Renegade (2 page)

One

A slight frown furrowed Summer Montgomery’s forehead as she made her way across the parking lot at Weir Memorial High School. She wasn’t upset by the escalating shrieks of students greeting one another after a summer recess. What did annoy her was the crowd of media personnel positioned behind wooden barricades on the sidewalk across the street from the school. Video cameras on tripods were focused to capture the images of everyone entering or leaving the building. The press had been warned by the mayor and school officials not to trespass on school property nor to interfere with students returning for the first day of classes.

The media and police presence at Weir was because of Gabriel Cole. Having the multi award-winning musician join her and another artist-in-residence as faculty did not upset Summer, but who the musician was was certain to become a source of frustration. She’d come to Weir, a school along Boston’s south shore community, to expose a drug ring, but Gabriel’s tenure was certain to thrust the high school into the media spotlight, and thereby possibly jeopardizing her true identity.

It was to become the first time in her career with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration that she would use her real name in an undercover operation. And because
she’d earned an undergraduate degree in fine arts with a concentration in theater she did not have to rehearse for her latest role. She was now Weir’s new drama teacher.

“Good morning, Miss Montgomery. Welcome to Weir Memorial’s first day of classes.”

Her frown faded as she returned the inviting smile of the dark-skinned, shaved head man who had chaired the faculty orientation the week before. “Good morning, Mr. Gellis.”

His eyes sparkled like polished onyx. “You may call me Dumas when we’re not around students.”

Summer gave him a sidelong glance as he reached over her head and opened the door to the faculty entrance. The distinctive odor of cigarette smoke clung to his skin and clothes. “Wasn’t it you who insisted all teachers call one another by their surnames?”

“There are exceptions,
Summer
.”

“And those are?”

He winked at her. “When there are no students present.”

She nodded. “Okay, Dumas.” Summer did not want to believe he was flirting with her when his only concern should have been identifying the person or persons responsible for dealing drugs at his school. Two students had died of an overdose over the past two years, and another was comatose and on life support after ingesting more than a dozen Vicodin pills. Rumors were that the students had purchased the drugs from someone in the school, although no one would come forward to name the dealer.

She had been briefed at the field office on everyone
who worked or taught at Weir, and Summer knew forty-six-year-old assistant principal Dumas Gellis had played semi-pro football, was the divorced father of two adolescent sons, and had joined the faculty eight years ago. He had taught chemistry and physics for six years until he was promoted to assistant principal.

“I’ll see you around,” she said in parting as she made her way down the highly polished tiled hallway to the office she was to share with two other instructors.

Dumas Gellis stared at Summer’s retreating figure, admiring her lithe body in a slim skirt, mock turtle-neck sweater and waist-length leather jacket. A pair of sheer stockings and low-heeled suede pumps completed her all-black attire.

Gabriel Cole strolled across the parking lot dressed in the school uniform: navy blue blazer with the school’s emblem on the breast pocket, a pair of charcoal gray slacks, white button-down shirt and a maroon and white striped tie. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes and his long hair was concealed under a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. Dressed as he was made it difficult for anyone to distinguish him from the returning male students.

The principal had called Gabriel the day before to inform him that the media had planned to camp out at the school to await his arrival. And it wasn’t the first time the ultraconservative school administrator had expressed her concern that his presence at Weir would disrupt the school’s well ordered day-to-day existence. Gabriel had reassured her that his commitment to participate in a federally sponsored cultural arts grants program would in no way compromise Weir’s academic excellence.

Adjusting the calfskin backpack slung over his left shoulder, he pushed open the door leading to the faculty entrance, sighing in relief when the door closed behind him. A smile deepened the dimples in his suntanned cheeks.

He had made it into the school undetected!

His shoes made soft swishing sounds on the highly polished tile floor as he walked to the office he had been assigned to, along with two other instructors hired under the grant. Opening the door, he walked in. His eyes widened behind the lenses of his sunglasses as he stared at the woman standing with her back to the window.

