Pastor's Assignment (9 page)

She studied Ty's eyes for a long time, and then she nodded her agreement. “We'll look, but if this is a practical joke, you'll both get detention until Christmas!”

Eighteen

Ty stepped around the excited dog to examine locker
B-2003. It looked exactly like the other battered gray lockers surrounding it, give or take a dent. “Step back,” Ty ordered as Laney and Mrs. Henley peered over his shoulder.

Frowning in concentration, Ty entered the numbers from the drawing he'd found in the gravel. After he'd entered the last number, he pulled the handle. The lock held. Frowning, Ty tried variations of the number but met with the same result.

Mrs. Henley's right eyebrow arched. “I'm sure this is pointless.” She paused. “But since you'll probably open it with a crowbar if I don't get the combination, I'll help you.”

As the principal shuffled off, Ty turned to Laney. “Are you sure Angel knows what he's doing?”

Laney looked at Angel, who sat at attention in front of the locker. “Yes.”

“Because we could call it all off right now.”

“I'm sure,” Laney said.

“Okay then.”

Laney leaned against a locker. The metal felt cool and hard on her back. She thought about how they had hid in the broom closet. When the can of cleanser had rolled out behind Ty, her ribs had ached with the need to laugh. She wondered if it was too late for her and Rock to have fun together or if their lives would always be as respectable and predictable as she had thought she wanted.

Could she go through with her marriage to Rock? She liked him and admired his relationship with God. But she wondered if this was what God wanted for her.

She shot a glance at Ty. He looked like such a tough guy leaning up against the lockers, an aging football player who could still muscle his way through life.

When she had discovered the note in church, she had been so sure she had been given a chance to help someone who needed it. Now, however, she had begun to realize that she herself might be the one who needed help.

A low growl erupted from Angel, announcing the principal's return. Bending, Laney smoothed the ridge of hair that had arisen along the dog's back. She frowned thoughtfully. Usually Angel only reacted like this when—

Her jaw dropped open. Not only had Mrs. Henley returned, but she had also brought along Rock and her father.

Even at this distance, she could see the disapproval in the tight set of her father's mouth. As they halted in front of the locker, he addressed Ty. “You think there's a gun in the locker?” He drawled the words sarcastically, as if this were as likely as finding Barney the dinosaur.

Ty colored but held the older man's gaze. “Won't know what's inside until we open it.”

“I want to talk to you alone.” Her father's voice came from nearly immobile lips, another sure sign of his anger. Laney's stomach clenched as the two of them set off together.

“What you all were doing wasn't right,” the principal stated, “so I called the sheriff.”

“Laney.” Rock gently touched her arm. “What are you doing here?”

His eyebrows lifted in what might have been an expression of concern and support.

Laney tried to arrange her features into the composed expression of a person completely in charge of her senses, as if conducting an illegal locker search with a seven-pound papillon in an empty high school was an ordinary occurrence. “Looking for guns.”

“Steele put you up to this, didn't he?” Rock didn't wait for her answer. “Don't you see this has everything to do with the election? Your father's reelection is important to me, Laney,” he whispered. “It's important to us.”

“So is stopping a school shooting,” Laney said. She ran her fingers through her hair, knowing it was hopeless to make him understand.

“Laney, you belong in your pet shop, not on a SWAT team.” The tips of his moustache quivered. “You're aligning yourself with your father's chief rival.”

“I'm not aligning myself with anyone,” Laney said, holding his gaze. “I'm trying to do the right thing.”

Rock drew back. “This isn't my Laney talking to me,” he said. He searched her face with a mixture of disappointment and suspicion.

“I never told you, Rock, but Angel went to the Canine Development Center in Austin. He's trained to sniff out firearms.”

A ripple of emotion passed over his face as Rock made his disbelief obvious. “Sure,” he said. “He probably was Rin Tin Tin's body double, too.” He laughed loudly.

“That's why I didn't tell you before,” Laney said. Her fists clenched. “I knew you'd make a big joke about it. You always do.”

“Well, honey,” Rock said, “that's what I love about you. The way you make me laugh.” His expression softened as he looked into her eyes. “Let's not fight about this. You're not yourself, and it's because you're stressed out about the premarital exam.” He stroked her cheek. “You're going to ace it this time. Even my mother couldn't tell your lasagna from hers in the taste test last night.”

