6
Kat rolled over and shut the alarm off before it even turned on. She was wide-awake and had been for over an hour.
She’d tossed and turned all night thinking and deliberating about what her next move would be with Carter. Their second lesson had been a complete disaster, and that was putting it mildly. She’d tried to be calm. God, how she’d tried. But it wasn’t enough. She’d still managed to become enraged by him.
She had no idea what it was about him. He was, after all, just like the other men she taught. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; he was a lot more combative and exceedingly more aggressive and—she winced at the thought—a lot more attractive, too. She’d tried not to see him in any other way than as her student, but it was hard to ignore the man who drove her crazy.
She rubbed her palms down her face. She knew better than to get involved in any way with any person she taught. The nonfraternization policy of the prison was clear and succinct, and Kat loved her job too much to put it in any kind of jeopardy. She was a professional and no one, not even Carter, could make her forget that.
But Carter was at his most stunning when he was furious. His rage seemed to make his skin glow and the frown lines, which Kat imagined were indentations caused by his hatred for everything around him, dissolved, leaving his face serene and flawless. He was, in those moments, the most breathtaking creature she had ever seen.
As scared as she was when he’d flung the desk at the wall during her class, she’d been unable to tear her eyes from him, watching with fascination as the beast inside him roared. He was animalistic and, for that brief time, utterly uncaged. It was that thought alone that made parts of Kat’s body come alive in spectacular fashion; it was a side of Carter she desired and detested with equal fervor.
Regardless, no matter what her body thought of the matter, Kat knew the guard twisting his wrist was completely unacceptable. Carter hadn’t deserved that.
And she would tell Anthony Ward that very thing when she got to work.
But, for whatever reason, Anthony Ward was not at work when she got there later that morning. A little disheartened and still a lot confused, Kat began preparing her classroom, trying her hardest not to think about whether Carter would turn up. She pulled at the hem of her blouse in frustration when she realized the part of her that wanted him in her classroom far outweighed the part that didn’t, and cursed loudly.
“Wrong side of the bed this morning?”
Rachel’s voice floated from the doorway, clearing Kat’s head for all of five seconds before the battle within started again in earnest. She smiled and raised her eyebrows, unable to articulate correctly why she was cursing to an empty room.
“He’s been removed,” Rachel said plainly while placing her bag on her seat.
Kat turned. “What?”
“Carter.” Rachel shrugged. “Ward told him his temper is out of control. He’s a danger to himself and others.”
“Shit. How did he take it?”
Rachel gave her a wry smile. “As Carter always does: with a few curses and a growl.” She took a step toward Kat. “This is going to affect his parole.”
Kat’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She didn’t even know he’d been considered for it.
“When is his parole application up for review?” Kat asked.
“The end of the month.”
Kat’s newfound need to work with Carter instead of against him surprised her. She’d known him all of two days, spoken maybe a dozen words to him, mostly through gritted teeth, but still she knew, deep down, somewhere in her stomach, there was something about him, something more—something that set him apart from the other students in her class. Something that called to her in a way she could never explain.
His ambivalence was frustrating as all hell, and he had a smugness that could force any sane person to drink. In spite of all that, Kat had the overwhelming desire to put things right, to help.
That was her debt, after all.
Kat nodded in resolve.
“What?” Rachel asked. “What are you thinking?”
Kat smiled, her fortitude rising to the surface. “I’m thinking Mr. Carter is going to have to start dealing with being around me more often.”
* * *
“Harder!”
Carter grunted.
“I said harder! I didn’t feel a thing!”
Carter grunted again, louder this time as his fist slammed hard into the red protective shield that the prison’s gym officer, Kent Ross, was holding in front of him.
“My three-year-old hits harder, and she’s a girl! Again!”
Carter’s eyes clenched and his knuckles turned the same shade of white as the bandages around them when, with a terrifying yell, he began pummeling the shield with everything he had. The hate, anger, desire, need, and want burst from him through his fists with such force that Ross staggered backward.
After thirty seconds, Carter’s arms began to slow as the adrenaline burn began through his intricately inked shoulders, down his equally patterned biceps, and into his forearms, which screamed under the relentless pounding. He gasped and panted, and almost kissed Ross’s ugly-ass face when he said they were done.
Carter loved the workout; it was the only part of his anger management he enjoyed. The in-house shrink had suggested Ross work with Carter after one of his notorious tantrums, in an effort to vent some of the tension.
Carter slumped against the blue mat he’d been standing on and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling heavily. He really needed to quit smoking. His knuckles smarted and his face throbbed from where the guard had smashed him into the wall during Miss Lane’s class. He was drenched with sweat.
