Tempting Janey. Mary Baxter Lynn
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cranny of this new building, loved every minute he spent walking the halls and grounds. He’d worked his way up through the ranks of the system, starting out as a teacher and coach, then moving up to guidance counselor, and now to principal.
He wasn’t content, though. He had his eye on a superintendent’s position. But he wasn’t in a hurry. Right now, he was content to remain hands-on with the kids. Keeping up with them kept him young in mind and spirit. When the time was right to make the move, he would know it.
However, he wasn’t interested in getting too far away from Hunter. This small South Carolina town of forty thousand plus, perfectly positioned between Charleston and Savannah, was home to him. And since he’d invested heavily in a chunk of land—land that he hoped to make into a profitable horse farm—he intended to be picky about future jobs.
A deep sigh escaped Dillon just as he reached his office and unlocked the door.
That was when he heard the noise.
When he couldn’t identify the sound, every muscle in his body tensed. He didn’t move; he almost stopped breathing as his military background booted his system into high alert. He listened.
Nothing.
Dillon almost wilted with relief. His imagination was obviously working overtime, which wasn’t a bad thing. Blatant mischief and much worse were problems that all schools had to contend with. It never paid to be careless, and he couldn’t let himself get overconfident that his facility was different simply because he ran it with an iron fist.
He had the door all the way open and had reached for the light switch when he heard the noise again. He stood still, feeling his heart up its pace and the hairs stand out on his neck. No mistake this time. Something was going on.
Suddenly a crashing sound, like that of glass breaking, interrupted the stark silence.
Someone else was definitely in the building.
The lab. That was his first guess. It was at the opposite end of this hall and full of plenty of breakable objects. Rage rendered him immobile for several more seconds before it hit his body like a shot of adrenaline.
He spun on his booted heels and charged down the hall, careful at the same time not to let the culprit or culprits know they had company.
Dillon had no idea what he would encounter, but it didn’t matter. Whoever was responsible for what was going down would pay dearly. No one destroyed Brookwood property and got away with it.
Another crash assaulted his ears just as he rounded the dark corner. He flinched, but his feet never faltered. Hoping to sneak up on the intruders unannounced, he hadn’t turned on the lights. That would have sent them scurrying out the side door of the lab before he could get to them.
When Dillon paused at the door and eased his head around, only the glow from a high-powered flashlight greeted him. Still, he was able to see two people, both males, both young, both wearing caps, masks and gloves.
Students, his instincts told him. Smart students, at that, having thought to shield their identity.
They were having a high old time, too, beating the hell out of the equipment. One had a baseball bat in hand, the other had a hammer. Broken glass, microscopes and computers were strewn about.
The place looked like a war zone.
After seeing the havoc the little creeps had wreaked, Dillon’s rage threatened to choke him. This was the first time this kind of malicious destruction had taken place at his school. But no more. He was about to bring their party to a halt.
“Hold it, boys. Playtime’s over.”
“Oh, shit!” one of them yelled, then tore off toward the door. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here!”
The other one obviously needed no second invitation as he shot over the debris like a sprinter and dashed toward the exit, almost running over his companion in the process.
Dillon followed suit, only to curse silently. The door. He’d underestimated their closeness to the side entrance that made a quick exit possible.
By the time he reached their avenue of escape, the boys were through the door and racing across campus. Dillon chased them, but he knew he was wasting his time.
A nondescript pickup was parked in an area of almost total darkness not far from the lab. They jumped in it and took off before he could get near them, much less get a license plate number.
“Damn,” he muttered, sucking in a deep breath.
He’d screwed that up royally, he admitted as he turned and made his way back into the building. If he hadn’t been so cocky, so sure of his ability to handle the situation, he would have called the cops the second he heard the sound of breaking glass.
By the time he’d have investigated and found out what was going on, the law would have been there. But no, he’d had to plunge in headfirst on his own.
“Dammit,” he muttered again out of sheer frustration as he strode into his office. Once there, he called the police, then waited for their arrival, but not patiently.
What was happening to kids these days?
He’d asked himself that question untold times, but he still didn’t have an answer. Years ago, when he first entered the fascinating world of teaching children, nothing like what he’d just witnessed had ever taken place—at least not that he could remember.
How times had changed. Breaking and entering was actually considered a mild offense. Now kids were killing kids. Kids were killing parents. God, it made no sense whatsoever.
What it did do, though, was frighten the hell out of him. He was of the opinion that youngsters should behave and be responsible for their actions. He loved “his kids,” but they knew better than to cross the line he’d drawn in the sand. Or at least he’d thought so, he told himself, mentally kicking his own rear.
Apparently he’d misjudged his control, refusing to have security guards in the halls of his school. After all, he was an ex-Marine whose rough edge would help him handle any situation that might occur. Until now, that rough edge hadn’t failed him.
His thoughts were interrupted by two uniformed officers making their way into his office.
Following introductions, Dillon told them what had taken place.
“Too bad you didn’t get the plate number,” Officer Temple, the taller of the two, said.
When he had first seen them, Dillon had hidden a smile. One was as tall as a giraffe, the other as short as a Shetland pony. Side by side, they reminded him of Mutt and Jeff.
Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll admit the little creeps got the better of me. But I thought I could handle them and the situation.”
“That’s never a wise assumption, Mr. Reed, especially in this climate.”
“I know that now,” Dillon said harshly, again mentally kicking himself. It was damn embarrassing to make such a gross error in judgment and be caught at it. “Come on, let’s take a look-see at the lab.”
The officers made notes, then called the lab team to scour the premises, which Dillon knew would be a lost cause. The kids had played it smart. He’d noticed they were wearing gloves.
Officer Riley, the short cop, finally said, “We’ll do what we can, but you’ll probably have better luck checking around the campus yourself.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “That is, if you think it was some of your students.”
“Oh, I think that’s a real good possibility,” Dillon said in a grim tone. “I just hope the break-in wasn’t gang related.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Officer Temple said, his voice brusque.
Dillon tightened his lips. “I’ve suspected we have one trying to form on our campus, but I haven’t been able to prove it yet.”
“I