If I Belong With You: A Sweet and Engaging Christian Romance (Seriously Sweet St Louis Book 1) Read online

  If I Belong with You

  Cindy Kirk

  Copyright © Cynthia Rutledge 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9798692804273

  First published in 2000 as UNDERCOVER ANGEL by Silhouette Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Sneak Peek of As If You Were Mine

  Also by Cindy Kirk

  Chapter One

  Angel Morelli chewed on her yellow number-two pencil and paid rapt attention to the man at the front of the room.

  You have beautiful eyes.

  She offered up the compliment, sending it silently across the space between them, smiling with satisfaction when his gaze met hers and he faltered over his words.

  His eyes were extraordinary—an intriguing shade that hovered between gray and green. Occasionally when he hit a favorite topic, his eyes would glow and the green would turn to a bright emerald. But now, at the end of the day, they’d dulled to a lifeless putty color.

  Abandoning her notepad, Angel rested her chin against her palm and studied the young history teacher. He was as blond as she was dark. Tall and muscular, he always dressed professionally. Today he’d worn her favorite combination: a denim shirt and khaki pants. A brightly colored cartoon tie hung loosely around his neck, secured with a once-crisp knot. He looked, she thought idly, just like she liked her men to look.

  Immediately the sheer absurdity of the thought struck her and she laughed out loud.

  “Angel, perhaps you’d like to share with the class what you find so amusing about nerve gas usage during the Vietnam War.” Jake Weston quirked his eyebrow questioningly.

  She groaned to herself. Even though she was twenty-six and not eighteen, she still refused to look foolish in the suddenly sharp and assessing eyes of what were supposed to be her peers. Angel thought quickly. “That they had the nerve to use it?”

  Laughter filled the classroom. She stifled an impulse to smile and instead smirked.

  The teacher’s lips twitched but his expression was stern. “That will—”

  A bell rang and the sounds of conversation and chairs scraping the floor drowned out his words. He halted, as if knowing it would be futile to talk above the clatter that accompanied the end of each school day.

  Angel quickly shoved her books into her backpack. She’d promised to meet Crow at three-thirty, and if she hurried she’d have just enough time to grab a candy bar.

  Shrugging on her leather jacket, she made her way down the crowded aisle, her thoughts already jumping ahead to her rendezvous in the park.

  “Not so fast, Angel.” A familiar deep voice stopped her just before she reached the door. “I need you to stick around for a few minutes. We need to talk.”

  She turned slowly and tried to hide her irritation. Normally she’d give anything to spend some time with Jake Weston, but today her meeting with Crow took priority. “I’m in kind of a hurry.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Five minutes max.” He flashed her an engaging smile. “Guaranteed.”

  Angel heaved a resigned sigh. The super-size Milky Way would have to wait. Goodness knows, Crow wouldn’t.

  She flipped her hair back from her face and swaggered to the front of the room, not an easy task when her off the shoulder oversized top threatened to fall from her shoulders and her cheetah print leggings felt a size too small.

  With each step, his classically handsome features grew more pronounced. Her heart rate increased and the hungry growl in her stomach no longer mattered.

  “I knew you couldn’t resist me forever.” Her flippant words ran far too close to the truth to be a joke, yet a boy heading out the door snickered.

  Jake shot him a quelling glance before his gaze shifted to the last of the students exiting the room. “Marylou, will you leave the door open as you leave?”

  “Sure, Mr. Weston.” The plump blonde gave him an adoring look.

  Angel stifled a groan. She hoped she’d never been that obvious when she’d been a senior.

  Jake Weston’s gaze shifted to the stack of papers on his desk and he gestured to a nearby chair. “Have a seat.”

  Angel ignored the offer. Instead she braced a hand against the side of his heavy wooden desk and leaned over the cluttered surface. She inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne and waited for him to look up.

  After what seemed an eternity, his gaze rose. “Angel—”

  Their eyes locked. Their breathing came in unison. Her legs turned to jelly. Never in all her twenty-six years had she felt more like a school-girl.

  She ignored the unfamiliar butterflies and flashed him her most engaging smile. “Are you sure we should be meeting like this?”

  A startled expression crossed his face.

  He laughed finally, a self-deprecating grin twisting his mouth. “You really had me going. Believe it or not, for a second I thought you were serious.”

  Angel shrugged, her smile lingering an instant longer. She shoved the hard wood chair against the wall and slowly sat down, using the time to regain her composure.

  Although she was pleased he hadn’t responded to her bait, a tiny part of her couldn’t help but wish he had. It had been a long time since she’d flirted with any man, much less one this handsome, and she found herself reluctant to end the game so quickly. She batted her heavily mascaraed lashes. “Are you sure I was kidding?”

