These Boots Were Made for Stomping (9 page)

Lydia wasn’t interested in the shoes at the moment. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course. So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?”

She couldn’t even nod. For that matter, she could hardly breathe. On the one hand, she’d proven to herself that she could
stick up for herself, even without the shoes. That was good—great, in fact. She almost wished Darla from her old job was there,
just so she could show her former nemesis up. Then again, Darla wasn’t worth a second thought. And the new Lydia could be
so much more with a little help from Protector technology.

Not that she needed to be more than herself.

She glanced sideways at Nikko, who was looking back at her with love in his eyes. The truth was, she
did
need a job. And what better than to sign on as Nikko’s partner?

She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll take it,” she said, then stuck out her hand to seal the deal. “At least,” she
added, eyeing Nikko, “I will if you want a partner.”

He answered with a familiar grin, and Lydia knew without a doubt that she’d found not only a life she loved, but the man of
her dreams.

BY JADE LEE

Kung Fu Shoes!

Thank you Julie and Marianne for being so brilliant
and sharing space with me. And thank you to Chris
Keeslar for letting me use shoes instead of boots and
for being so creative in the first place! As a gesture of
my thanks, editor extraordinaire, I will let you have my
first pair of magic shoes. Well, maybe not if they’re really
cool. Maybe you’ll just get a fruit basket instead.
Anyway . . . thank you all!

CHAPTER ONE

Michaela Becker’s heart sank as she reached for
The Scarlet
Letter.
Sure, she loved discussing the fate of a woman branded by passion, the issues of male-dominated religion run amok, of government
repression, stoic women, and sex, sex, sex! But she doubted her classroom of sneering, giggling, or comatose high school kids
were going to engage in spirited debate. At this point, she’d be thrilled if any of them had read the American classic. Even
the comic book version.

Putting on her perkiest smile, she stepped out from behind her teacher desk and began the last class of the day.
Please,
she prayed,
let them listen. Let me reach someone
today. If that’s not possible, please let someone’s hair burst into
flames so I can cancel class while I put them out.

No one listened, not even God. At best, her questions on the story received nonresponsive stares. At worst, well . . . heads
in the back bobbed to “hidden” iPods while other students texted each other on their phones. And nothing burst into flames,
except perhaps her dream of being an inspiring teacher.

As the period wound toward its inevitable dreary end, Michaela understood why she’d been nicknamed “Micki Mouse.” She was
a complete failure as a teacher. She’d wanted to revolutionize education; instead she was just another ineffective warm body
standing uselessly amidst the chilling tide of teen boredom.

Maybe she should strip naked and stand on her head; that might be better than setting someone’s hair on fire. A dozen other
maybes filtered through her thoughts, but Micki didn’t act on any of them. She
never
acted on them. Instead, she stuck to her initial plan: kill them with kindness. Surely just a little more effort on her part,
a little more understanding and compassion, would do the trick.

The bell rang—thank God—but Micki wasn’t done yet. There was one student whom she still hoped to reach: Lucy Varner, a smart
girl with a bad boyfriend. Last year, Lucy’s brother had gotten high and shot a cop. Now the boy was in jail, her single-parent
mom was exhausted from working two jobs, and Lucy was at loose ends. Or she had been until she hooked up with her brother’s
best friend and fellow druggie. But the way she was headed . . . If only Micki could connect with the girl, maybe the child
would see that she could do so much more.

“Lucy, could you wait a moment, please?”

The dark-haired girl looked up from collecting her things, and her dark eyes blinked beneath ragged bangs. Unlike some of
the other girls in class, she had yet to develop a woman’s curves. In truth she appeared very average for a fourteen-year-old
brunette, especially in her Goodwill jeans and tee, though her skin and eyes held a hint of Mediterranean beauty. One day
the girl could turn into a willowy Sophia Loren, but for the moment she was just a little kid without makeup, without confidence,
and without a real friend.

“I wanted to compliment you on your short story,” Micki said. “It was wonderfully written, but so sad.” The piece had been
about a young girl who looked for a protector in a world that betrayed her at every turn. She found her answer in a fairy
godmother who ended up getting raped and murdered by a drug lord. Then the magic wishes turned bad, and the heroine ended
up dying of an overdose. If fiction was a window to the spirit, then Lucy’s soul was in dire need of a miracle. Micki so wanted
to be that miracle. “Can you tell me a little about why you wrote it?”

Lucy said nothing.

