respond. He banged the glass door shut behind her, his hand mopping his brow. Idiot was so used to the fancy glass walls that he'd forgotten they were there. She watched him in the mirror above the elevator call buttons. He lunged for the phone on his desk and began dialing furiously.
The elevator chimed its arrival. Caitlyn entered, looked up for one last glance at her former boss, now huddled over his phone, his face flushed. He met her glance and startled, stood, cradling the handset between his cheek and shoulder. She smiled sweetly and waved good-bye.
The doors slid shut, and she grabbed her cell phone. "Clemens? Hey, it's Caitlyn. Could you ask one of the guys in the surveillance section to dump a phone for me?"
As Sarah worked her way down the side of the cliff, memories cascaded through her mind. Her and Sam, Sam and her—always breaking the rules, two partners in crime.
The first time she'd met him, he'd been trespassing on school property. Tap-dancing down the empty corridor, whistling as he opened classroom doors, peered inside, then shut them once more.
"Can I help you?" Sarah had asked in her best "I've got eyes in the back of my head so don't try anything" teacher's voice. His nonchalance as he straightened, removed his dark sunglasses, and gave her a slow once over was annoying.
He stepped closer and flashed her a thousand-watt smile. "I'm looking for the music room. Or the auditorium. I need a piano."
"You need a piano?" she asked, not sure if she'd heard him correctly. "Excuse me, but do you have a child who is a student here, Mr—"
He stared at her blankly for a moment, then chuckled. "No ma'am. No child. Is that a problem?"
"The only problem seems to be the fact that you're trespassing."
"Wasn't today the last day of school? Aren't the kids all gone?"
"That's beside the point." Sarah scrutinized him. Very tan, which made his dark hair and dark eyes look exotic. Definitely not from around here. His accent—or lack of one—made her think West Coast. He was trim, well-muscled, just shy of six feet, wearing a white polo and jeans that fit like...her gaze trailed down, lingered a moment too long. He twisted his head to peer over one shoulder.
"What's wrong? Did I sit in something?"
Sarah went rigid, felt her face flush with a combination of embarrassment and suppressed laughter. If it had happened anywhere but here at school, she would have acknowledged her ogling, made a joke out of it. Especially as the waggled eyebrow and over-dramatic leer he sent her way told her she wasn't fooling him.
"Let's start over. I'm Sarah Godwin." She extended her hand.
He shook it with a firm grasp, didn't push things by lingering too long. Although she did notice the way his smile deepened, wrinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Sam. Sam Durandt."
"Sam Durandt. Who is in desperate need of a piano?"
"Right. See, my keyboard hasn't arrived yet. I've got to," he rapped his knuckles against his temple, "get this song worked out before it drives me nuts."
"Oh. You're a composer, are you?"
"No, not a composer. I mean, not only music. I write songs."
Sarah pursed her lips. Was this guy for real? "Anything I might have heard?"
He rocked on his heels, looked down. "No, not yet. But," he brightened, beaming at her, "maybe this is the one. If you could show me to a piano."
She hesitated. She was alone in the building until Mr. Cole arrived to clean. He seemed friendly enough, but...
"I'll rent it from you," he blurted into the lengthening silence.
"Rent it?"
"Yeah. I don't have a lot of money, but if you let me work on my song, I'll write one just for you." He glanced up at her, his long, dark eyelashes framing even darker, larger eyes. "Please...it's a matter of life or death."
Sarah laughed. He was worse than her students. "All right. Come with me, Sam the Music Man."
Her foot brushed against the granite rock face and Sarah fell, the rope zipping through her hands much faster than she had
The elevator chimed its arrival. Caitlyn entered, looked up for one last glance at her former boss, now huddled over his phone, his face flushed. He met her glance and startled, stood, cradling the handset between his cheek and shoulder. She smiled sweetly and waved good-bye.
The doors slid shut, and she grabbed her cell phone. "Clemens? Hey, it's Caitlyn. Could you ask one of the guys in the surveillance section to dump a phone for me?"
As Sarah worked her way down the side of the cliff, memories cascaded through her mind. Her and Sam, Sam and her—always breaking the rules, two partners in crime.
The first time she'd met him, he'd been trespassing on school property. Tap-dancing down the empty corridor, whistling as he opened classroom doors, peered inside, then shut them once more.
"Can I help you?" Sarah had asked in her best "I've got eyes in the back of my head so don't try anything" teacher's voice. His nonchalance as he straightened, removed his dark sunglasses, and gave her a slow once over was annoying.
He stepped closer and flashed her a thousand-watt smile. "I'm looking for the music room. Or the auditorium. I need a piano."
"You need a piano?" she asked, not sure if she'd heard him correctly. "Excuse me, but do you have a child who is a student here, Mr—"
He stared at her blankly for a moment, then chuckled. "No ma'am. No child. Is that a problem?"
"The only problem seems to be the fact that you're trespassing."
"Wasn't today the last day of school? Aren't the kids all gone?"
"That's beside the point." Sarah scrutinized him. Very tan, which made his dark hair and dark eyes look exotic. Definitely not from around here. His accent—or lack of one—made her think West Coast. He was trim, well-muscled, just shy of six feet, wearing a white polo and jeans that fit like...her gaze trailed down, lingered a moment too long. He twisted his head to peer over one shoulder.
"What's wrong? Did I sit in something?"
Sarah went rigid, felt her face flush with a combination of embarrassment and suppressed laughter. If it had happened anywhere but here at school, she would have acknowledged her ogling, made a joke out of it. Especially as the waggled eyebrow and over-dramatic leer he sent her way told her she wasn't fooling him.
"Let's start over. I'm Sarah Godwin." She extended her hand.
He shook it with a firm grasp, didn't push things by lingering too long. Although she did notice the way his smile deepened, wrinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Sam. Sam Durandt."
"Sam Durandt. Who is in desperate need of a piano?"
"Right. See, my keyboard hasn't arrived yet. I've got to," he rapped his knuckles against his temple, "get this song worked out before it drives me nuts."
"Oh. You're a composer, are you?"
"No, not a composer. I mean, not only music. I write songs."
Sarah pursed her lips. Was this guy for real? "Anything I might have heard?"
He rocked on his heels, looked down. "No, not yet. But," he brightened, beaming at her, "maybe this is the one. If you could show me to a piano."
She hesitated. She was alone in the building until Mr. Cole arrived to clean. He seemed friendly enough, but...
"I'll rent it from you," he blurted into the lengthening silence.
"Rent it?"
"Yeah. I don't have a lot of money, but if you let me work on my song, I'll write one just for you." He glanced up at her, his long, dark eyelashes framing even darker, larger eyes. "Please...it's a matter of life or death."
Sarah laughed. He was worse than her students. "All right. Come with me, Sam the Music Man."
Her foot brushed against the granite rock face and Sarah fell, the rope zipping through her hands much faster than she had
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