Hunte by Rie Warren Read Free Book Online Page B

probation with the police department—Chief Tilden wanted to make an example of me.
    I could’ve made a few calls of my own and taken on other work, but I was going shiny-side up. I’d vowed to make a clean break from dark undercover. I wasn’t going back in, not even for Walker. He hadn’t contacted me again, but I listened for the burn phone to ring like a fucking junkie, wanting that hit yet hating what it made me do. Convincing myself I didn’t need the high to make life worthwhile.
    Wednesday morning I drove over to Jack’s school, Cooper Hall Elementary. I didn’t wear a suit because I only did that when I had to meet top brass for a debriefing, aka ball-kicking. Neither did I wear my Retribution cut, leather pants, or mirrored aviators. Meet the teacher meant clean jeans, scuff-free boots, and fingers scrubbed of grease stains, as best I could.
    On my way in, I inspected the school’s security system. It was updated, pretty advanced. I approved. Outside, cameras sat on every corner and every few feet down the length of the building. The playground was fenced off and locked down. At the front doors, I waited to be buzzed into the office. Inside, the reception was surrounded by bullet-proof plexi, and I underwent the whole identity check rigmarole. I nearly handed over my official unofficial credentials from MPPD but thought better of it. The name on my ID was Hunter Sexton, and that was not the last name on Jack’s birth certificate. I fished out my real license and slid it into the drop box.
    At least they could scan that one without immediately alerting my former employers or any hit men who might have a price on my head.
    I approved of the exacting protocol. Although this shit was scary considering when I was a kid, they barely performed background checks on teachers. Whatever, I was no worse for wear. But to keep Jack safe? I said do what you gotta do.
    School-issued ID in place, I trekked the corridors until I found the right pod for Jack’s classroom. The door was open, colorful turkey nametags for all the kids tacked to it. I had to laugh at Jack’s. He’d put the feathers on the turkey’s head instead of on the rump. It looked like a Native American headdress.
    I rapped my knuckles on door. “Hey. I’m here about Jack Angelo.”
    “Mr. Angelo. Please come in and find Jack’s desk.”
    Forget about searching for the tot-sized desk. My cock perked to awareness in my pants as I looked at Jack’s teacher. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me? First with the instant attraction to JB and now for Hot Teach? Twice in as many fucking weeks?
    It wasn’t my fault. I called foul play. With her back turned and her hair pinned up, she bent over her desk. The tight secretary skirt she wore accentuated a droolworthy ass, and the skirt’s small slit in the back showed amazing legs that ended in high heels.
    Damn, back in the day my teachers had looked like old crones.
    “So glad you could come in. I like to meet all the parents during the first half of the year.”
    I looked for Jack’s desk and was halfway there when Miss Barnes turned around.
    “Oh!” she gasped.
    “Fuck.” I sank onto the nearest desk, nearly overturning it.
    Miss Barnes—my kid’s kindergarten teacher—was none other than JB.
    Not on a bike. Not in leathers. But in a thigh-skimming skirt, soft blue blouse, and with glasses perched on her freckled nose.
    How is she even hotter like this?
    “You’re Hunter. Jack’s dad, Hunter ?” She paced back and forth, those sweet heels punctuating her rising irritation. She flicked off her glasses and sent them skidding across her desk. “You said you were Hunter Sexton. Jack’s records say Hunter Angelo.”
    I was still in shock over seeing JB in an entirely ordinary setting, while she still managed to look nothing less than extraordinary.
    “Well?” She stomped toward me.
    I rose to my feet as she halted in front of me. “ Uhhh .” I pulled my fingers along my jaw. “It’s