“You know, when I was your age, I really got into Mae West. You’ve probably never heard of her, but she was beautiful, busty,
and bold. She did and said things that nobody dared do, and she’ll be remembered forever for it. I desperately wanted to be
her. I even used to strike a pose and say her lines.” Micki dropped a hand on her hip and tried to look sultry. “ ‘His mother
should have thrown him away and kept the stork.’ ” It was the least risqué Mae West quote she could think of right then, but
one look at Lucy told her she should have just gone for a sexy line. The girl was clearly bored.

Micki sighed dramatically as she straightened. “Yeah, a complete disappointment. I would look in the mirror and see this.”
She waved generally at her tiny chest and boyish curves. “The point is that I was looking at the wrong thing. Magic doesn’t
come from big boobs or a magic fairy godmother; it comes from inside. And if I had only known to look at what I could do instead
of what I couldn’t . . . well, I would have found something amazing. I just had to look inside.” She searched the girl’s face,
wondering if she was getting through. “What do you think?”

Nothing. Wait! Was there a spark in the girl’s eye? An almost-comment? She’d lifted her chin and taken a breath, but she didn’t
say anything. Still, there was hope. After a long pause, Micki chose a different tack.

“How’s your mother doing?” She relaxed back against the edge of the desk. Maybe if she was on a more equal height with the
girl, it would help. “She didn’t make it in for parent-teacher conferences, but I could maybe meet her at Starbucks. My treat.
Do you think she’d like that?”

“Lucy’s mom don’t like rich-people coffee,” sneered a voice from the hallway. Damian Ralston, Lucy’s bad boyfriend, sauntered
into the classroom and wrapped his muscular arm around her shoulders.

Micki kept her smile bright, but inside she knew all hope was gone for today. An English teacher just couldn’t compete with
a handsome gangbanger. Sure enough, Lucy’s entire demeanor shifted from anxious teen to sneering rebel. “My mom don’t have
time to meet you.”

“Surely she has some time off,” Micki pressed. “We don’t have to go for coffee. I know, how about we meet at the mall? You
could bring her.” She glanced at Damian, and tried to think of a way to exclude him. “We’ll make it a girls’ night out.”

Score! There was longing in Lucy’s eyes. She started to straighten, even lean forward a bit, but that was as far as she got.
Faster than Micki expected, Damian whipped his arm off the girl. He stretched just like a football player, bristling, and
on him, those muscles looked really intimidating.

“She said she don’t have time for you!”

“She
doesn’t
have time,” Micki corrected without thinking.

“That’s what I said!” Damian shot back, stepping forward. “She don’t have time—”

“Naw, that ain’t what you said,” cackled another voice from the hallway. Three more of Damian’s gang loitered near the door,
watching and commenting on every move. “She don’t think you talk right. She don’t think much of you at all.”

“You gonna take that?” challenged one of the others.

Great. A Greek chorus of testosterone. Micki’s smile was beginning to strain, but she directed all her attention to Lucy—only
Lucy. “Any time you like, you just give me the word.”

“The word is ‘no’!” Damian growled. His arm wrapped like a vise around Lucy’s shoulders, but that was nothing compared to
the jeers and catcalls from the hallway. Micki couldn’t even tell who they were jeering at—herself or their leader. Either
way, it wasn’t good. And yet, she just couldn’t leave it alone.

“Do you like how he treats you, Lucy?” She took a step forward and dared to challenge Damian eye to eye—though still from
a prudent five feet away. “That’s not how a real man handles a woman.”

Curses flew out of the boy’s mouth, but his fists were faster. Micki had deluded herself into thinking that he couldn’t attack
her from that distance. She knew he was the local gang leader with incredible power in this inner-city school. She knew as
well that he had a hair-trigger temper and issues with anyone—teacher or otherwise—who challenged his macho image. He was
absolutely the wrong person to get in a pissing contest with, and yet here she was trying to take his girlfriend away. Stupid,
stupid, stupid!

She barely had time to rear back from his fist. Lucy screamed, “Damian!” and then Micki’s foot lost traction and she began
to fall, her body tensed and her eyes slammed shut.

Her right foot reared high. It was the one that had lost traction. It flew upward—really, really high—and impacted with something
solid. Micki’s eyes flew open, but her leg was still moving while the rest of her body followed. Hell, she had been falling
backward, but now gravity was rushing her forward, into Damian’s fists.

Micki thrust out her hands to catch herself—or to block one of his blows—only she moved her hands too high. She struck Damian’s
jaw with the heel of her hand. His head snapped back while her other hand—the one that was trying to grab onto something,
anything, to steady herself—slammed down hard on his neck. She blinked. Had her hand been straight, like in a karate chop
to his neck? There wasn’t time to wonder.

She scrambled to the side, her hand numb. But that was nothing compared to Damian. His momentum was carrying him forward to
where she had been standing before she slipped. But now she was well out of reach, and he apparently couldn’t move his arm
to protect himself. Micki watched in stunned slow motion as he staggered forward to bang painfully into her desk.

