Renegade Page 3

  She walked out of the diner, swallowing back the curses she wanted to hurl at Lucas. Despite her many successes, he still viewed her as a woman rather than an agent. Even though it was against department policy to become physically and emotionally involved with a target, she knew her superiors would look the other way if it resulted in a successful mission.

  Even though Gabriel Cole wasn’t a target, she consciously did not plan to become involved with him other than on a professional level.

  The truth was she hadn’t had a serious liaison with a man in years. The last one had been an attorney she’d met after she had returned to St. Louis for an extended vacation. He wanted marriage, a house in the country, two children, a dog and a cat, while she wanted to continue her personal war against those who had taken the life of her younger brother. Charles Montgomery had died at the hands of drug dealers feuding over turf while he stood on a corner waiting to cross the street on his way from school.

  The single encounter seemed to age her parents within seconds. Grief-stricken and disillusioned with American justice when the police failed to identify their son’s murderer, retired Peace Corps Drs. Robert and Mildred Montgomery applied to the World Health Organization for an overseas assignment.

  Summer’s rosy world also came crashing down when she abruptly left a Broadway production for which she had earned a Tony nomination to return to St. Louis. She took the test for the St. Louis Police Department and was hired within months of the list being posted because the SLPD were actively recruiting to add female officers to their rolls. Three years later she was accepted by the DEA as a basic agent trainee. She had come to them with prior law enforcement and a graduate degree in Criminal Justice.

  She had distinguished herself in the sixteen-week resident training program at Quantico, Virginia, excelling in the rigorous one hundred hour physical fitness and defensive tactics regimen at the facility shared by the DEA and FBI for firearms and tactical vehicle training.

  Any reference to her law enforcement experience was withheld from the Weir faculty booklet, replaced by information fabricated by the DEA’s Boston Division.

  A watery sun had broken through the clouds by the time Summer jogged up the steps to the building where she lived. All she wanted to do was shower, wash her hair, and then go back to bed and sleep until hunger forced her to get up again.

  She knew she was tired—deep down bone tired of the undercover assignments, aliases, the risk that her cover would be blown, and her fascination with her own violent death. If she was lucky, a bullet in the head would assure a quick dispatch, but there were times when she had nightmares that she would be tortured like several other agents she had known.

  Ten minutes later, she stood under the stream of running water; she closed her eyes and turned her face upward. For the first time in her life, she longed for a husband, the house in the country, children, dog and cat. She wanted to be a PTA mom and bake cookies for the holidays.

  Summer showered quickly, wrapping one towel around her body and another around her head; she walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, falling across her unmade bed while vowing this would be her last assignment. After she identified the drug dealer or dealers at Weir she planned to hand in her badge and firearm and walk away from a lifestyle that once had been as vital to her as breathing.

  Summer glanced at her watch as she stood on the sidewalk outside her apartment building. Gabriel had promised to pick her up at six forty-five, and it was now seven. A heavy fog had blanketed the area, closing Logan Airport and reducing vehicular traffic to a thirty-five mile an hour speed limit.

  She peered down the street, squinting through the haze as a low-slung silver sports car eased up along the curb. The driver-side door opened and Gabriel alighted, popping the button on an umbrella.

  Smiling, he held the umbrella over her bare head. “Sorry I’m late. Good morning.”

  There was something so infectious about his smile that she couldn’t help but return it with a friendly one of her own. “Now, that’s debatable,” she teased.

  “You’re right about that. The fog is so thick along the shore that it looks like pea soup.” Gabriel moved closer, inhaling the sensual scent of a perfume surrounding Summer. Not only did she look good, but she also smelled good. Today she had pulled her hair tightly off her face and into a chignon on her long neck. “Don’t you own an umbrella?”

