Stirring Attraction(52)

She’d stopped by the school and chatted with her coworkers—­without bumping into Ted, thank goodness. Then she’d gone out to pick up a few extras for her classroom. And the entire time, she’d felt safe and in control.

Her smile faded as soon as she reached the top step and stared at the door. If Dominic were here, he’d go in ahead of her and search her home.

Welcoming him back so that I feel safe—­that’s not fair to either of us. And I don’t think that’s love.

But she’d eaten three brownies last night and she still didn’t know if the love she felt for Dominic would help her find her way forward—­or break her. She didn’t want to depend on him—­or anyone else—­to hold her together. And while holding boxes of crayons, sheets of stickers, and enough finger paint to redecorate every wall in her house, she couldn’t risk falling apart. School started in two weeks. She had to be ready to greet her new class of kindergarten students.

This morning, when she had looked in the mirror, she’d seen only a faint hint of the ugly red cut on her face. One layer of makeup and it disappeared. She would look the part of the calm, welcoming teacher on the first day—­as long as the emotional scars didn’t betray her.

But what was the worst that could happen? She would ask her assistant to take over the class while she took a quick break for a panic attack? And what could possibly set her off at the school? She’d always felt safe there. She didn’t need a former soldier checking behind her classroom door or looking under the child-­sized desks.

She shifted the bag to her right arm and reached into the pocket of her capri-­length pink pants for her keys. Today was a day for victories. Her bright white short-­sleeve shirt, her pink pants, every piece of her day screamed sunshine and success. And when she unlocked the door, when she walked inside, she would be fine—­

“Ms. Greene? Lily Greene?”

Her hand froze in her pocket. Panic surged at the sound of that familiar voice. She’d heard it twice before. The memories came rushing back, two pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t been able to connect until now. You ruined everything—­what the man currently standing on her porch said to her the day he sliced her arms, her face, and her stomach. The day he cut away her confidence in the world around her. And Ms. Greene, I’m here to pick up my son.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t need Dominic watching over her at the elementary school. She needed him here. Now. Hearing that voice, she knew her reasons for sending him away were foolish. She would trust Dominic to save her life, always and forever.

I need him to save me right now!

But he wasn’t here. And that wasn’t his failure. It was hers. She’d cast him away. There was no one here to help her now. No one to keep her safe. She would need to do it herself.

“Ms. Greene, I need to talk to you.”

She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to see him again.

“Turn around and talk to me!” he barked. Anger and desperation seeped through his words.

She wanted to run away. But she knew she wouldn’t win by trying to escape. If he’d dared to approach her again, she doubted he’d come empty handed.

Slowly, her arm tightening around the school supplies, she turned and faced the man who’d haunted her nightmares for the past six weeks.

“Mr. Stanton,” she said, looking first at his familiar dark brown eyes, the ones she’d expected to see on the mug shot Dominic handed her. But that didn’t matter now. Whether she was right . . . none of it mattered. Because this time Louis Stanton wasn’t wielding a knife.

This time he had a gun.

The minutes seemingly slowed as she watched the man with the lethal weapon stand on her front porch in broad daylight and demand to talk to her.

“How can I help you?” Her shaking voice betrayed the imminent, pulse-­pounding fear that her next breath would be her last. Any moment, he would pull the trigger. Any second—­

“Open the door,” he said. He wasn’t shouting now, but the note of desperation remained. And it sent a chill down her spine. “I need to talk to you inside,” he added.

She gave a curt nod. “I have to unlock the door.”

“Now,” he growled.

She saw the tension ripple through his forearm. And she dropped the bag of school supplies. Small containers of plastic finger paint rolled over the wooden boards. Crayons spilled out of boxes. And sheets of Great Job! and You’re a Star! stickers stared up at her.

She reached into her pocket and withdrew her keychain. Her hand shook and she approached the lock. But she managed to insert the key. As she turned it, she realized that if she survived, she would never feel safe again. Not on the street, in the park, at her home, or even in the classroom where she’d planned to hand out the You’re a Star! stickers.