Taming Jesse James

She took a deep breath, then met his gaze directly for the first time since she’d entered his office. “Mr. Garrett’s stepson is in my class.”

“Corey Sylvester?”

“I take it you know him.”

Despite her worries over Corey, that blasted smile of his sent her stomach fluttering. “This is a small town, Ms. McKenzie. Not much slips by the eagle eye of the Salt River P.D. What’s Corey done now?”

“Oh, no. He hasn’t done anything.”

He chuckled wryly. “That’s a first.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that the boy’s had his share of run-ins with local authorities.”

Another person might have asked what possible crimes a child of ten could have committed to bring him to the attention of the local police chief. Not Sarah. She had seen much, much worse than Corey Sylvester could even contemplate. In Chicago, children as young as eight dealt drugs and sold their bodies on street corners and murdered each other for sport.

She thought of a pretty girl with glossy braids and old, tired eyes, then pushed the memory aside.

This was rural Wyoming, where children still played kick-the-can on a warm spring night and the most excitement to be found was at the high school baseball diamond.

That’s why she had come here, to find peace. To immerse herself in the slow, serene pace of small-town life.

To heal.

“Corey has done nothing,” she assured the police chief. “He’s a troubled young boy and I…I believe I know why.”

“I’m assuming this has something to do with his stepfather, otherwise you wouldn’t be here looking for the mayor’s head on a platter, right?”

Her jaw clenched as she remembered what she’d seen at school that day. “Corey has all the characteristics of an abused child. I believe his stepfather is the one abusing him.”

Chief Harte leaned forward, suddenly alert as an alpha wolf scenting danger. She started to shrink back in her chair, but quickly checked the movement. She wouldn’t cower. Not if she could help it.

“That’s a very serious allegation, Ms. McKenzie. You have any evidence to back that up?”

She felt sick all over again just thinking about it. “Corey’s been in my class for two weeks now and—”

He interrupted her with a frown. “Only two weeks? School’s out in another month. Why would he transfer into your class so late in the year when the session’s almost over?”

Because he’d gone through all three of the other fourth-grade teachers and each one refused to allow him back into her class. She was his last stop on the road before expulsion.

“He had some difficulties with the other teachers. But that doesn’t matter. What concerns me is that in those two weeks he has come to school twice with black eyes and once with stitches in the corner of his mouth. That’s just not normal wear and tear for a boy his age.”

“Corey’s not like most boys.”

“He’s certainly a little high-strung, but he’s still a child.”

After a moment of studying her out of those vivid blue eyes, the police chief pulled a notebook from his pocket and began writing in it. “Two black eyes and stitches in his mouth. That’s what you said, right?”

She nodded. “When I asked him about his first injury, he became extremely evasive. He refused to look me in the eye and mumbled some obviously fictitious story about falling off his bike. His second black eye came from falling out of a tree, he said.”

“And the stitches?”

“Yet another fall off his bike. He said he did a face plant on the concrete.”

“It’s possible he’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s just accident-prone. When I was a kid, I once spent a whole summer at the clinic in town getting patched up from one accident or another.”

She had a disturbing mental image of a dark-haired little boy with those blue eyes and the devil in his grin, but she quickly pushed it away.

“Corey is a rough-and-tumble kind of kid, Ms. McKenzie,” the chief continued. “It’s only natural that he’ll suffer a few scrapes and bruises along the way.”

“But four serious accidents in two weeks? Doesn’t that stretch the bounds of credibility a little even for you, Chief Harte?”

He checked his notebook. “Four? You only mentioned three.”

“I was getting to that. Today, during our last recess of the day, he ripped his shirt on the playground fence. He refused to let me help him, but through the tear in his shirt I saw what looked like bruises on his shoulder.”

“Bruises?”

“Like from a man’s hand squeezing viciously hard.” She didn’t add that she’d once had similar bruises. And that even though they had faded more than a year ago, she could sometimes still feel them.

He blew out a breath, and for the first time she began to think maybe she wasn’t fighting a losing battle. He scribbled a few more notes in his book, then glanced at her again. “What makes you suspect the mayor is behind all of this?”

“When Corey transferred into my class, I examined his school records so I could be familiar with his situation. Until midway through the second grade, Corey’s teachers all loved him and he had wonderful grades. The comments in his report cards were things like ‘always willing to help others.’ ‘A joy to have in class.’ ‘Creative and imaginative.”’

“He’s imaginative, all right. Last winter during a cold spell he poured water in the keyhole of every store on Main Street so the locks would freeze. Took us half a day to thaw everything out.”

“His behavior in class began to change dramatically, coinciding quite noticeably around the time I understand his mother married Mayor Garrett. Almost overnight, a bright, artistic child turned angry and destructive. I believe there’s a connection.”

“A lot of kids have trouble adjusting to divorces and remarriages. Doesn’t mean they’re being abused.”

She glared at him, feeling as if she’d lost all the headway she thought she’d gained. Why wasn’t he taking this seriously? She had been through this for more than an hour with Principal Hendricks and she had had just about enough of Salt River’s good-old-boy network. She had no doubt that’s why she seemed to be hitting a brick wall here. Nobody wanted to rock the boat, especially when powerful people were on board.

“Do you care about this child’s welfare at all? Or is he just one more juvenile delinquent to you?”

He blinked at her sudden attack. “Sure I care about him. But I just can’t jump into a major investigation based on speculation and conjecture.”

Speculation and conjecture? She’d given him ample cause to investigate. Wasn’t he listening to her at all?

Furious, she glared at him, completely forgetting that the man was supposed to intimidate her. “You mean you don’t want to alienate the mayor by pursuing an investigation against him. Isn’t that right?”

She narrowed her gaze thoughtfully. “That’s it, isn’t it? I think I’m beginning to understand. Seth Garrett is an important man around here. Tell me, Chief Harte, are you more concerned about keeping your job or in protecting a little boy?”

As soon as the words escaped her tongue, she knew they were a mistake. A monumental mistake. The police chief’s blue eyes hardened. His easy charm disappeared, leaving only raw anger.

“Be careful, ma’am,” he murmured.

She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap to hide their renewed trembling. Where had that outburst of hers come from?