“Three years,” he said automatically, although he was nowhere near as cool as his tone indicated.
In fact, Jake could barely control his irritation. For months he’d successfully blocked Jim’s killers from his memory and he didn’t appreciate her bringing it all rushing back. Deep down, he had this crazy notion that if he thought about the two, he might have to forgive them. That was something he absolutely couldn’t do.
“Okay, three years. And Jim is dead forever.” Amanda swiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and Jake’s anger softened. Sometimes he forgot how fond she’d been of his older brother.
“Amanda.” He reached for her hand, suddenly needing to be close, but she shook her head and wrapped her arms around her body as if the apartment had turned cold.
“I told him an inner-city school was nowhere to be. I told him living in that rat-infested neighborhood was crazy.”
“He told us he was happy, that he was making a difference..” Jake’s hand dropped to his side. He remembered the Fourth of July picnic vividly.
Amanda shook her head, bitterness spilling over into her voice. “Look where making that difference got him.”
Jake stood abruptly and blinked the moisture from his eyes. “It’s getting late.”
She looked surprised. “It’s barely ten.”
“I’ve got to go.” He’d never cried for his brother. Not once. He certainly wasn’t going to cry now.
Amanda grabbed his hand and pulled herself up and into his arms. The light floral scent of her perfume filled his nostrils.
Usually she was impossible to resist.
Jake swiveled and stepped back, breaking the contact. He took a deep breath, fighting for the control that had been his constant companion for the past year. “Like I said, it’s getting late.”
Her smile never wavered. “Call me tomorrow?”
“If I get a chance.” For once he was grateful they usually waited until the last minute to finalize any plans. It made things easier. “I’m going to be pretty busy.”
For a long moment she looked at him, then shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant manner. No one observing them would guess this was the first Saturday night in over a year that they wouldn’t spend together.
Amanda accompanied him to the front door, but when he didn’t pull her to him for their usual kiss, her fingers curved around his forearm to stop his exit.
“Jake.” Regret shone in her eyes, and because he knew her so well, the slight tremble of her lips told him that tonight had been tough on her, too. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I certainly di—”
“Shh.” His fingers on her mouth ended her apology. “You’ve always been honest. I can’t fault you for that.”
He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. As angry as he was with her, he knew she hadn’t meant to open old wounds. She was great. A wonderful woman. Why wasn’t it enough anymore?
“Sleep well.”
“You, too,” she said softly.
He pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against it, utterly drained. He was more burned out than he realized—questioning all he’d been taught and now fighting with Amanda. Craziness. That’s what it was.
Sleep well?
It would be a miracle if he slept at all.
Chapter Three
Who would have thought it would be so hard to scare up a couple of old people?
The clock on the wall chimed six, and Angel grimaced. Jake would be here any minute, and she stood no closer to having some Ben-Gay-laden foster parents to show him than she had been last night when she’d called everyone she could think of and had come up empty.
Still, she wasn’t worried. She’d survived for years with her quick thinking, and this was just the sort of challenge she relished.
The doorbell rang, and Angel fluffed her hair with her fingers. She opened the heavily scarred wooden door and punctuated the inward swing with a snap of her gum.
“Jake, my man. C’mon in.” She kicked the bottom of the wooden screen door that had a stubborn tendency to stick, and ushered the teacher inside.
His curious gaze slid around the small living room, and she lifted her chin. The department had arranged to rent the place—furniture and all—for next to nothing from a landlord who asked no questions. She’d done her best to make the temporary quarters livable.
Clutter had been vanquished to a back storage shed, and this morning she’d mopped the floors and taken the top layer of dust off the mismatched furniture. The plaster walls were still cracked and peeling, and she couldn’t do much about the huge stain on the ceiling from the recent rain—but at least the place was clean.
She waved Jake over to the sectional underneath a glow-in-the-dark velvet picture of Elvis that had come with the furniture.
He sank deep into the soft cushions and glanced toward the hallway. “Are your foster parents…?”
“Gone. Bowling or something. I told them you were coming but…” She shrugged and let him draw his own conclusions.
His gaze lifted and his expression grew thoughtful. “You lied to me.”
“I never said they’d be here.”
“I’m not talking about your foster parents.” A glint of humor flashed in the green depths of his eyes. “I’m talking about the Ben-Gay. You said the place reeked of the stuff. It doesn’t smell in here at all.”
She flashed a saucy smile and lied without skipping a beat. “You can thank me for that. It took a whole can of air freshener, but it worked.”
He sniffed. “Pine forest?”
“A dollar forty-nine at Wal-Mart.”
He returned her smile, then opened his leather iPad case and brought up the form on his tablet. “We might as well get started.”
Angel dropped down beside him on the sofa and leaned close. “Let me see.”
Her movement brought his face so near she could feel his breath on her cheek. If the room smelled like a forest, he smelled like spearmint gum and shampoo. All she needed to do was to turn her head to the side…
He must have read her mind. He stiffened and shifted, effectively moving his lips beyond her reach. “It’d be best if you sat over there.”
Angel plopped back and crossed her arms over her chest. She glanced at the wooden chair with the rock-hard seat and partially broken arm. “I don’t like that one.”
“Angel.” He glanced pointedly at the chair.
“Okay, be that way.” Angel flounced from the couch and into the chair. It groaned in protest. “See, what’d I tell ya? It hates me as much as I hate it.”
He smiled and made a few notes.
She leaned forward and tried to see what he’d keyed in.
He snapped the folder shut.
“What’d you write?” she asked. “Did you say I looked pretty in my new red dress?”
He looked at the clingy crimson fabric then immediately his gaze shifted to Elvis. He cleared his throat.
“It’s new,” she said, piqued. Had she lost her touch?
“I believe you’ve already said that.”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew.” She gazed up at him and fluttered her eyelashes, feeling awkward and just a little bit stupid.