“You did good,” Ross muttered, peering over Carter’s limp body, holding out a bottle of water.
“You nearly killed me,” Carter replied, taking it from him with a shaking hand.
He groaned when he sat up, his muscles protesting immediately, and downed half of the bottle in three giant gulps, dribbling some down his back in an attempt to ease the heat.
“You need to quit smoking,” Ross grumbled, making Carter laugh. “You pushed hard, though,” he continued. “More than usual. Something on your mind?”
Ross and Carter had built up a straightforward relationship over the twelve months they’d been working together. Carter respected Ross’s no-bullshit attitude and liked the way he demanded more from him. Nevertheless, Carter wasn’t entirely convinced that he could tell him what he wanted to know. He scoffed inwardly because Jesus if even he knew what he could say to describe the fucking carnival currently taking place inside his head.
Truthfully, he was amazed it was only a desk he’d thrown in Miss Lane’s class. He’d never in his life been so completely filled with fury that the only way for it to manifest itself was to pick up the desk and hurl it as hard as he could. In retrospect, it was a dumb idea, but he’d had no control of himself.
The one thing that did bother him, and had since he walked from Ward’s office after the “incident meeting,” was the fact that he was subsequently banned from Miss Lane’s lessons. Indefinitely. He wasn’t allowed near her or her lessons and, for some reason that was not sitting well with him, it pissed him off.
The irony was not lost. He’d bitched and moaned about being enrolled in a class. Yet there he was, confused as all hell because a part of him wanted to be in her class, listening to her wax lyrical about poetry and shit he already knew. He wanted to sit in his seat at the front of her class and stare at her, trying to intimidate her.
Miss Lane was well and truly under his skin, and he wasn’t sure whether to be disturbed or delighted by it. He hardly knew her, had hardly spoken to her, yet he couldn’t get her face out of his head. It was just so damned … pretty.
Fuck. He was losing it.
He huffed and supped the dregs of his water out of the bottle before launching it toward the garbage can, where it landed with a crash. Ross sat down next to Carter with a thump.
“I heard about your … episode … in class,” he offered diplomatically. Carter’s face immediately went grave. Ross held up his hands in defense. “Hey, man, no judgment here.”
Carter paused and dropped his eyes. Ross waited.
“It’s just …,” Carter began. “Straight off, I don’t give a shit about these lessons. I mean, I’m not stupid. I read and I know what I know, but … I have to do them for my parole.”
Ross remained quiet.
“But this woman …” He stopped himself, wanting nothing more than to bite his own tongue off. “I don’t know,” Carter finished quietly, more to himself than to the man sitting to his right.
It was the most honest explanation he could give, because, the truth was, he didn’t know. He didn’t know why he wanted to be back in Miss Lane’s class. He didn’t know why she made him feel so off balance, and he didn’t know why she’d cleaned him when he was bleeding.
The one thing he did know was that he’d liked it. He’d liked her doing it and he’d liked her being so close to him. It’d given him a chance to look at her properly. He’d been with many attractive women and seen even more, but there was something different about Miss Lane. She was natural, curvy, wore hardly any makeup, and he was damn sure her tits were what God had given her.
He was a tit man, and they were stellar.
He’d thought about touching them.
Nevertheless, the table incident had put an end to that.
Shit.
His parole officer was going to be pissed.
* * *
“Good morning, Miss Lane,” Ward offered as Kat approached his desk. He gestured to the chair at the other side.
“Good morning.”
“So,” Ward said, patting his palms on the arms of his seat. “What can I do for you?”
Kat swallowed down her nerves. Straight to it. “I heard that the incident with Carter could affect his application for early parole.”
“There’s no ‘could’ about it,” Ward answered brusquely. “He’s not going anywhere for the next seventeen months. He’ll serve his whole sentence and like it.”
Something in his tone set Kat on edge.
“Yes,” she countered, keeping her voice pleasant. “I understand he has a meeting with his parole officer scheduled soon.”
Ward nodded.
“And I also understand it isn’t just good behavior that can affect the decision of the parole board.” Kat’s eyebrow cocked when she saw the look of surprise washing over Ward’s face.
He sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the desk. “Miss Lane, where are you going with this?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a meeting with Carter’s corrections counselor, Jack Parker, this afternoon and would very much like to speak with his parole officer during her visit. I know either yourself or Jack can arrange that for me—”
Ward held a hand up to stop her. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask again. Where are you going with this, Miss Lane?”