Laney's chin lifted. “This isn't about the exam or the lasagna. Angel may have found a gun.”

Rock's eyebrows quivered. Laney fought the urge to reach up and physically hold them in place.

“There are no guns in that locker,” Rock said firmly. “If you believe there are, you need more help than I thought.” He reached for Laney's arm. “Let's go.”

“Angel smells firearms in that locker,” Laney insisted.

“That dog couldn't scent a firecracker if it went off under his nose,” Rock said.

“There are guns,” Laney said. “I just know it.”

At her words, Rock released Laney's arm and fingered his moustache thoughtfully. His eyebrows calmed, and a spark of interest appeared in his eyes. “If I look in that locker and don't find a gun in there, will you agree to take some stress management courses?”

Laney's chin lifted at the challenge. “I will.”

“Okay,” Rock said. Turning, he called down the hallway. “Come on, G. C. Stop giving Steele a hard time and open up this locker.”

Nineteen

“It's at your discretion, Beulah,” Laney's father said. An angry-looking flush had spread across his weathered brown cheeks. “We've got no warrant or just cause to open it.”

“We'll open the locker,” the principal said. She smiled at Laney. “My cousin is a family counselor. If you turn out to need it, I can give you his number.”

Ty turned to Laney. “What's that all about?”

Laney tried not to squirm under Ty's intense stare. She couldn't simply blurt out that if Angel didn't find weapons in the locker, she'd promised to take stress management classes.

As Ty's glance lingered on Laney, Rock's arm slipped proprietarily around Laney's waist. “It's private.”

The muscles in Ty's jaw tightened.

Before Laney could explain, Beulah swung the locker door open.

A poster of Jimi Hendricks stared at them from the back of the door. A long tear ran from the bottom of the poster past Hendricks's knees.

Her gaze drifted to the blue and red nylon running jacket that hung on a hook beside a dark blue T-shirt. A stack of books sat on the shelf, and a brown paper bag lay wedged between a pair of high-top, black sneakers and a half-filled water bottle.

Angel yipped in triumph as Ty examined the stack of books, ranging from a textbook promising all the joys biology had to offer to an existential novel by Kafka.

Ty reached for the paper bag at the bottom of the locker. He lifted it gently out of the locker as Angel barked wildly.

“That's Angel's noise when he's made a find!” Laney cried.

“Okay, everyone,” Ty said. “Stand back.”

Laney hung on to Angel's collar as the small dog strained to stick his nose in the evidence bag.

First, Ty pulled out a can of soda. Next he pulled out a rectangular shape wrapped in aluminum foil. He carefully peeled back one side. “Meatball wedge.”

Rewrapping the wedge, he then pulled out a large bag of corn chips, two chocolate cupcakes, and a banana more black than yellow.

Ty replaced the lunch and meticulously inspected the windbreaker's pockets. When this yielded nothing more than spare change and gum wrappers, he turned to the stack of books and flipped through each.

Beside her, Rock nudged Laney. “Congratulations. Your bloodhound has saved the school from a meatball wedge.”

Laney's stomach flip-flopped. “Check the lunch again,” she said. “There has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Right,” Rock said. “We'd better make sure those are real meatballs.”

“There is no mistake,” her father said. He put his hands on his hips and faced Laney. “The dog found food, not arms.”

Laney released Angel from his leash. “Go on, boy,” she urged. “Find.” The dog lunged forward and pounced on the bag with the determination of a terrier digging out from under a fence.

Her father swooped the little dog in his arms and then handed him to Rock. “There's your proof, Laney,” he said gruffly. “The dog wants to eat the evidence.” He smiled apologetically at Mrs. Henley. “Do you want to press charges for breaking and entering?” His gray eyebrows arched. “I wouldn't blame you if you did.”

The principal appeared to give it a thought then shook her head. “No.”

The older man nodded. “In that case, Detective Steele, you're on desk duty until further notice, pending a full investigation.”

“But, Dad,” Laney protested, “it wasn't his fault. I talked him into letting Angel search the school.” She squeezed her father's forearm. “I still think we should search some more.”