  She stared up at him, her gaze widening when she noticed two small gold hoops in each of his pierced lobes. It was the first time she had seen him wear the earrings. A black turtleneck sweater, wool crepe slacks and a pair of slip-ons flattered his tall, slender physique. “I own one, but it wouldn’t help in this weather. My hair frizzes up with the slightest hint of humidity. If I hadn’t put gel in it this morning it would be standing up all over my head like Don King.”

  Taking Summer’s overnight bag from her loose grip, Gabriel held the umbrella and bag in one hand as he leaned down and opened the passenger-side door for her. The hem of her raincoat parted and her skirt inched up her thighs as she sat down, revealing an expanse of long legs in a pair of sheer black hose.

  Clenching his teeth, he slammed the door harder than he had intended. There was something about Summer Montgomery that got under his skin. It was an itch he could not get to and scratch. As far as women went he did not have a type. He had dated tall ones, short ones, light and dark ones, but none of them had him measuring his every word like Summer. She had a beautiful face, perfect body, and a very quick tongue.

  He had chided himself for inviting her to spend the weekend with him once he had rethought his offer. They could’ve easily met at a local Starbucks or public library. However, whatever it was about Summer that annoyed him he prayed he would identify it by the time he drove her back home Sunday.

  Pressing a button on a remote device, the trunk opened silently. Gabriel placed her bag in the trunk, closed it, and then walked around the Porsche and slipped in behind the wheel. He put the key in the ignition and the engine turned over in a soft purr as automatic seat belts came down over his chest and that of Summer’s. Glancing at the side mirror, he pulled away from the curb.

  It was two weeks into the school year, and he had barely caught a glimpse of Summer or Desiree even though they shared the same office. He had left a note for Summer requesting her address, and she had complied, leaving a note in a sealed envelope in his mailbox in the school’s general office.

  “How has it been going?” he asked her.

  Turning her head, she stared at his distinctive profile. “More hectic than I thought it would be. I hadn’t planned on substituting for another teacher.”

  Gabriel gave her a quick glance. “That’s not a condition of the grant.”

  “I know, but I only volunteered for two weeks. Today is my last day.”

  “If that’s the case, then we won’t push too hard this weekend.”

  A shadow of annoyance crossed her face. “I’m not going to spend the weekend with you just hanging out, Gabriel.”

  It was his turn to frown. “I didn’t ask you to come to hang out. We’ll work, but when you get tired we’ll stop. The spring concert is more than six months away, and if you don’t pace yourself you’ll never make it to May.”

  She knew he was right. It had been years since she had been in a theater production wherein rehearsals began at dawn and sometime ended more than sixteen hours later. She’d return home completely exhausted with bloodshot eyes, aching feet and a sore throat.

  “I want it to be good, Gabriel.”

  “It’s going to be beyond good,” he said confidently. “It will be spectacular.”

  I hope you’re right, she mused. In that instant Summer realized she had two agendas: to take down the drug dealers and put on a successful musical production.

  Her grandmother said she’d burst forth from her mother’s womb singing rather than crying like most babies. It had been her Gram who had taken her to dancing school, and it was Gram who had enco
uraged her to pursue a career in the theater. Her parents’ passions were medicine and their son.

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her head against the leather headrest, remembering how it felt to be on stage in front of a live audience. The excitement of opening night, the constant flutters in her stomach until the curtain came up and she said her opening line or sang her first note.

  She missed the heat of the spotlights, the gaudy costumes, and the smell of greasepaint. She missed collecting playbills and the articles written by critics either praising or panning a production. She had missed so much, but most of all she missed her brother.

  “Summer. Are you all right?” Gabriel had maneuvered into his assigned space in the faculty parking lot.

  She opened her eyes, unaware of a single tear that had made its way down her cheek. Brushing away the moisture with her fingertips, she nodded, smiling.

  “I’m fine,” she said, knowing it was a lie.

  Leaning closer to his right, Gabriel pressed his mouth to her damp hair. “You’re not a very good liar, Summer Montgomery.”

  “I know.” And she wasn’t. Not when it involved her private life.

