Dare to Love (11 page)

Doug walked the streets that were as familiar to him as his skin. But he didn't see the people that were loitering on them, as he had the last time he'd come down this way. Instead, he saw into the past. He saw the Rattlers, his brothers in crime, and the Scorpions, their archrivals. He saw the knives, the blood, the brawls. He saw the hopelessness.

He saw himself, leaning against a streetlight, ruler of the block, frightening anyone who got too close, so fried out of his mind that he didn't even know where he was. He saw Chuck, the buddy Steve had portrayed on stage the other day. He saw Chuck's body, a few years older, contorted with convulsions. He saw Chuck's funeral. His old buddy had never made it out. But he'd been right about one thing. Doug
could
make it out—he
had.

And that's when Doug saw the hope. He'd survived. He'd been there. He'd lived in hell with the worst of them, but he'd made it out.

He wasn't in Andrea's league. He'd done too much, seen too much. He'd been what she despised. But he did have a purpose, an important job to do.

Doug left his old neighborhood behind and headed back toward the Hetherington Hotel. He was what he was. But there was good in that. He could go out into the schools. He knew what the kids needed, what he'd needed. He knew how to beat it. He was going to get to the next generation of drug users while they still had a chance.
He would make a difference.

* * *

A
NDREA FIGURED
there was some kind of irony in it. She wondered if her mother would see the humor. She had finally accepted a date with a man about whom she didn't feel indifferent. She'd actually been looking forward to it. And she'd been stood up.

She punched her pillow for the hundredth time, telling herself she wasn't pretending it was Doug Avery's face, telling herself she didn't care that he hadn't even had the decency to cancel their dinner together. She lay on her stomach. And she lay on her back. And finally she got out of bed.

It didn't take her long to slip into a pair of jeans and a faded DARE T-shirt. She didn't care who she saw in the elevator, or how many revelers there were in the hallways. She had to get out, go for a walk, use up her energy so she could sleep.

She didn't care who she saw, until she saw him. She was walking out in the gardens by the pool, trying to convince some of the tranquility surrounding her to seep into her bones, but even in the subdued lighting she knew it was Doug coming toward her. And she knew he hadn't seen her until it was too late for him to escape. She stood in his way and waited to see what he'd do.

“Oh. Andrea. Yeah, sorry about tonight. Something came up.” He stopped in front of her, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked more preoccupied than sorry. Something strange was going on.

“That's all right. Did you eat?”

“Uh, no. I guess I'll just order room service.” The scar at his temple stood out as he looked at her and then looked away.

“They quit serving at ten.”

“I can always go to the coffee shop. They're open all night.”

He was the Doug Avery she'd met two weeks ago. A closed book. Except there was something different about him, too.

“Would you like some company?”
Why was she doing this? Why couldn't she just let him go?

He looked back at her, his jaw tight. Andrea wished she knew what was going on behind those inexpressive brown eyes, hoping against hope that she was about to find out.

“No. Really, I'd rather not. But thanks. I'll see ya later.”

He stepped around her and strode down the path.

Andrea didn't bother to brush away the tears that trickled slowly down her cheeks. There was no one there to see them anyway.

G
LORIA GOT UP BEFORE
dawn Sunday morning. Church wasn't until ten, and if she was very quiet, the guys would sleep in at least until nine. That gave her just enough time to get across town, take a peek at the DARE trainees at their culmination breakfast and get back before anyone was the wiser.

She brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink so no one would hear, pulled on the gardening dress she kept hanging in the pantry and slipped out the back door. So far so good.

She'd waited to hear from her daughter again, waited for Andrea to tell her why she'd really called the other day, but her firstborn had remained frustratingly silent. Something was going on. Gloria could sense it. And she'd never forgive herself if she didn't do what she could to help her only daughter find happiness.

Gloria found the ballroom where the breakfast was being held with surprising ease. She felt a twinge of discomfort as she realized that she was hardly dressed like a patron of the hotel, and she didn't look like one of the staff, either. She'd have to make it quick.

The door to the ballroom was open, allowing her a clear view of the officers seated inside. She spotted Andrea's table right off, and had identified Steve and Sven within a matter of seconds. Three other members of Andrea's team were easily dismissable, being either too old or too obviously married.

And then she saw him.

Gloria's breath caught in her throat as her avid gaze landed on the sixth member of Andrea's team. Seated directly across from Andrea was the most powerful-looking man Gloria had ever seen. And her daughter was stealing surreptitious glances at him so often it would have been embarrassing if it wasn't so darn wonderful.

Gloria felt her own knees get a little shaky as the man glanced up at Andrea. He had enough sex appeal to make ten babies.

Gloria saw one of the waiters watching her and decided she'd better leave while the going was good. She'd gotten what she came for. She wondered if a little girl with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes would look good in a calico print. Or would solid yellow be better? She'd definitely need dresses. With Andrea's slender build, no one would be mistaking Andrea's daughter for a boy....