If she could have spoken, she would have gasped out an apology. Something. Not because she really cared if she beat the crap
out of Damian, accidentally or not, but she was trying to connect with Lucy. Giving her boyfriend a black eye was counterproductive.
Getting herself beaten to a pulp by that same boyfriend and his goons wasn’t all that helpful either.

She turned, thinking she had to get both herself and Lucy out of there before it got ugly, but all she managed was a too bright
“C’mon, Lucy, let’s go shopping!” before the room exploded into chaos.

In the hallway, the boys started hooting and pointing while simultaneously blocking the exit. Lucy was staring wide-eyed at
Damian who—oh hell—was just straightening from his face-plant on the desk. His lip was fat and bloody, but there was nothing
wrong with his fists or the burning anger in his eyes. Worse, he had obviously recovered from his surprise.

“Look, Damian. I’m sorry. I kinda slipped,” Micki started to say. She stood between herself and Lucy, slowly trying to back
them both out of the classroom. Maybe if they pushed, they’d get through the group at the door. But Lucy wasn’t cooperating.

“Damian, baby, she’s not worth it. Let’s just get out of here. We can go make out.”

“Lucy—no!” Micki was not going to have a child trade sexual favors for her! “Lucy—”

“Is there a problem here?” A deep male voice cut into the chaos, and automatically Micki’s breath eased. Looking to the doorway,
she watched Damian’s posse magically melt away as Joe DeLuce—school cop—stepped into the room. “Miss Becker?”

Micki smiled gratefully at the man. He was the hottest detective on the force, but a bullet in the knee took him out of the
game for a while. Instead of taking light duty, he chose instead a job as the high school cop. So now all the girls—Micki
included—lusted after the man from afar. All the gangbangers thought twice about causing problems on school grounds. He was
a boon to the school, and at this second, the answer to Micki’s prayers. “Mr. DeLuce,” she said way too breathlessly.

“Damian just got his ass kicked by the Mouse,” sniggered one of the retreating gang. “He should sue or something.”

From his position by the desk, Damian growled—yes, growled—at his friends, but his eyes remained on Micki. The sound was so
terrifyingly animal that Micki nearly squeaked in response. As it was, she could only reach out for Lucy, trying to tug the
girl back from her boyfriend.

It didn’t work. Lucy shrugged her off and wrapped her arms around him. “It ain’t nothin’, Mr. DeLuce,” Lucy said. “Me and
Damian here were just screwing around. I think we frightened Miss Becker, but we’re real sorry.”

Damian, of course, wasn’t talking. He was just staring at Micki. It was a cold stare, filled with an inhuman violence that
squeezed her chest tighter than possible. Which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. A teacher, for God’s sake! She couldn’t
let one boy—even a large, muscular, senior—scare her like this. He didn’t even have a weapon. Or not one that she could see.
And yet, she couldn’t speak. He was going to kill her and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that she could do about it.

“So it’s nothing, huh, Mr. Ralston?” Mr. DeLuce drawled as he moved slowly into the room. His limp was barely noticeable as
he stepped between Micki and her assailant. “Hey, Damian! It’s nothing, right?”

Mr. DeLuce’s voice still sounded congenial, but there was an underlying threat in his tone. They were like two boxers squaring
off against each other, and God help her, Micki was grateful. At that moment, she didn’t care what was between her and that
cold stare, she was just happy for the breather. She knew it would bother her later: she needed to be able to stand on her
own against these kids. But right now she was happy to hide temporarily behind Mr. DeLuce’s broad shoulders.

Lucy broke in. “Nothing at all, sir. We was just on our way to the Chem Lab,” she said with false cheer. “Damian’s real good
with chemistry.”

A lie if there ever was one. As far as Micki could tell, the boy was failing every class. Truthfully, she didn’t even know
why the kid kept coming to school—though she would bet her next paycheck that Mr. Gorzinsky had something to do with it. The
older chem teacher had some magical way of keeping these kids in school way longer than anyone wanted them. Micki didn’t know
what it was, but she envied him his skills.

Especially since a simple mention of the man’s subject seemed to defuse the situation. From her place a half step behind Mr.
DeLuce, Micki could see Damian’s face shift into a disgusted grimace. “Come on,” he grunted as he started shuffling forward.
“I got business that ain’t with no English teacher.”

Micki released a loud breath of relief, then immediately regretted it. Mr. Gorzinsky had told her to never let the kids see
her sweat. That one puff of air had just told Damian she’d all but wet her pants. And a glance at the school cop confirmed
her mistake. He was practically rolling his eyes.