Chloe claps her hands, calling for attention. “Welcome, parents and friends. I’m so excited to share what we’ll be learning this year.”
She regards us from the front of the room, shining and unaware that a man with a kill count higher than the number of students she teaches lurks in her audience. A man who has a gun hidden under his jacket…not that he can easily get to it while wedged into a chair meant for a five-year-old.
This would be funny if it weren’t such a disaster.
But I can adapt and find an opportunity in this mess.
I’ll watch and gather intel.
Chloe D. fascinates me.
But I bet I could strip that smile off her face in no time at all. This woman wouldn’t last five minutes in my world.
I shift, searching for a less painful position, and resign myself to Parent-Teacher Night. To watching the kindergarten instructor in the apple-printed dress scurry around her classroom with no clue what’s coming for her.
Or who.
Chapter 2
Chloe
I clap my hands again, smiling so widely that my cheeks ache as I survey the parents sitting awkwardly on all those tiny chairs.
This is my favorite part of the school year. When I’ve met all my little friends and now get to witness their excitement. I’m good at this, at making people feel special and seen.
That’s what kindergarten teachers do.
My gaze slides to him again. The man who would clearly rather be anywhere but here. He didn’t bring a spouse or partner or his child, and for the life of me, I can’t envision which kid is his.
He’s the lone gray storm cloud in a room full of sunshine.
Not just because of his olive skin, short brown hair, or dark eyes, but due to the predatory way he tracks my every movement. The skin at the base of my skull prickles, and I can’t stop sneaking glances at him, as if he’s a rare reptile at the zoo.
He’s ruggedly handsome, muscular without being overdone. This is a man who either subjects his body to lengthy, daily gym workouts or has a physically demanding job. One that pays well, because that suit is bespoke. Must be, to fit him that perfectly.
Those black-as-sin eyes penetrate me. When he licks his lips, electricity zips all the way down to my toes.
Stop. Ogling. The parent.
Spinning away, I gesture to the wall where twenty-six colorful letters march across the corkboard. “We’ve already started our alphabet journey. Yesterday, your children created these handprint animals to represent each sound.”
I shift to the side to reveal the display of alligators and bears and cats formed from tiny painted palms.
A collective “aw” rises from all the grown-ups.
With one exception.
The mystery man sits rigidly on his child-sized chair with his knees kissing his chest, a mountain trying to fold into a matchbox. His face remains unreadable, but that shrewd gaze misses nothing.
“And now,” I fight to keep my voice steady, “we’ll move on to our number wall. This year, we’re using the Building Blocks math curriculum, which introduces numbers through tactile experience before moving to written symbols.”
I weave between tables, distributing packets of information, bending to answer questions from Mrs. Colson about her son’s peanut allergy, and reassuring Mr. Patel that, yes, his daughter will absolutely have time to adjust. All the while, I’m hyperaware of the silent man whose presence bends the air around him.
When I reach his desk, I pause, clutching my stack of handouts. “I don’t believe I caught your name.” I offer my brightest smile, the one that usually melts even the most solemn parents.
He glances away from me. I try not to deflate over his obvious dismissal. But then he turns back and answers in a low, rough voice. “Kolya.”
He fidgets in his seat, and his hand slides under his jacket to rub his side. The tiny chair creaks beneath his weight.