  Though she’d meant the words to come out light and teasing, the natural huskiness of her voice added a decidedly sensual edge.

  A hint of unease clouded his gaze, and he sat back in his chair putting distance between them. Angel cursed her reckless impulsiveness.

  She flashed a smile and punched his shoulder. “I’m not trying to get it on. I already got an old man. He’s mad chill.”

  The tension in his expression eased. “You’ve already got an old man?”

  “Yep.” She blew a bubble, then popped it with her finger. “He’s old, but not as old as you.”

  Angel caught a hint of unmistakable relief in the teacher’s eyes before he grabbed his planner from the desk drawer. “I know you’re in a hurry so I’ll get to the point. You’ve been a student here at Woodland Hills for what—two weeks?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  It had actually been closer to three. Three frustrating weeks of listening and asking and observing. Three weeks gone—and she knew nothing more than when she’d first arrived.

  She shifted her gaze from his face, settling on the clock over his left shoulder. Three-fifteen.

&n
bsp; “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but last night Mr. Harper was in a car accident. He’s going to be okay but he won’t be back this semester.”

  “That has what to do with me?” Angel had briefly met the rotund and balding guidance counselor when she’d enrolled. She hadn’t seen him since. The man had been pleasant but disorganized. She pushed aside the memory of how he’d messed up her schedule, and quickly calculated how long it would take her to reach the park.

  “Well…” Jake cleared his throat.

  She shifted impatiently.

  “One of Mr. Harper’s primary duties was to help students who…” He hesitated again.

  She glanced at the clock and groaned. At this rate she’d never make it to the park on time. “Go ahead. Just say it. Harper was in charge of the losers.”

  Jake’s eyes widened and he jerked back as if she’d struck a physical blow.

  “Okay, I can tell you’re into all that PC garbage. Let me rephrase.” She sighed and recited the line in a singsong manner. “Mr. Harper worked with those of us labeled ‘at-risk.’”

  Angel could allude to her bottom-feeding status in Woodland Hills’s food chain without a twinge of angst. Being out of high school eight years had taught her there was more to life than being a homecoming queen or a cheerleader. But she was not so far removed that she didn’t realize that if she really were a high school student in this situation, she would appreciate the teacher’s sensitivity.

  Jake’s neck turned red above his collar. “Angel, please don’t misunderstand—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She snapped her gum. “I have high self-esteem. I can handle it. I have a lot of potential.”

  “Yes, you do.” His words were sincere and reassuring. He’d totally missed her sarcasm. “If you apply yourself, there’s no limit to how far you can go.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. My answer about the nerve gas was brilliant.”

  She checked the clock again and her heart shifted into high gear. If she ran most of the way, she might still be on time. She stood. “I hate to cut this party short, but I’m a busy girl. I’ve got places to go, people to see.”

  “Okay.” He held up a hand. “Short and sweet. I need to set up a time for a home visit. Mr. H had gotten all but yours done.”

  “Home visit?” She forced herself to remain calm. After all, he had to be kidding. Didn’t he? She cast a surreptitious glance, searching for a sign that he was just teasing—a twinkle in his eye, a twitch of his lip, even a raised brow. But all she found was an earnest expression. Her heart sank.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” His dimples flashed unexpectedly. “It gives me a chance to meet your parents.”

  After more than ten years, the response was automatic. “They’re dead.”

  Concern darkened his gaze. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, well, me too.”

  “You live with relatives?”

  She shook her head. “Been there. Done that.”

  “Group home?”

  Angel lied with a straight face. “About as bad. Foster parents.”

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Do you like them?”

  She gave him a pitying glance. “What do you think?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The last foster home she’d been in, the one she’d left the day she turned eighteen, flashed in her mind.

  “They’re old and crabby, and the place stinks like Ben-Gay,” she said flatly.

  “That’s too bad.” Jake shifted in his chair and shuffled a gray mechanical pencil from one hand to another. He paused, then cleared his throat. “How about I come by tonight after dinner? Say, about six?”

  “Make it tomorrow. I’m busy tonight.” Angel didn’t wait for his reply. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

  “Six o’clock?” he called to her.

  “Sounds good.” Angel turned in the doorway. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you about the smell.”

  She hurried down the shiny linoleum, her mind racing as fast as her steps. He’d caught her off guard with his request and she’d thought fast. Maybe a little too fast. Still, how hard could it be to come up with a couple of old, crabby, foster parents?

  Jake stuck his head into the principal’s office. “You needed to see me, Tom?”

  Tom Jorgens looked up and nodded for him to come in. In his late forties, Tom had more the air of a Fortune 500 CEO than a midwestern high school principal. His dark brown hair was cut short in the latest style, his suit was hand tailored, and his cuff links were real diamonds. The tortoiseshell reading glasses he’d recently acquired completed the picture.