Rock and her father exchanged looks of agreement, and Laney knew her fate was sealed. “The only thing you'll be searching for is a complete explanation of what happened here today.” Her father pointed his index finger at her. “Which you will begin in my car.”

“Dad,” Laney said, “we have to keep searching.” She looked at Ty for support. “Tell him about the drawing.”

Her father stared hard at her. “In my car. Now.”

When he got like this, her father didn't hear or see her. He looked through her, and her voice passed through him unheard. Laney felt a familiar frustration rise.

“I'm serious,” Laney insisted. “Don't let the way you feel about me get in the way of doing what's right.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “For the last time, there is no reason to believe there are guns in the school.” He didn't bother to conceal the exasperation in his eyes. “You are coming with me.”

Laney gave Ty a look of appeal. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“Your father's right,” Ty said. “Our search is over.”

Their friendship was over, too. She saw it in the way he looked right through her, the same way he had the very first time she had met him. A sense of loss slammed through her. Her heart ached with the realization she had done what he had feared most. She'd inadvertently created a scandal that might cost him the election.

Who was going to vote for a man who conducted illegal locker searches that netted nothing more than a meatball sandwich?

Lord? I've done it again, messed things up completely. Ty Steele needs You, Laney prayed. Please help him. You can do miracles, and it's going to take one to make this right.

❧

Ty Steele jabbed the button that controlled the airconditioning in his squad car. Cold air immediately blasted from the car's vents but did nothing to stem the sweat that poured down his back.

He blamed the air-conditioner and then the hot weather for his discomfort. Most of all, he blamed himself for trusting a civilian and a rat-sized dog to do police work.

Over and over he imagined the laughter that had followed when Angel discovered nothing more than a meatball sandwich.

This, he reminded himself, was what happened when he stopping thinking like a policeman. Instead of looking for firearms, he'd been looking at Laney's face. He, who had always prided himself on his professionalism, had acted in the most unprofessional way and at the worst possible time.

He'd stepped forward in faith, wanting to believe for the first time since his brother's death that there was a reason for it. That God had allowed Mickey's death in order to prevent other deaths and that He would use Ty as an instrument. The anger and guilt he'd carried around for so long had finally disappeared. In its place, Ty had found the reawakening of his faith, and it had felt comforting and familiar. For once, it seemed, he would trust God to lead him where he needed to be.

His step of faith, however, had placed his career in jeopardy. He didn't know how to begin to fix the damage. Going backward wasn't an option. Nothing he could do would change what had happened. What then?

More sweat rolled down the back of his shirt. He wiped his hands on his pants and tried to lighten his grip on the wheel.

He didn't want to surrender control of his life. Didn't want to make himself vulnerable by depending on anything or anyone else. He'd spent the past few years perfecting this ability.

His power to separate himself from his emotions had driven Anna Mae crazy. She'd wanted picnics, long walks, and even longer conversations. When Mickey died, Anna Mae had been relentless, coming at him from every angle to talk to her. Strangely, the more she accused him of having no emotions, the deeper she drove him into himself.

He realized now that he hadn't loved Anna Mae as much as she needed to be loved. Strangely, the knowledge of his own culpability freed him of the lingering traces of hurt that had consumed him.

You've stepped forward in faith. Now what are you going to do? Go back to your empty house? Salvage your career by letting Laney take the blame for the illegal search?

The detective slammed the brakes just in time to avoid rear-ending the car in front of him. His tires shrieked on the hot pavement, but he ignored the looks of the drivers around him.

He'd rather quit the force than blame Laney. She deserved to be loved, honored, and cherished by a man worthy of her. If that rat, Rock Weyeth, didn't treat her right, he'd answer to Ty. Ty would make himself forget any other thoughts he'd had. They were just a momentary lapse, an aberration in a life punctuated with logical and cool, calm reasoning.

Something deep inside seemed to cry out with a need he'd denied for a long time. His fingers clenched the steering wheel as his heart pounded in his chest. He thought about how empty and hard the last few years had been. Pulling off to the side of the road, Ty sat for a long time, weighing his options. Finally he closed his eyes.
Okay, Lord. I've tried to do it my way for a long time. Now I'm giving myself to You. We'll do it Your way. What do I do next?