Paradise Falls (Paradise Falls #1-5)(3)

“Katzenberg, what are you doing?”

Elliot indicated Jennifer with a tilt of his chin. “Jenny fell off her bike. I was trying to help, but then this * comes up and starts giving me shit.”

“He had her by the hair and he was trying to push her into the car,” the stranger said without missing a beat.

Edwards looked at her. “That right?”

Jennifer could still feel Elliot’s hand pulling at her hair, just like he did years ago when he used her braid to shove her face into a pillow while tearing at her dress.

“That’s right,” she blurted out.

Edwards snapped around to Elliot. “Get in your car and get out of here. I see either of you anywhere near the school, and I will arrest both of you. I better not get wind of you following her home again, either.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Elliot snapped.

“Try me, you little shit,” said Edwards. “I was putting bigger boys than you in handcuffs when you were a smear on your mother’s panties. You want to go? We’ll go. Otherwise, get the hell away from my school.”

Elliot scowled at the older man, then addressed the stranger directly. “Yeah, I’ll be seeing you.”

The stranger’s face was neutral, but a tiny smirk betrayed him. “No. You won’t.”

Elliot looked at him, his face twisting in confusion, before he sank into the car. Grayson gave the stranger a hard look as he took the driver’s seat and slammed the door closed. The big car rumbled to life, squeezed past Edwards’ cruiser, and rolled off.

The aging policeman sighed, rubbed his forehead, and walked over. “You hurt?”

“My ankle,” Jennifer sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“You have a scrape on your arm,” said the stranger.

Jennifer flinched and looked down at her forearm. Of course, now it started to hurt.

Edwards sighed. “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride down to the school. I assume you’re not going to let me talk you into calling a substitute.”

“No,” Jennifer said, hobbling towards the car. “My bike--“

“I’ve got it.” The stranger lifted it from the pavement.

“Toss ‘er in the trunk,” Edwards said.

Slumped in the front seat of the cruiser, Jennifer wedged her leg against the laptop computer bolted to the console. Edwards chatted briefly with the stranger, and then walked around to drop into the driver’s seat. He wound the car around through a precise J-turn and headed towards the school.

“That guy looked familiar,” Edwards said. “I’ve seen him somewhere before, I know it.” He looked over at Jennifer and sighed. “When are you going to do something about Elliot? This is the fourth time I’ve had to chase him off from the school, Jennifer.”

She shook her head. “What am I supposed to do? You think Grayson’s brother will arrest him? His uncle and father won’t pull strings and get him out? I don’t want to talk about this again.”

Edwards sighed, and muttered something to himself that she couldn’t hear.





2.





Nurse Meyers smirked when Jennifer flinched from the sting of antiseptic.

“How’d you get this?” The school nurse said, as she bandaged Jennifer’s scraped arm.

Jennifer chewed her lip. My brother in law, who stalked and harassed me since my husband died, ran me off the road. I scraped my arm when I fell. That was before he tried to drag me into his car.

“I took a spill on the bike this morning. Just clumsy, I guess.”

Nurse Meyers shrugged her plump shoulders, taped some gauze pads to Jennifer’s arm, and secured the bandage with a pat. Jennifer pulled her hand back and wondered if the injury would develop permanent scars. Loose strands of hair dangled in her face, and she blew them away with an annoyed puff. The small nurse’s office made her feel claustrophobic, so she muttered a thank you and hurried out, letting the heavy old door swing closed behind her.

It felt like hours had passed since she left the house, but she still had plenty of time before the first bell.

Sighing, she drifted down the hall, trying not to limp. The nurse told her to stay off her ankle, but it wouldn’t give her much trouble for more than a day or so. Jennifer counted herself lucky. She’d had worse.

A badly sprained ankle when she was thirteen essentially ended any chance she had to become a serious gymnast. Not that she had much of a chance to begin with, since she was too tall at just a hair short of six feet, and her mother constantly harped on how she always lumbered about without an ounce of grace. That injury was one of the most painful things she ever experienced, and thinking about twisted ankles sent shivers up her spine.

After she fished out her keys and unlocked her classroom, Jennifer stripped off her pads, gloves, and helmet. She set her messenger bag on the desk, pulled out her laptop, and lifted the lid. A half sigh, half groan bubbled out as she saw the shattered screen. A few loose keys clattered like broken teeth onto the desk.

A press of the power button gave her only a mournful bloop, and twisted rainbows flashed on the screen. The laptop was dead. She turned on her ponderously slow and buggy school-issued desktop computer. Her eyes fell on the ruined laptop again and her teeth clenched. The computer wasn’t a necessity today, but she’d have to spring a little for a replacement. White hot fury surged in her chest and she had to stop herself from tossing the whole bag through the window.