These Boots Were Made for Stomping (17 page)

“Look at me, Micki,” he ordered.

She had been looking at him. She had been watching the dark intensity of his eyes.

“No,” he said. “Look here.”

She lifted her head to see his large and thick erection standing proudly between her thighs. His hands were shaking as he
ripped open another condom and slid it on.

“This is our third time today, Micki. Three times. I have never, ever been able to do that. Not with any blonde bombshell.
Not even when I was a kid.” He dropped forward so that his arms framed her shoulders, and they were almost nose to nose. “I
want
you,
Micki Becker.”

He thrust himself hard inside her. A single shove and she arched at the cascading shivers he created—delight that came as
much from the intensity of his gaze as the power of his strokes down below.

“You, Micki Becker, with your bleeding heart.” He thrust again. “With your perfect breasts.” Another thrust. “And your stubborn,
stubborn personality.”

She wrapped her legs around him and began to tighten, pulling him into her in time with his movements.

“God, I want you, Micki,” he growled. Then he slipped his hand between them and pushed his thick thumb against her. It was
all she needed to fly. Her orgasm ripped through her, drenching every cell of her body in plea sure. He slammed against her
once more, then shuddered helplessly inside her, his own explosion as powerful as hers.

And only then did she touch ecstasy. Not from the waves of delight that still rolled through her. Not from the wonderful feel
of Joe inside her. But in the abrupt and startling revelation that she loved him.

It made no sense. What did she know about the man except that he was kind, he cared about the kids, and he tried to protect
her? That he had brought her car back to her, that he’d loved it when she sparred with him, and that even though he didn’t
like her teaching style he’d never undermined or berated her. He’d even stopped by her classroom on a regular basis to make
sure she was okay. Not much of a foundation for love. But apparently, her heart didn’t care. He was a great guy, and he wanted
her. At least for the moment.

She was in love. And at that moment, the feeling was wonderful. She smiled as he collapsed beside her. She loved him. She
would enjoy that—and pray she kept his interest—until the end of the school year. And then she would regretfully kiss him
good-bye.

Yes, she abruptly decided, he was a great guy, and he was also right. She didn’t belong here. Which meant at the end of the
school year, she’d go back home to Detroit and try again at a less challenging school.

They woke when a cell phone rang. It wasn’t Micki’s phone, but in the middle of the night, she wasn’t paying that much attention.
It was on the nightstand by her head, and so she grabbed it and answered. “ ’Lo?”

“Mr. DeLuce?”

“Uh-nuh.” Then Micki frowned. She recognized that voice. “Lucy?”

“Miss Becker?”

Joe rolled over, his eyes barely open, but his voice strong. “Was that my phone?”

“Here,” Micki said as she passed it over. “It’s Lucy.”

“Lucy? Lucy!” He sat up as he tucked the phone next to his ear. “What is it?”

Micki turned to look at the alarm clock by her bed. It read 1:27. In the morning. What could Lucy want with Joe now? Suddenly
the man rolled out of bed and started grabbing his clothes. He found a sock first and pulled it on.

“No, Lucy, you wait for me. It’s too—Lucy! I’m coming right now.”

Micki was moving as well, pulling on clothes and tossing Joe his at the same time.

“Tell me everything you know,” he ordered into the phone while pulling on his pants. “You’re sure? What about—No! Wait! Lucy!”
He pulled the cell away from his ear and cursed.

“What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Hell.” He pulled on his dress shirt. “I gotta go.”

“Not without me, you’re not.” She finished tying the bow on her gym shoes, then grabbed her purse. “I’m going.”

He shook his head. “It’s too—”

“Dangerous. Yeah, whatever. I’m going.”

He grimaced as he pulled on his other sock. She stood in front of him and tried to sound tougher than she felt. “Look, I’ll
do whatever you say. I’ll stay down, stay in the car. I’m not stupid. But I’m strong enough to help you even without kung
fu shoes. You know I am.”

“Micki—”

“I’m going.”

“Micki!”

“What?”

He tossed her his car keys. “You drive while I call for backup.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Where are we going?” Micki demanded as she backed Joe’s SUV out of her apartment complex parking lot. Joe didn’t answer.
He had her cell phone to his ear—his was on his lap in case Lucy called back—and he was fiddling with another electronic device
that she couldn’t quite see.