His gaze moved slowly over the outline of the curvy feminine figure clad in black. There was something about Summer Montgomery that intrigued him. What it was he hadn’t been able to discern. They hadn’t exchanged more than ten words since being formally introduced.

He’d thought her stunningly beautiful despite her youthful-looking appearance. At first glance she appeared no older than a high school coed, but after reading the booklet distributed at the orientation describing the curriculum vitae of the faculty he discovered she had graduated college more than a decade before. Additional information listed she had appeared as a lead in a popular Broadway musical production, earning her a best actress Tony nomination.

The orientation sessions were relaxed with everyone dressed in T-shirts, tank tops, shorts, jeans, sandals and running shoes. Summer Montgomery had arrived on the first day sporting a navy blue T-shirt, body-hugging jeans, and a pair of running shoes. The casual attire, fringe of bangs framing her forehead and her long dark hair swept up in a ponytail had caused most heads to
turn in her direction. Her presence had male teachers smiling, and female teachers’ tongues wagging. Amused and completely stunned, Gabriel had stared mutely.

Now, Summer crossed her arms under her breasts. “If you talk to
them
, Mr. Cole, they will go away.”

His curving eyebrows met in a frown. “I have no intention of talking to
them
, and they
will
go away, Miss Montgomery.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Mr. Cole.”

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. “And you’re entitled to your opinion.”

In that instant Summer wanted to rap her knuckles against his forehead. She didn’t know whether it was arrogance or naïveté that had Gabriel believing the reporters and photographers would disappear because he willed it.

She gave him a lingering look that said:
You and I are not going to get along
. The silent warning whispered to her and her frustration escalated.

She, Gabriel, and artist Desiree Leighton had met for the first time five days earlier at a new teacher orientation. She and Desiree, fifty-eight and a self-proclaimed hippie from the 60s, had bonded instantly, but not so with Gabriel. He had sat off by himself while the principal presented an overview of Weir’s history. Even after teachers met with the heads of their respective departments, Gabriel still did not interact with anyone. At the end of the three-day session Summer had two words for him: arrogant and aloof.

What she refused to acknowledge was that he was gorgeous. She had successfully suppressed a gasp when she’d come face-to-face with him for the first time. Film footage and photographs had failed to capture the power in his tall muscular body whenever he
moved, or the air of authority that demanded one’s complete attention once he walked into a room.

A background check revealed he had been born Gabriel Morris Cole. A native Floridian born into what was reported to be the wealthiest black family in the United States and never married, he had celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday in March, stood six-three in bare feet, weighed around one-eighty and had earned a master’s degree in music education. And despite his celebrity status, he had remained a very private person. His file also contained several entries of long-term romantic liaisons with women in film and music. Other than that, he had lived a scandal-free life.

Summer had spent more than a month going over the background reports of everyone at Weir High—faculty and staff—and had come up with nothing that hinted of a suspicion of illegal drug use and/or sales. Several had been arrested for minor traffic infractions, the head custodian had had a portion of his wages garnisheed for non-payment of child support, and one teacher had filed for bankruptcy.

She stared at Gabriel as he took off his sunglasses and baseball cap. Long, gray-streaked wavy black hair flowed over his shoulders and down his back before he secured it in a ponytail with an elastic band.

Her dark brown eyes locked with a pair the color of sun-fired gold. Without warning he smiled, flashing a pair of deep dimples in both cheeks. There was something in the crooked smile under a neatly barbered mustache that was so endearing that Summer held her breath for several seconds before she returned his smile with a sensual one of her own. The unconscious gesture seemed to melt the tension between them.

Attractive lines fanned out around Gabriel’s large
penetrating eyes as his smile widened. “Have you come up with any ideas for the spring music festival?”

Moving away from the window, Summer sat down at one of the three desks she had claimed for herself, unaware that Gabriel’s gaze measured her approach under lowered lids. Opening a drawer, she reached for her shoulder bag and withdrew a small spiral notebook.

“As a matter of fact, I have. I spent the weekend exploring a few possibilities.”