  His right hand curved around her neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head and stared out of the side window. “No. I can’t,” she added after a pregnant silence.

  Gabriel noticed a look of tired sadness pass over her delicate features, the emotion pulling her lush mouth downward. “If you ever want to talk about it or just have a good cry I’ll lend you my shoulder.”

  Pulling back her shoulders, Summer took a deep breath. Within seconds she’d regained control of her emotions. Renegade was back.

  “Thank you, Gabriel.”

  “Don’t move. I’ll get the door for you.”

  She sat, waiting for him, and when he opened the door for her he was wearing a long, black lightweight raincoat and holding the umbrella. He extended his free hand. She placed her hand trustingly in his, permitting him to pull her to her feet.

  Holding the umbrella over their heads, Gabriel led Summer across the parking lot to the faculty entrance. Less than ten feet from the door a flash of light blinded them.

  Before Gabriel could blink Summer had seized a camera from a man, ripping out the roll of film. The camera ended up on the wet asphalt.

  She struggled to control her temper. “Try that again, and I’ll make certain you are arrested for trespassing on school property.”

  Stunned, the photographer stared at his damaged equipment. Hands rolled into tight fists, he took a step toward her at the same time Gabriel grabbed the hood on the man’s jacket, savagely jerking him backward.

  “If you touch her, even breathe on her, I will hurt you.” He had enunciated each word slowly and precisely so that the photographer would not misconstrue his intent.

  The man’s face lost all of its natural color. Gabriel Cole towered over him by a full head. “If … if you hit me I’ll sue you.”

  Gabriel shook him like a rottweiler would an annoying Chihuahua, while searching through his pockets for some form of identification. He found the man’s press badge in his jacket.

  “Not if I don’t sue you first, Mr. Stockwell. I don’t think I have to remind you that I have the resources to hire the best law firm in the country. I’ll ruin you and that rag you sniff around for.”

  “You can’t threaten me.” His bravado had returned.

  Gabriel curbed an urge to slap the annoying man. “I just did.” He shoved the I.D. back in his pocket. “Get the hell out of here before I call school security.”

  “Is there a problem, Gabriel?”

  Summer and Gabriel turned when they recognized the assistant principal’s voice. “Yes,” she said. “This man tried to take Mr. Cole’s photograph without his permission.”

  Dumas Gellis removed a small walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket, calling for school security. A minute later, two men appeared and escorted the hapless photographer into the school building for questioning.

  “Are you all right, Summer?” Dumas asked, staring intently at her.

  She smiled. “I’m fine.” She gave him the roll of overexposed film. “You can give this back to him.”

  Dumas took the film, then bent down to pick up the camera. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I thought after two weeks the media would forget about you.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. There are some things that are beyond our control.”

  “This I can control. It will not happen again.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Thanks.” Curving an arm around Summer’s waist, he led her into the building. He did not drop his arm as they walked the length of the hallway to their office, closing the door behind them.

  Turning to face Gabriel, Summer stared up at him. “You shouldn’t have threatened him with physical harm.”

  “What did you expect me to do? Let him hit you?”

  She shook her head. “He wouldn’t have hit me.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because he wouldn’t.” She wanted to tell Gabriel that she had been trained to take a three hundred pound man off his feet in less than three seconds. Take him down and render him unconscious.

  “You’re what—five-six and weigh about a buck twenty?”

  “Five-eight and a buck thirty.”

  “Big deal,” he spat out. “So, I’m off by two inches and ten pounds.”

  Shrugging out of her raincoat, Summer walked over to a coat tree and hung it up. “I don’t intend to argue with you, Gabriel.”

  “Nor I with you,” he shot back. “I grew up with two sisters, and there were a few times when I was forced to protect them from other boys. That’s who I am. That’s how I was raised. If that guy had touched you, I would have taken him apart. And do you really believe I give a damn about him suing me?”