A second later, he plopped the thing on the dash and she heard a soothing electronic voice speak:
“Turn left in
five hundred feet.”

“A GPS! Cool!” That’s why he had insisted they take his car. Plus, his car certainly had more muscle than her little sunshine
Beetle. “But where is it taking us?”

“Hello! Hello, Larry? It’s Joe. I got a situation . . .”

Ding, ding. “Turn left now. Then in two miles, take ramp
right.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Micki murmured at the machine. “But where are we going?” She accelerated too fast down the street. “Don’t you
have a police light or something?”

Joe rolled his eyes at her. “I’m a school cop, not SWAT.”

Guess that meant no.

Ding ding. “Take ramp right.”

Micki overplayed the wheel and they swerved, prompting curses out of both of them. But within moments they were on the freeway
and zipping down the far left lane.

“Continue for three miles, then take ramp left.”

“Yeah, yeah. But where . . .” Micki remembered her brother’s GPS. This wasn’t the same make or model, but they ought to be
similar. She leaned forward and started pushing buttons. It was quite a feat given that she was driving a zillion miles an
hour, but thankfully, the freeway was fairly empty.

Finally, she found it. She brought up a list of turns until she arrived at her destination: an address she was sure she’d
seen before. Then she swerved to avoid a teen on a cell who was going almost as fast as she was. She winced because of the
bad example she was setting, but then had to focus on getting over for her exit.

Ding, ding. “Take ramp right now, then turn left.”

“I know, I know,” she muttered. She made it—barely—then snaked through a residential area that looked solidly middle class.
“I know this place . . .” she murmured again.

Meanwhile, Joe snapped her cell shut and pulled out his gun, checking it. She didn’t know anything about guns except what
she’d seen on TV, but just the knowledge that he had one—apparently in perfect working order—made her feel . . . well, she
wasn’t sure how it made her feel. Good, she decided. Scared, but good.

“How’d Lucy know your phone number?” she asked.

He shoved the gun in the back of his pants, just like they did on TV. “I give it to all the kids. I’m there for them if they
ever need a cop. Yeah, they laugh at me and the crank calls suck, but a few of them keep it. Just in case.”

She smiled. Of course he did. He was just that kind of guy.

“Drive for 0.8 miles, then arrive at destination.”

“That’s Mr. Gorzinsky’s minivan!” she cried, peering ahead through the darkness.

Joe cut in, “Pull over here. I’ll walk the rest.”

“That’s how I know the address,” Micki continued as she pulled over. “I had to drive him home one day when he got the flu.
. . .”

A dark form dropped from the branches of a huge oak tree. One moment, Micki was busy parking, the next a black figure landed,
thump,
right beside the SUV. Micki bit back a scream, belatedly recognizing the tiny figure of Lucy in dark jeans and a black tee.
Then Micki cut the engine and slammed open the car door. “Lucy, what the—”

“Shhhh!” That came from both Lucy in front and Joe from the other side.

Micki buttoned her lip, but it wasn’t easy. She had way too many questions. Fortunately, one of them was answered as she looked
down at Lucy’s feet. Yup. The two red Chinese characters for love and kindness showed clearly in the darkness. They might
even be glowing.

“You took too long!” Lucy hissed to Joe.

“We got here as soon as we could. There’s cops on the way—”

“No time! We gotta catch him red-handed!”

“Calm down—” Joe began.

“Who’s in there?” asked Micki, unable to keep her mouth shut.

“Damian and his crew. They’re loading up the truck now,” snapped Lucy as she peered around the hedge. Sure enough, there was
a truck in the driveway. Mr. Gorzinsky’s minivan was on the street.

“Ladies,” Joe snapped back, “settle down! We can just get the truck. It’s okay.”

“You gotta get Mr. Gorzinsky!” Lucy shot back. “He’s the one done all of this!”

Micki felt her brain finally catch a clue. Damian and his crew were loading up drugs into a van. Drugs that were somehow hidden
in Mr. Gorzinsky’s home. Wait, why would they be in Mr. G’s house? Unless . . . “Mr. Gorzinsky’s manufacturing the drugs?”
she exclaimed in a half yelp.

“Shhhh!” hissed Joe, while Lucy gave her a “duh” look.

“But . . .” She bit her lip rather than speak, but . . . Mr. Gorzinsky?