* * *

A
NDREA'S STOMACH WAS
a mass of butterflies that afternoon as she watched the DARE trainees file into the auditorium for their culmination ceremonies. She always felt this sense of hopeful anxiety as she got ready to send another team of qualified people out to do damage to the drug activity in the schools, but never had she felt the importance of the next minutes so personally.

Was Doug going to show up? He'd been silent all through breakfast. Andrea couldn't understand it. What had happened to the rogue who'd ridden the exercise bike with her just the day before?

She relaxed, though only slightly, when she saw him take his place between Sven and Steve. He looked marvelous in his blues. He also looked determined. He didn't glance at her.

The speeches seemed to take forever. Though they usually inspired Andrea, she barely heard a word this time. DARE T-shirts were passed around to all of the trainees, and finally the moment Andrea had been anticipating—and dreading—arrived.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have all successfully completed the rigorous course set before you. You all have the knowledge you need to fight one of this country's most hideous crimes. It's now up to you how well you do your jobs.”

One by one, the trainees were called to the stage by Sergeant Miller, the man in charge of the DARE training program, and one by one they filed back to their seats. Andrea didn't see any of them. She only saw Doug. She watched as he rose when his name was called. In her mind she walked across the stage with him, willing him to hold out his arms when the time came.

And she felt her eyes moisten when he took his DARE Bear from the sergeant and held it up for his peers to see. Doug had done it. He was now, officially, a DARE officer.

He glanced her way and a smile flickered across his face, though it didn't reach his eyes. Nothing seemed to reach his eyes. He was again the cold stranger she'd met two weeks before, with one major difference—he was holding a teddy bear. Had he reverted back to each man for himself? Or was it just her he was shutting out?

* * *

“S
ERGEANT
,
MAY
I
HAVE
a word with you please?”

“Of course, Andrea, come on in. What's up?”

Andrea entered Sergeant Miller's office Monday morning with less control than she would have liked, but determined all the same.

“I'd like to be assigned to Doug Avery's classroom, sir.”

Miller never missed a beat. He picked up a pen, scribbled his signature on a form and passed it to Andrea.

After she'd put it in her pocket, he spoke. “Do you have doubts about Avery's capabilities?”

“No! No, sir, I don't. It's just that Officer Avery had a harder time than most in coming to terms with himself and his new position. He had some disturbing philosophies that needed to be changed. I just feel that we'd be shortchanging the children if we don't make sure he's not still reluctant to turn his back for fear of being stabbed.”

Miller nodded, as if satisfied. “You're on him for seventeen weeks. We'll talk again after his first students graduate.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrea said. She shook Miller's hand and went to turn her assignment in to bookkeeping. She hoped she hadn't just made the biggest mistake of her life.

* * *

I
T DIDN'T LOOK TOO BAD
. Really. What could possibly be threatening about patches of sandy earth and a swing set? A couple of people walked by.
Little people.
Impossibly little people. They stared at him.

Doug broke out in a cold sweat. He shouldn't be here. He didn't belong.

He ran a finger inside the collar of his navy uniform shirt, the one he'd ironed for the first time in his life that morning. The top button was fastened, and Doug felt like he was strangling. He couldn't do it.

Another surge of kids walked past, eyeing his cruiser and him with open curiosity. Hadn't anybody taught them that it was impolite to stare?

A bell rang. The children, all squeaky clean and dressed in miniature versions of the current fashions, started to run. A couple of girls squealed, their fresh young faces filled with laughter. Doug watched from the relative safety of his car, his stomach knotting with dread.

Everything looked so innocent, so pure, so fresh—as if from a Norman Rockwell masterpiece. He would never have fit in here, even when he was their age, and he certainly was out of place now. Norman Rockwell would have been a flop if he'd ever tried to depict lives like Doug's. Doug couldn't believe what a fool he'd been. He wasn't needed here.

But he couldn't make himself leave, either. He'd spent the last week mentally preparing himself for this assignment. He had five schools to hit in five days. And he'd be hitting them again every week for the next seventeen. He had a job to do. An important job. He watched as two girls walked past, holding hands and giggling, and was once again seized with doubts.

A second bell rang, and Doug watched in amazement as the children cleared away, leaving the playground deserted and the sidewalk in front of him empty. In a matter of seconds, the brick building before him had swallowed up every last one of them.

Or had it? Doug caught a movement in his peripheral vision. He watched without turning his head, hoping to catch it again. Was there someone behind those bushes? He was sure he'd seen a flash of green.

He only had to wait about a minute before he saw the movement again. It had definitely been a flash of green—a lighter green than the bush. Doug felt his adrenalin begin to pump. This was what he did, what he was good at.

He had to remain patient for a few more minutes, and then suddenly a blond head peaked out from behind the bush. Alert eyes surveyed the playground, but they missed the parking lot—and Doug.