Kat swallowed. “I want to tutor Carter.”
For a moment, Ward was utterly perplexed. “You did,” he countered, “and he’s been removed because it’s apparent to everyone that the two of you don’t get along.”
Kat ignored the sting in his words. “That may be so, but maybe I wasn’t as patient as I should have been with him.” Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. “I want to help him in any way I can.” Her face warmed under Ward’s scrutiny. “I also know he’s banned from all other subjects, too, so his options are minimal. I think that if I can get Carter on a one-to-one, the chances of him losing his temper will significantly reduce.”
Kat had considered this particular point in detail before she entered Ward’s office. The fact that Carter intimidated her students was one of the reasons she had lost her shit with him. If it were just the two of them, it would surely make things better, right?
Ward sat back in his chair, seeming totally mystified. “Miss Lane,” he muttered. “Just to clarify here, you want to tutor Carter … one-to-one … because you want to help him with his application for early parole?”
She smiled widely.
Ward stared at her incredulously. He shook his head. “I can’t allow it.”
“Hmm,” she mused, chewing on the inside of her mouth in annoyance. “Can I ask why?”
He smirked derisively and straightened his shoulders. “I cannot authorize you to be put in a room with Carter alone—”
“There would be a guard,” she interrupted.
Ward exhaled heavily. “Splitting hairs aside, Miss Lane, you’ve been hired by the facility to teach a group of inmates during an allotted time. On a timetable. Not to work as a one-to-one tutor.” He lifted his hands to the heavens in mock sympathy. “It’s not in your contract, and the facility can’t afford to pay you extra for this.”
Kat smiled at Ward, but it was in no way pleasant. She knew he’d take this angle and knew without doubt that it made no difference to her whether she was paid to do the job or not. As a rule, she never spoke about her family’s wealth, as in the past it had made people uncomfortable, but with Anthony Ward, it wouldn’t trouble her one iota. Being the daughter of a successful senator and the granddaughter of another ensured her bank account was always comfortable.
“Mr. Ward,” she began with a wry tone and an unwavering stare that made him shift uneasily in his seat, “I’m not doing this for the money,” she spat at him from behind a tight-lipped smile.
Ward sat back in his seat. “I have to admit I’m puzzled here, Miss Lane,” he said after a tense moment of silence. “You seemed to detest each other on sight. What exactly would you be doing this for? What would you be getting out of it?”
“I am a teacher, so by definition my job is to teach. That’s what I want to do. Carter obviously finds it difficult to be in a classroom environment with other students, so the only solution is to take him out of it.” Her glare became fierce. “I believe I can help him, and his learning will be all I will get out of it. Besides,” Kat continued, deciding to hit his pride, “if he gets granted his early parole, won’t that make your life easier?”
She knew there was definitely no love lost between Ward and Carter.
The side of Ward’s mouth twitched. “I still have to say no, Miss Lane. It raises too many questions, and the extra guard time—”
“Yes, talking of guards, has the guard who assaulted Carter been reprimanded in any way?”
“Assaulted?”
“Yes,” Kat replied. “He twisted Carter’s wrist. It was unnecessary and utterly antagonistic. I was shocked.”
She sat wide-eyed with a hand on her chest. She wanted Ward to receive the message loud and clear. She knew the officer hadn’t been reprimanded, despite his behavior having been caught on the security cameras in her classroom.
“I see,” Ward murmured. “Well, of course we don’t tolerate violence against any inmate. I will look into it.”
“Good.”
With her family’s connections, Kat had big friends in very high political places. It would only take one phone call for them to be all over Ward’s ass. He cleared his throat and pursed his lips.
“If I agree to this,” he offered with disdain and a dismissive wave of his hand, “what makes you think Carter will even go for it? He’s known to be a stubborn pain in the ass, as you well know.”
Kat smiled at that. “I’m sure if you let me talk to him about it and make him see that I’m only trying to help, he may see past his pride and accept it. If not”—she shrugged—“I’ll forget the idea.”
“And this is done on your own time. No payment,” Ward reinforced with a finger pointed at Kat.
“Absolutely,” she agreed, wanting to rip his finger from its socket. “And I’ll give you a schedule so you can arrange the guard. Preferably not the one who assaulted my student,” she added.
“Fine.”
“Great.” Kat smiled with a clap of her palms onto her thighs. “I’m meeting with Jack at two. Can I have access to Carter? I’d like this cleared up before I leave for the weekend.”
