Stirring Attraction(53)

But her safety had always been an illusion. Her sense of security could be ripped away in an instant. She’d been so determined to heal after her first encounter with Mr. Stanton that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding out for something she didn’t really need. There was only one thing this man could never take from her.

Love.

She’d been a fool not to fall back in love with Dominic, to hold tight to him, and fight for an imperfect future with him.

She stepped into the hall and stole a quick glance at the wall Dominic had pressed her up against only a few days ago.

“Ms. Greene.”

She turned to face the man who’d uprooted her life. He’d closed the door behind him, leaving the school supplies strewn across her porch. But he didn’t bother turning the lock.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. And for the first time, she noticed his suit and tie. Even his black dress shoes shone as if he’d polished them that morning. Had he dressed up for this? To come here and kill her?

“I need to talk to you,” he continued. His voice shook, but his hand holding the gun remained steady.

Dominic, Noah, Ryan—­they’d logged hours at the gun range. But she’d only held a gun once. She could tell the difference between the small handgun in Louis Stanton’s hand and a hunting rifle. But beyond that, she didn’t have a clue. Had Louis released the safety? Did his weapon even have one? How could she stop him from pulling the trigger?

“I need your help,” he said.

Her world felt as if it had turned over. It was no longer a question of whether she’d been right about her attacker returning for her. Or if the police, Dominic’s father, and even Dominic were correct in assuming the man who’d cut her in the park was crazy. They’d all been right. Louis Stanton had been after her. It wasn’t random. And he was nuts.

“But . . .” she sputtered. “You attacked—­”

“I was angry.”

No kidding.

“They’re going to take him away. My son. And it’s your fault.” He spoke as if he were accusing her of taking his parking place. His voice remained calm and clear. The same tone he’d used when she’d handed him the forms to file with the front office if he wished to pick up his child . . .

“Mr. Stanton, there’s nothing I can do.” Her tone mirrored his surreal calm as if she could talk her way out of this, as if he wasn’t pointing a gun at her in her own home. “I don’t know anything about custody—­”

“Call the judge,” he demanded. “Now. Tell her you were wrong. Tell her I never tried to take my son from school. I didn’t violate the custody agreement. I wasn’t trying to kidnap him. I didn’t try to see him without a court-­appointed supervisor!”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Stanton—­”

“It’s all lies,” he snapped. “You have to tell the judge. She’s deciding today. I know she’s going to take my ex’s side. They’re saying I tried to kidnap him from school and from the playground. I took him out of state once, but . . . I didn’t kidnap my son. He’s mine.”

His emphasis on the last word made her shudder.

“I can’t go back there until you fix what you started,” he added. “My bitch of an ex started petitioning the judge again after I showed up at school. You told her I’d been there.”

If she hadn’t told her student’s mom, Lily bet her son would have said something. But Mr. Stanton blamed her. He was holding her at gunpoint in the middle of the day while dressed in a suit.

And now it became clear. The suit and tie. The polished shoes. He’d been at the courthouse.

“They’ll take him away for good.” He pointed the gun at her head. “But if you call—­”

She felt tears well in her eyes. “Mr. Stanton, there is nothing I can do.”

“Call,” he barked.

Oh God, what would Dominic do? Fight him? She didn’t have the strength. Or would Dominic pretend to make the call? Was this man so crazed he wouldn’t realize she’d dialed for help and not the courthouse? And if he did?

Did it matter? He’d beaten her and cut her up with a knife in a fit of rage. He blamed her for losing a child he should never be allowed near.

The child.

Jay Stanton was a shy boy who loved to color, play on the slides at recess, and hated everything about frogs, even pictures of them. He’d brought a tuna fish sandwich and a yogurt for lunch every day last year. He spoke with a slight lisp. And he’d been in her care, her student, for an entire year.

“OK. I’ll call,” she said. But her cell phone was in her purse, which was lying beneath a pile of stickers and crayon boxes on the porch. “My landline is in the kitchen.”