  Jake was already in the room by the time he realized Tom was on the phone. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he walked across the thick plush carpet and took a seat in his favorite leather wing-back. His gaze shifted slowly around the room. After almost three years, he still marveled at the magic Tom’s wife had wrought with her decorating skill. Done in a soft teal with a touch of gray, the once-sterile office now radiated the rich warmth usually seen only in the offices of top administrators.

  The school district’s money for renovation had been nonexistent, but Jane Jorgens had declared the redone office to be her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary gift to her husband. She’d died less than a year later. Sadness rose inside Jake, despite his efforts to squelch it.

  Jane’s unexpected death in a car accident had hit Tom hard. His despair had been so immense, so profound, that the staff had wondered if he would survive.

  Tom hung up the phone and smiled. The simple gesture emphasized his gauntness. Never a small man, he’d lost so much weight over the past year that his clothes practically hung on his skeletal frame. Jake wondered if Tom would ever get over his grief.

  “So, have you heard any more from the cops?” Tom snapped.

  Jake didn’t even blink. Tom had become notorious for his abrupt manner; it was as much a change as his physical appearance. Still, Jake, of all people, could understand. He’d lost his brother last year and he knew he’d certainly changed. The part of Jake that had been trusting had died in that apartment with Jim, and had not been resurrected.

  “Well, have you?” Tom’s smile faded and his gaze sharpened. Lately, all Tom could talk about was the fact that a police investigation into an interstate methamphetamine ring seemed to point to someone at the school.

  “Why would they contact me and not you?” Jake forced himself to ignore the impatience in the principal’s voice. Once jovial and even-tempered, Tom had become irritable, lashing out at staff over trivial matters he once wouldn’t have given a second thought. They’d all learned to walk on eggshells.

  Even now, Jake chose his words carefully. “I haven’t spoken to anyone connected with the investigation in almost two months—not since before Christmas.”

  “You don’t think they’d plant another undercover officer here without letting us know?”

  “I can’t imagine why they’d do that,” Jake said thoughtfully. “They let us know when they’d placed the other two.”

  “I think they blame us.” Tom’s eyes glittered, and he leaned forward resting his elbows on the desk. “They think we blew the cover on those other two.”

  “C’mon Tom. Only you, Bob Harper and I knew they were undercover,” Jake said. “And we both know Bob didn’t say a word.”

  “What about those new students this semester?” Like a bulldog, Tom refused to let the subject drop. “Any chance one of them could be a cop?”

  “No,” Jake said immediately. “Not a one.”

  “Don’t speak so quickly.” Tom tapped his pen like a drumstick against the dark cherry wood desktop. “Give it some thought. How many of them are there?”

  Jake thought for a moment. “Three. Two girls and one boy.”

  “Anything suspicious about any of them?”

  “You mean like have I caught them handcuffing other students to the flagpole
? Or reading someone their Miranda rights?”

  Tom shot him a look that said his attempt at humor wasn’t appreciated.

  Jake wiped away his smile and forced a suitably serious expression. He thought for a moment about the new students: Emily, Angel and Kirk.

  Of the three, the only one that had made any sort of impact was Angel. With her wild dark hair tumbling past her shoulders and a pronounced swagger, he was ashamed to admit, she’d captured his attention. But obviously she was too blatant, too in-his-face to be an undercover cop.

  “Well?” Tom’s gaze was sharp and probing.

  “Nope.” Jake shook his head. “Not an undercover cop in the group.”

  The pen ceased its tapping, and Tom’s sudden sigh of relief caught Jake off guard.

  “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” Tom said.

  “What does it matter?” Surprise made Jake speak freely. “The others didn’t cause any problem.”

  “You’re right,” Tom said. “I just like to know who is in my school. If you hear anything…”

  The principal’s sentiment made perfect sense. His ultimate responsibility was to the students, and it certainly wasn’t too much for a principal to expect to be informed if he had cops posing as students in his school.

  “You can count on me,” Jake said without hesitation. “If I get even the slightest hint someone’s not who they appear to be, you’ll be the first one I’ll call.”

  Chapter Two

  Angel spotted Crow instantly. She couldn’t believe a man who’d just turned thirty-two years old could look like he was twenty-five. He sat on a bench beneath a huge sycamore, using the tree as a backrest. With eyes narrowed to block the sun, he gave the appearance of being half asleep. Angel knew he missed nothing. Not the way the mothers gathered their little ones when they ventured into the leafy shade, not the curious glances of the elderly walkers circling the park and not Angel’s approach from the south.