Ward huffed and folded his arms. “Have them radio me down and I’ll see he gets to you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Ward,” she said with a saccharine smile before she left, closing the door very quietly behind her.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Jack Parker listened with rapt attention to the pretty redhead as she relayed her proposal to him in detail. He’d been exceedingly intrigued when he’d gotten a call requesting a meet with Miss Katherine Lane. His first thought was that she wanted to log a complaint against Wes and his behavior—and he wouldn’t have blamed her—so he was shocked as hell when she told him she wanted to help with Wes’s parole application.
Whether Wes would go for it was another matter altogether. His temper was always getting him into shit that Jack had to get him out of, and the incident with the desk was no exception. Wes’s being banned from lessons was a huge blow to his parole application, so Jack was all for hugging Miss Lane to death when she offered to help.
“I have to say I’m amazed Ward went for this.” Jack smiled, sipping from his coffee cup.
Kat laughed. “Well, let’s just say I know how the game is played.”
Jack’s grin widened. It was about time Ward was put in his place. “Is that so?”
Kat smirked behind her cup and said no more.
The door to the bland, airless room opened and a resigned-looking Carter appeared, followed by two guards and a severely pissed-looking Ward.
“Hi, Wes,” Jack offered, standing.
“Hey,” he muttered before his eyes swept to the woman at his side. “Miss Lane,” he offered without inflection.
She sighed. “Carter, would you please take a seat?”
* * *
Carter observed her defensive stance. She looked fucking good, he had to admit. He was sure she did it on purpose just to torment him. He slammed down in his seat and smiled at Jack while wiggling his fingers in a give-me-what-I-want gesture. Jack pulled out a box of cigarettes and some matches and threw them on the table. Carter pulled one out, placed it to his lips, lit it, and sucked in the smoke with a slow hiss.
He watched Miss Lane as he exhaled, her green stare unwavering.
“You’ve got ten minutes,” Ward barked. He headed toward the door with wide strides and louder feet.
“We might not be done in ten minutes,” Miss Lane retorted. “We’ll radio you when we’re finished.”
Ward stopped dead in his tracks and put one hand on his hip while rubbing his forehead with the other. “Fine.”
Jack and Carter exchanged impressed looks. Carter was happy as hell she stood up to Ward, if not a little jealous that Ward was getting a tongue-lashing and he wasn’t. Absurdly, Carter wanted nothing more than for her to start mouthing off at him.
“So, is someone gonna put me out of my misery and tell me why I’m here?” he asked instead, glancing between Miss Lane and Jack.
Jack eyed him and his attitude disapprovingly before gesturing to Miss Lane to talk. Carter waited while she cleared her throat, intrigued by her nervousness. It was a new look for her, all fidgety hands and tense shoulders.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say that you attending my classes hasn’t really worked out that well.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, lady.”
“Wes,” Jack warned with a curl of his lip. Carter rolled his eyes and signaled for Miss Lane to continue with a lift of his elbow.
“I understand your parole officer will be coming in soon to discuss your application.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
She kept her gaze firm and steady, a fact that made Carter’s fingers twitch. “And I also know that your participation in my lessons was to help with your application.”
Carter huffed out the last of the smoke and extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray with three very deliberate and sharp drops of his hand. He continued to stare at the woman in front of him while he slumped back into his seat.
“In English,” he said finally, hiding his smirk when he saw the familiar intensity burst in Miss Lane’s eyes.
There she is.
“In English,” she snarled, “I’m offering to tutor you on a one-to-one basis so you can apply for early parole despite your acting like a complete asshole, even when people are trying to help you.”
Jack stared in amazement at the little spitfire. Carter let his eyes roam down the curves and skin of her face and neck in fascination as a red heat flashed across her. He licked his lips. Damn, she was hot when she was pissed.
Abruptly, Miss Lane stood from her seat, scraping it hard against the floor before it fell back with a loud clatter. She looked at it, not moving to pick it back up and, instead, grabbed at her bag, dropping it twice before she got a secure hold on it.
Jack stood with her while she struggled. “Miss Lane?”
“Forget it,” she snapped. “I’m not wasting my time. It’s obvious you’re incapable of being anything other than ungrateful when someone offers to help.” She pulled her bag onto her shoulder. “But I get it. I get that accepting my offer wouldn’t help the totally-cool-badass persona you’ve got going on here, and I get that you’re terrified someone might see you for the intelligent person you actually are. I’m sure Mr. Ward will be thrilled that you’ll be seeing out the rest of your sentence, but who cares, right?” She spun on her heel.
Well, fuck.