“You don’t believe me!” Lucy snapped.

“I believe you,” Joe pressed. “I’ve been watching him for a while, trying to get enough evidence to shut down the whole operation.
And if we just wait—”

Too late. Lucy sprinted off at a run. And with the magic shoes on her feet, there wasn’t much hope of catching her.

Micki tried anyway. With Joe’s limp, Micki was their only hope of getting the girl, so with a half-muffled “Lucy!” she took
off down the street after her. At which point, she heard Joe curse—something to the effect of “Girls!”—then his uneven footfalls
pounded after her.

Lucy slipped in and out of shadows like a ninja. Even knowing exactly where the girl was, Micki had a hard time seeing her.
She felt like a lumbering ox as she chased—on tippy toes in an attempt at silence around Damian’s van and into the backyard.

It was a normal enough backyard, complete with a privacy fence to block out the sight of rocks and weeds. Or, of course, it
could shield neighbors from seeing teenage boys carrying shoebox-sized plastic bins up the stairway from the basement.

Micki shrank back against the house as one of Damian’s gang climbed up the outdoor stairs from the basement. He was bobbing
and weaving his head in time with whatever was coming over his headphones. Micki watched him load two storage bins into the
truck, then turn around and bob back down.

Okay, so Lucy was right. The boys were loading something suspicious into a van. From Mr. Gorzinsky. Fine. Micki could accept
that. A chem teacher was poisoning the very kids he was teaching. But where was the girl?

“They’re almost done!” whispered Lucy from right behind Micki.

Micki almost screamed, but stifled it into a squeak. “Yeah,” she gasped when her heartbeat settled from terrified into panicked.
She reached for the girl. “Let’s go. We can’t be seen—”

“No!” Lucy said, executing a perfect chop to Micki’s wrist. “We’ve got to get Mr. G with his drugs. It’s his fault about everything!”

“Trust in the police,” Micki urged. Her numb fingers couldn’t hold Lucy back, but maybe her words could.

Not a chance. “I’ll delay them as long as I can,” Lucy whispered. “They can’t catch me with these shoes!” Then the girl started
skipping—yes, skipping—straight down the stairwell.

“Lu—” Micki gave up; the girl was gone. She turned, looking for Joe. She knew he was around here somewhere, but all she could
see was shadows. She listened for the sound of car engines. Lots of cars. Squad cars with sirens all rushing here to save
Lucy.

Nothing. Where was Joe?

She turned and went
oomph
right into a male chest. Unfortunately, while it was a solid chest, it didn’t smell good at all. She looked up.

Damian.

Joe cursed as he watched Micki being shoved down the basement steps by that psycho punk Damian. Great. Two innocent civilians
deep in the middle of bad guy central. Worse, it was two civilians with delusions of grandeur. Micki was bad enough with her
noble belief that kindness would win the day, but Lucy had those damn shoes on. He knew from experience just how heady that
magic kung fu could be. The kid probably thought she was impervious to bullets.

Whipping out his cell phone, he connected to Larry.

“We’re coming! We’re coming!” said his friend by way of greeting.

“Change of plans. Got two innocent females in the mix,” Joe grumbled. And didn’t just saying that send icy chills down his
spine. “I’m going in now to do what I can.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t see a better option. I can’t leave them in there alone. One’s a kid. And the other . . .”
Is the woman I love.
Joe froze as that last thought filtered through his brain. It wasn’t a real thought. It couldn’t be. It certainly wasn’t the
truth . . . was it?

It was. He knew it was the truth. But he really couldn’t deal with that right then because he’d freak out completely. The
woman he loved in the middle of a drug bust? Not possible. Not something he could even remotely contemplate. Ergo, he was
not in love.

He slipped his phone—with the line still open—into his belt. Not perfectly stable, but it would give Larry some idea of what
was going on. At least he’d hear if gunshots started going off.

Then Joe grabbed his gun and slipped around the house to the front door. Even that little delay burned through his gut, but
he had to think clearly here. Stealth was his best option. The front door was locked—naturally—but not difficult. A little
judicious lock-picking, and he was inside without a problem.

He made out the shadows of a plush recliner, expensive take-out cartons, and a big-screen TV. Beyond that, he skirted through
vintage bachelor decor, complete with dirty dishes in the sink and discarded beer bottles—imported. He quickly found the door
to the basement. It was closed but not locked, so he eased it open and slipped downstairs.