Gabriel sat down at a desk facing Summer’s, leaving Desiree to claim the remaining desk in a corner whenever she arrived. Resting his elbows on the scarred top, he gave her a direct stare. “You spent your Labor Day weekend working?” The query held a hint of disbelief.

Her head came up and she glared at him. “Yes, I did. You make it sound as if I’d committed a serious crime.”

“It’s not a crime to work holidays, Summer,” he countered, his deep soft voice layered with a thick southern drawl, “but if I’d known you intended to start on the project, then I would’ve asked if I could work with you.”

She blinked once. “That could have become a possibility if you hadn’t acted like a stuck-up snob.”

His eyes widened until she could see their dark-brown centers. “Me? A snob!”

“Yes,
you
.”

“I…I’m not a snob,” he sputtered as blood darkened his olive skin under a rich summer tan.

“You can believe whatever you choose to believe, Gabriel. You’re probably so used to people, women in particular, fawning over you because of your celebrity status that you hold back a little of yourself.”

“That may be true at times, but not here.”

Summer shrugged a shoulder. She did not intend to argue with him. He was aloof and a snob. Picking up
the notebook, she handed it to him. “Take a look at what I’ve come up with.”

Gabriel took the book, his fingers grazing Summer’s long manicured fingers. The forefinger of his left hand caressed the hair on his upper lip in an up-and-down stroking motion. He had spent the last six months growing a beard, but had shaved it off before coming to Weir. He had become so used to facial hair that he decided to leave the mustache.

His gaze lingered on her neat slanting writing; his only visible reaction was a slight lifting of his expressive eyebrows. It appeared that not only was Summer talented and beautiful, but also quite intelligent. A most winning combination when the appeal of some of the women he had become involved with was that of eye-candy. Their only asset was that they were superficially pretty. Some he dated because that was what his publicist recommended. He’d agreed to escort them to opening night premieres, Hollywood parties, championship sporting events, but he had never slept with any of them.

“I like the titles.
A Musical History of the Americas in Song and Dance. A Journey through the Americas in Song and Dance. An American Experience in Song and Dance
.”

A flicker of excitement lit up Summer’s eyes. “I personally like
An Odyssey of Music and Dance in the Americas
. I believe a production covering everything from Native American and slave chants to Negro spirituals, Irish step dancing, the waltz, Bluegrass, Jazz, Ragtime, Country, Zydeco, Blues, Big Band, R&B, Rock and Roll, Folk, Soul, Latin and up to and including Rap and Hip-Hop will offer a little something
to everyone: faculty, staff, students, and their families. It will cross cultures and generations.”

Gabriel stroked his mustache. “It sounds like a monumental undertaking.”

Summer stared at his handsome face. “You got game, Gabriel?”

Grinning, his straight white teeth showing under the mustache, he said softly, accepting her challenge, “I got lots of game, Summer. How about you?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” she crooned.

Leaning back in his chair, he angled his head. “I suppose that settles it. You’re the lead teacher for the spring production, and I’ll take the Christmas holiday program. It looks as if Desiree is going to have her work cut out for her with all of the stage decorations.”

Resting her elbows on her desk, Summer leaned forward. “I’m certain she will be up to the challenge.” Desiree had lived on three continents, married and divorced Kenyan and Japanese artists, had owned an art gallery in Los Angeles, and had spent several years in Hollywood as a set designer.

He nodded. “Why don’t we get together this weekend and begin planning what we’re going to need to put on a first-rate production?”

“I can’t. Not this weekend.” This weekend she was to meet with Lucas Shelby for her bi-monthly briefing session.

“When?”

“Next weekend.”

“My place or yours?” Gabriel asked.

She had rented a furnished condominium apartment in Whitman, a bedroom community south of Boston with a population of thirteen thousand residents. Although there was nothing in her apartment that would
link her to her undercover role, she had made it a habit not to invite strangers to her temporary residences. The place she called home was in St. Louis, Missouri. In between assignments she returned there to stay with her maternal grandmother. She saw her parents on average once a year. Both doctors with the World Health Organization, Robert and Mildred Montgomery had lived more than two-thirds of their lives practicing medicine in foreign countries.