Apparently deciding that the coast was clear, a grubby boy appeared and dashed toward a side entrance to the school. Doug knew that he should report what he'd seen, that it was probably even his duty as a cop to check behind those bushes. But mostly he knew that he felt sorry for the kid. It looked like the boy had been wearing somebody's castoffs, like he needed a bath. Maybe he needed a friend. With one last look around, Doug picked up his brand-new briefcase and got out of his cruiser.

* * *

T
HE HALLWAYS WERE NARROW
, with ceilings so low Doug felt like he was King Kong as he walked toward Room 116. Everywhere he looked there were primary colors and shapes made out of construction paper. Outside Room 102 there was a paper kite with the longest tail he'd ever seen. And on each segment of the tail there was a name written in black Magic Marker. Doug's chest tightened again. He was used to dealing with theft and back stabbing. Here they dealt with nontoxic glue and brightly colored paper. Even the floors were clean and new looking. Anything he might have to offer was tarnished and used.

But then he remembered the boy he'd seen running from the bushes. If there was one, there could be more like him in this fairy-tale building. Doug kept his eyes focused on the little black numbers above the doors, cloaking himself with numbness and a determination to do the job he'd come to do. When he reached Room 115, he looked straight ahead, preparing to commit himself to the next doorway.

He froze at the sight before him. Andrea was there, standing in the hallway, watching him. She was all decked out and official looking in her blues and shiny black shoes. Her sassy blond hair looked freshly cut. She looked wonderful.

He'd thought it would be easy to get Andrea out of his mind after the training course had ended. He'd finally managed to convince himself that his reaction to her had just been unfortunate timing, a matter of proximity.

And then she smiled. That's all it took. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and carry her away. He was turning into a sap.

“What're you doing here?” he asked as soon as he reached her side. He sounded gruff, even to his own ears.

“A mentor usually follows her trainees out into the schools.”

Her chin was jutting, as if she was daring him to oppose her.

“So you check up on all of us?”

“Not quite.” She looked across the hall at the door they'd both be entering. “I've been assigned to your schedule.”

Doug didn't like the sound of that at all. “You're going to be working with me every day?”

“For a while.”

“How long's awhile?” Why wouldn't she look at him, damn it?

“Seventeen weeks.”

Doug was beginning to understand. “You don't think I can handle it, do you?”

Her gaze flew up to meet his then, and Doug couldn't doubt the sincerity in her beautiful blue eyes. “Yes. I do. I think you're going to do just fine. It's procedure, really. There aren't enough mentors to assign one to every new officer, so Sergeant Miller usually sends us to the ones who've worked the toughest beats out on the streets. The adjustment period is usually a little harder for them.”

Doug was a little worried about the ease with which he bought her story. But he was more worried about the lightning he felt in his gut as he realized that he'd be seeing her every day, at least for the next few months.

“Let's go in,” he said, motioning for her to precede him.

* * *

“N
AME ME
a consequence of not using alcohol.”

Doug's statement was met with total silence. He sat on the tile floor of the classroom, resting his back against the wall as he looked around at the myriad faces surrounding him. He waited.

Andrea sat beside Doug, watching the scene unfold. They'd been in the schools for almost three weeks and already she was addicted to Doug's teaching methods. This week he'd pushed all the desks to one side of the room, saying that the sixth-graders were too stuck in their student roles to really open up to him.

After what seemed like forever, a big boy in front of Doug raised his hand.

“Mike?” Doug nodded to the boy.

“I thought consequences were like what happened to you when you did something bad,” Mike Cooper said.

“Yeah,” several voices chorused.

“Okay. Let's talk about that.” Doug spread his legs out in front of him. The kids, all sitting Indian fashion, scooted back on the floor to give him room.

“You got a big game coming up Saturday,” Doug said, addressing Mike. “Let's say you spend the night with a friend Friday. You eat so much junk you think you might barf and you stay up trying to scare each other until dawn. What are the consequences gonna be?”

“I probably wouldn't play too good.”

“Anything else? Anybody?”

“The team would lose for sure. Mike's the only good player we got,” another boy called out. The classroom resounded with laughter.

Doug smiled briefly, and then his expression turned serious again. The room fell back into attentive silence. “So you got consequences. Negative consequences. Now let's take the same thing. You got a big game on Saturday. But this time you go right home after school on Friday, eat a decent dinner, watch a little TV and go to bed early. Then what?”

“I'd probably have the best game I've ever had,” Mike answered with a laugh.

“Probably.” Doug nodded. “And that would be a consequence of having been smart on Friday. A positive consequence.”

A girl in the middle of the crowd raised her hand. “I get it,” she said before she was called on. “So like, if we don't use alcohol, maybe a positive consequence would be that we won't, like, get in trouble for it, right?” She smiled shyly at Doug.

“Right,” Doug said. Andrea wished he'd smiled back at her.