  She didn’t reply or turn around. He stared at her back, then turned on his heels and walked out of the office, slamming the door violently behind him. The itch was back. An annoying itch he couldn’t scratch.

  There was something about Summer he found so intriguing, yet so very irritating. He’d give himself the weekend to find the answer. And if he didn’t, then he was mentally prepared to dismiss her.

  Three

  After her last class, Summer retrieved her handbag and raincoat, then went in search of Gabriel, hoping she would find him in the music room. Peering through the glass on the door, she spied him sitting on a chair, one leg crossed over the opposite knee, arms folded over his chest. Opening the door, she walked in. A student sat in the back of the room playing scales on an alto saxophone.

  Gabriel’s gaze widened as he smiled at Summer. He patted a chair beside him. Moving quietly across the room, she sat down next to him. She jumped slightly, then relaxed as his hand closed possessively over her fingers.

  Summer felt the strength in his fingers, inhaled the clean fragrance of his cologne mingling with his body’s natural scent. In an instant everything that was Gabriel Cole seeped into her. Without hearing him speak, she recalled the drawling cadence of his baritone voice, saw the long wavy ponytail flowing down his back, remembered the comforting feel of his arm around her waist when they’d walked the hallway earlier that morning, and recalled his blatant threat to the photographer when he thought she would be harmed.

  If you touch her, even breathe on her, I will hurt you.

  A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time a man, other than those on her team whose, “I’ve got you covered,” offered to protect her.

  “What are you smiling about?” Gabriel whispered close to her ear.

  “You,” she said, not taking her gaze off the student fingering the keys on an alto sax.

  “What about me?”

  “It’s what you said to that photographer when he came at me,” she whispered back.

  Gabriel brushed his mouth over her ear; the hair on his upper lip tickled her skin. “I wasn’t issuing an idle threat,
Summer.”

  “What happened to music soothing the savage beast?” she teased. Turning her head, she stared up at him, their mouths only inches apart.

  Peering down under lowered lids, Gabriel committed everything about Summer to memory: the way she stared at him through her lashes, the straight bridge on her short nose and the poutiness of her lower lip.

  “There is a side of my personality that even music can’t soothe. Thankfully it doesn’t surface very often.”

  She affected a mysterious smile. “Everyone wears two faces, Gabriel, but the trick is not letting your opponent unmask you.”

  He stared at her, pondering her cryptic statement. “Is that what you really believe?”

  She held his gaze. “Yes.”

  The boy completed his scales, and Gabriel refocused his attention. “Very nice, Howard.”

  The pimply faced student smiled. “Am I in, Mr. Cole?”

  Gabriel nodded, smiling. “Yes, you’re in. I want you to practice your scales over the weekend until you feel comfortable with the fingering. Monday I’ll test you to see whether I want you to play with the orchestra or the jazz band.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Cole.” Removing the mouthpiece, he bent down and put the instrument inside its carrying case.

  “You should always clean your horn before you repack it, Howard.”

  Howard blushed. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  Gabriel smiled. A few of the Weir students in the music program were quite talented, but lacked the discipline to expand their talent. He planned to identify those and work closely with them.

  He stood up, gently pulling Summer to her feet. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” And she was ready for Gabriel and the time they would spend together.

  He helped her into her raincoat. She anchored her handbag over her shoulder, and walked with him out of the building to the parking lot. The mist had stopped and the sun had burned away the fog, leaving a brilliant blue sky with puffy white clouds.

  Gabriel held the door while she slipped into the Porsche. The car smelled new, and she thought about what Lucas had said about the sticker price. Some people would have to work ten years to save enough money to buy a car like Gabriel’s. Meanwhile he thought nothing of handing a car dealer close to a quarter of a million dollars for a vehicle he probably thought of as a toy—a very, very expensive toy. He maneuvered out of Weir’s parking lot, driving quickly through the early afternoon traffic toward Route 3.