Ride Dirty (Raven Riders 3.50)

The man jumping out of the bushes. Grabbing her. Pushing his body against her. Kicking her dog as his grip on her wrist tightened.

The flashes of those memories had come at her all weekend, distracting her, making her nervous, keeping her awake.

And almost making her drive to school.

Screw that, she thought as she passed the convenience store that marked the halfway point of her walk. She was not going to allow fear to rule her life. At least, not as much as she could help it. So, she’d walked.

Without question, Caine had helped make her less fearful, too. Because while the locksmith had changed out the locks on her front and back doors, Caine had shared that he worked in security, and asked if she wanted him to check out her place for other things she might do to secure it.

Remembering how easily he’d picked the lock to her front door, she’d agreed. He’d methodically gone through her first floor evaluating her doors and windows, and then examined her back porch and the basement door, too. She’d been disappointed when the locksmith’s arrival had interrupted getting to talk more to Caine over a meal, but watching him move through her space had not been a hardship. He just had an intensity about him that was compelling. Maybe it was the way those strange pale eyes narrowed in cold calculation. Or maybe it was the almost stealthy way he moved, like a big cat that was at once both graceful and lethal. Or maybe it was the slivers of tattoos that his movements had revealed on his neck and side. All she knew was that she was fascinated. And curious. And, if her nighttime thoughts were any indication, more than a little lustful…

When he’d finished looking everything over that night, Emma became the proud owner of three new jimmy-proof deadbolts and spring-loaded security bars on the three first-floor windows that could be reached from the ground or back porch.

Except then Caine had left. He’d turned down her invitation to stay to eat, saying only, “Remember, Emma, you gotta look out for yourself first.”

Crossing the last intersection before entering school grounds, Emma sighed. Because she hadn’t been brave enough in that moment to ask for his phone number. So now she didn’t know how to get ahold of him, and suspected he wouldn’t want her to, anyway.

Thankfully, she’d soon have twenty-three really good distractions from all of that. Because nothing put her in a better mood or helped her gain perspective better than her kids.

Inside, the building was still quiet. Because she hadn’t been able to sleep, she’d gotten ready earlier than usual. But at least she’d get a head start on the day. She’d have about forty-five minutes before the kids started arriving, which would be just enough time to set up all the art supplies for the holiday crafts she was having them start on today. Pom-pom Christmas trees, snowmen, and menorahs. Little presents for their parents. Because nothing said festive like fuzzy pom-poms!

“Good morning, Connie,” she called, leaning into the principal’s office.

“Morning, Emma. Getting a jump on the week?” Connie was the school’s often miracle-working office manager, and Emma really liked the older lady. But she hated how the word “jump” brought more of those little flashes of memory.

“Yep,” Emma said. “One more week.”

Connie laughed. “Hang in there.”

Grinning, Emma nodded. It was the last week of school before winter break, and without question, the kids would be bouncing off the walls by Friday. “You, too.” A few of the other teachers were also in early, and Emma called out more greetings as she moved through school to the kindergarten hallway, where four kindergarten classrooms shared a wing at the back of the building.

Flicking on her classroom lights, Emma made for her desk. She frowned.

The room was unusually chilly.

And then she froze in place.

Papers and books were scattered across the floor near her desk…the top of which was all disorganized. Her gaze tracked to the left, where broken glass littered the top shelf of the low bookcases under the windows.

The window above was broken. A cobweb of cracks formed outward from a hole in the center of one of the big rectangular panes.

Emma’s heart tripped into a sprint. She moved closer and saw what had made the hole.

A brick lay in pieces on the tile floor amid a trail of broken glass and strewn papers.

“Holy shit,” Emma whispered. “What the hell?”

Disbelievingly, she dumped her coat and purse onto the nearest table. And then she made for the intercom box on the wall by the back door. She pressed the button. “Connie, it’s Emma. Is Principal Mackey in yet?”

“She just arrived. Is everything okay?”

“No. My room… There’s been vandalism. Someone threw a brick through the window.” Emma wondered if the shakiness in her voice carried through the intercom.