Seeing the fire and challenge in her eyes and hearing the truth in her words, Carter suddenly realized the lifeline she was offering, a way of getting the parole he so desperately wanted, and his childish behavior was going to make her walk out of the room, leaving him with nothing. As infuriating as he found Miss Lane to be, he couldn’t deny he was touched that she’d agreed to help him.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Lane?”
She stopped marching toward the door. Her shoulders rose as she turned to him with an impatient expression.
“I, um,” he began, tapping his fingertips along the edge of the table, unused to showing gratitude, let alone feeling it. “Look I—I appreciate that,” Carter stammered, his eyes flitting around the room.
Miss Lane glanced at Jack, who appeared equally speechless. “Don’t worry about it. It was stupid of me to—”
“No,” he interrupted. “It wasn’t stupid. It was a good idea. I think …” Carter glanced at Jack for assistance.
“Wes,” Jack coaxed. “Are you saying you want Miss Lane to tutor you?”
Carter dropped his eyes to the table, reaching for the cigarettes.
“Well, okay,” Jack whispered. “Miss Lane?”
“So,” she said, taking a slow step toward the table. “We’re going to do this?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” Carter growled through a fog of smoke that curled into the air around him. A bemused look crossed Miss Lane’s face before she retook her seat.
Twenty minutes later and with her diary filled with the times and dates she and Carter were meeting, Miss Lane stood once again from the table and held her hand out to Jack.
He shook it enthusiastically. “Thank you, Katherine. We’ll talk more, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely,” she replied with a smile. “And call me Kat.” She glanced at Carter. “See you Monday.”
But Carter remained mute, unmoving. Still as a statue, he kept his eyes fixed on the door as it closed behind her. His pulse thundered in his ears while the sound of her name reverberated through his skull with each ferocious beat of his heart.
Katherine. Katherine. Katherine.
Once they were alone, Jack turned to him with a huge-ass smile on his face. “Wes, this is great!” He clapped his hands together. “This is really great, right? Wes?” Jack repeated, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Wes, are you—?”
“What did you call her?” Carter croaked. His airway squeezed, making him gasp. He pushed a slow hand to his chest where a tightness, the likes of which he’d never encountered, pulled taut and unforgiving.
“What?” Jack asked in confusion.
Carter’s eyes closed. He swallowed. “What did you call Miss Lane?”
Jack frowned. “I called her Katherine. Why?”
Katherine Lane. Katherine fucking Lane.
As the world around him tilted, making the room swim horrifically, Carter dropped his head like a lead weight to his knees. His breath hitched and tripped over itself as it fought to get to his lungs.
It couldn’t be. There was no way.
No.
What were the odds?
The chance was minute.
He grabbed at his scalp in disbelief.
“It can’t be her.”
He pulled in as much air as he could, but it was useless. The walls were closing in while panic and disbelief gripped him mercilessly by the throat. He was choking.
Jack dropped to his knees in front of him. “Who, Wes?” he urged. “Wes, talk to me. Who are you talking about?” He grasped Carter’s shoulder.
“It can’t be,” Carter mumbled.
“Who? Miss Lane?”
“No,” Carter replied, vaguely aware of the alarm creeping into Jack’s voice. “She’s not Miss Lane, she’s— Oh fuck.”
“Who?” Jack asked, tightening his grip on Carter’s shoulder.
Carter finally looked at his counselor through eyes that could barely see, his vision fogged with memories so thick he could almost touch them.
Thick, wavy hair. A blue dress. Gunshots. Screams.
He grabbed for Jack’s arm and squeezed, clinging for his life, needing to be grounded, needing something to keep him from falling apart completely. He choked back a sob.
Long gone was the strong, arrogant twenty-seven-year-old man. Once again, he was a scared shitless eleven-year-old, desperate for someone to love him, frantically trying to save the life of a tiny, petrified girl.
He tried to answer Jack. Fuck, he tried. He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to beg him to get him out of the room before he lost his shit altogether. He was losing his shit. Was this what dying felt like?
Like a broken dam, Carter’s memory burst wide fucking open, each image like a firework exploding in his vision, whizzing around his brain, squealing in his ears. He dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the lapel of Jack’s jacket, scrunching the wool in his palm, willing his whole body to calm, to relax and back the fuck up. Infuriatingly, the more he tried to slow his breathing, the more his body closed up.
He grunted in terror when his throat shrank more and more, and slumped his sweating forehead heavily against his counselor’s shoulder, speaking the words he never thought he’d utter since that horrific night sixteen years before.
“Jack,” he whispered. “She’s my Peaches.”