“Miss Becker, this is a difficult conundrum.”

Gorzinsky, sounding smug. Who used words like “conundrum” except when trying to be an ass? Joe risked a peek around the corner.

Crap. Five bad guys plus the girls. And this time, Joe saw guns. No way could he take out all five before an ugly firefight
began.

Then, even worse, he watched as Damian—busted-up face and all—grinned and draped his arm across Micki’s shoulders. He clearly
couldn’t wait to beat the crap out of her or worse. Lucy was beside him, wheedling as only a teenage girl could.

“It ain’t her fault, Damian. She must have followed me. Just let her go. She don’t know nothing.”

“Shut up, Luce!” Damian said as he backhanded the girl. Micki was moving in a second, shoving at Damian’s side and trying
to dive for the girl.

She got nowhere. Damian tightened his arm around her throat, and she was pulled up short, gasping and kicking for all she
was worth.

“This is what a leader does, Miss Mouse,” he taunted as he began to squeeze the life out of her. “Ain’t so mighty now, huh?”

Joe had his weapon up and took aim, ready to kill the boy, but Gorzinsky intervened first. “Not here, you idiot! You can’t
kill her here!”

Meanwhile, Micki slammed her foot down on Damian’s instep. The boy howled and released her enough that she fell onto her knees.
“Can’t kill me!” she gasped. Then she looked up, a fierce anger in her eyes. “You
can’t
kill me, Gorzinsky,” she hissed.

The chem teacher raised his eyebrows. Joe didn’t even have an angle on the guy’s face, but he knew Gorzinsky’s supercilious
look from just the tone of voice. “My goodness, the mouse speaks.” Pause. “Or was it squeaks?”

Micki rolled her eyes. It was a great move, reminiscent of every snotty teen on the planet, bringing out just the right attitude
of disdain from Gorzinsky. Then, before Damian could do more than draw back his fist, Micki spun around.

“Don’t tempt me,” she hissed. “You know what I can do. I’ll kill you if you like, but I’d rather have a discussion here with
the brains of this outfit.” She gestured at Gorzinsky. Clearly, it was a bluff. Since she wasn’t wearing the shoes, Micki
had no skills whatsoever. But Damian didn’t know that. And he was intimidated enough to pause.

“The mouse has teeth,” drawled Gorzinsky. “Too bad teeth don’t do anything against a gun.” And just like that, all the bad
guys—chem teacher included—drew their weapons.

Micki blanched, but her voice remained strong. “Go wait in my car, Lucy. This is between the adults.”

The girl gasped and started to object in a purely instinctive reaction to Micki’s authoritative tone. It might have worked
on a different crowd, but not this one. Lucy rose from a half crouch but stood her ground.

“I been in on this from way early,” the child said softly. “It’s you who needs to go.”

“It’s you who needs to
die,
” Damian said as he aimed his gun at her temple.

Micki glared at the kids—all of them—but didn’t argue. Instead, she rounded on Gorzinsky and stepped right up to his gun.
“Put that thing away. You look ridiculous.” To her credit, her voice barely quavered. “So, you’re making drugs for the kids
to sell. That’s your big carrot and how you get them into the chem lab. Good idea, in a really twisted way.” She lifted her
chin. “I want in.”

Gorzinsky blinked. So did Joe. It was a good try, and it might have worked if it wasn’t coming out of Micki’s mouth. She just
didn’t have the feel of someone who would sell out for cash. That was one of the things he loved about her.

Then she had to go and push it. “It’s either let me in or shoot me,” she snapped. “And we both know that all that blood could
be problematic. Not to mention disposing of the body, yadda yadda. It’s just not worth the effort.”

“Hmmm,” drawled Gorzinsky. “You have a point. Except, like every liberal arts major on the planet, you just don’t have a logical
mind. I have a third option.” He looked at Damian. “Shoot her up, then dump her in the usual place.”

“No!” That was Lucy, launching herself forward with her magic shoes. She was on the table, kicking Gorzinsky’s gun aside.
Good move, except it clattered to the wall right next to Tommy Wilson, who stooped to grab it. Two down—sort of. Joe doubted
he would get a better chance.