her aching ears. She held her spine straight, reminding herself that this was her turf. At least in this room, she ruled the roost. “I threw it in the garbage.”
His dominating gaze cut into her, and she didn’t feel so in charge of her roost anymore.
“You threw a diamond bracelet away?”
She set her coffee down. “It was Zirconium. Not real.”
He studied her for a second, then pulled something from his pocket and held it out. “Is this the bracelet?”
She stared at the photograph. “It looks like it. But why would you—”
“Where did you get it?”
“Stan gave it to me.” She took the picture, flipped it over, and saw a price. “No. He couldn’t have afforded to buy—”
“He didn’t buy it. He stole it.”
Her nervous chuckle loosened the jackhammers in her head again. “No. Stan wouldn’t...” She closed her mouth before she choked on her size-seven pink pumps. She didn’t know Stan. Good shoulders, nice-guy Stan had beatten up his other girlfriends, and he’d shot at her. Cali vaguely remembered Stan saying he wasn’t the one who had shot….
“Oh my.” She fell into her chair.
“Look, I need your help here.”
Well, in about ten minutes, he’ll be discovering he needs you. In the dream her mother had said he— “Has your garbage been taken out since that night?” He stepped closer to the desk, crowding her space and thoughts.
She stared at her coffee as if she could visually soak up some of the caffeine and clear the muddle from her brain.
“No. It should still be there.” The dream meant nothing. Just a coincidence. The fact that she had a stolen forty-eight thousand dollar bracelet in her garbage, well, that piece of info meant something.
“Good. Can you come with me to your place to find it?”
She looked at the clock on her wall. “I can’t leave.” Okay, having stolen merchandise was like illegal. “I mean, I need to get someone in here to watch the class.”
“Okay. Get someone.”
She didn’t move. She just stared at him, thinking she’d love to just go home and paint her toenails right now.
“Sometime today, maybe?” He waved a hand to the door.
She stood up. “Do you always have to be rude?”
A shade of guilt colored his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” The bell rang, and he ran a hand over his face. “Really sorry.” His apology sounded sincere and made him sound less like a big bad cop.
Oddly, she wanted the cop back. Big bad cop’s shoulders were less noticeable. “Wait here. When the kids come in, tell them to start on their art journals.”
“Do what?” His eyes filled with panic, but she left as her students crowded into the room.
When she returned a few minutes later, she found Anthony and Chris arguing over a girl, paper airplanes zipping across the room, and someone’s CD player blaring Dido music.
Beside her desk stood Detective Lowell, feet slightly apart and arms hanging limply. He wore a wide-eyed perplexed expression.
“Class!” Cali snapped. The detective jumped. She might have smiled if the rise of her voice hadn’t brought the headache dancing in the forefront again.
The music clicked off. Anthony and Chris grew quiet. The last paper airplane nose-dived against the detective’s chest. Silence filled the room.
“Start on your art journals, please,” she said.
Papers ruffled, seats were taken, order replaced chaos. She walked over to Lowell. “You can handle criminals, but you can’t handle a few teenagers?”
He leaned close. “Criminals I can shoot.”
She smiled this time. A small one.
“Can we go?” he asked.
She glanced over at her desk. “I have to wait until a substitute comes.”
“How long?”
“Thirty, forty minutes.”
He stared at her as if she’d condemned him to years.
“You can wait in the office if you’d like,” she offered.
He edged closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. Close enough she could smell him. And it was a nice scent, too. “And abandon you to the wolves?” His grin came on slow, sexy.
She almost smiled again, then remembered that she didn’t like this man. “Have a seat.”
“With them?” He leaned close to her, too close again.
She took a step back. “They don’t bite.”
“Promise?” he asked and moved to an empty desk at the back of the class.
“Hey, everyone.” She rubbed her hands together to stop the tingling in her palms. “I’ve got a substitute coming—”
“I thought he was the substitute.” Tony pointed to Lowell.
“No. This is…a friend.” The last thing she wanted was to start a rumor mill about her being involved with a crime.
“Boyfriend?” Anthony asked. “You’re breaking my heart, Miss McKay. I told you I was going to grow up and marry you.”