Outside the Lines Read Online Free

the helm, then I know it
wasn’t
a power grab. In that case my money’s squarely on Savoca.
    I move from room to room upstairs, pulling back shutters. When I get to Grant’s room, I see he’s just dumped his suitcase on his bed like he doesn’t think we’re staying. I head downstairs and find him settled in next to Sherm, firing up the Xbox. As I move around the room, pulling back shutters, the fist around my chest loosens a little when he’s able to coax Sherm into playing something with him.
    Ulie comes out of her room and sinks onto the sofa on Sherm’s other side, hooking her arm around his shoulders. He doesn’t look at her, but I see him shift into her side as he pushes buttons on his controller.
    There’s only one way to make this right. I’m going to take revenge on the sorry bastard who did this to us, serve his head on a platter at the next
borgata
sit-down, and bring my family home.
    Even if it kills me.

Chapter 2
    Adri
    â€œIs this straight?” Dad asks, peering in the mirror across from the front door and messing with the badge on the breast pocket of his blue shirt.
    There is almost no crime on our little island because Dad is legendary for taking down drug rings and poachers, but when it comes to the little things, like pinning his badge on straight, he still needs help.
    That’s why I’m here.
    When Mom died last spring, I came back from Jacksonville so I could live at home and help Dad. He and Mom were high school sweethearts and married not long after graduation. He’s always been taken care of. I don’t want him to be alone.
    I move to where he is and turn him, unpinning the badge and straightening it. I smooth his salt-and-pepper hair off his forehead and stretch up on my toes to kiss the smooth patch of cheek above the line of his beard. “I seriously doubt they’re going to send the chief of police home for a dress code infraction.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” he chuckles, giving my blond ponytail a gentle tug. “You ready for your first day influencing the youth of Port St. Mary?”
    I was over the moon when I got the call three days ago that Mrs. Martin had had surgery and they needed a long-term sub for her class. Not that I’m happy they hacked out her gallbladder or anything, but her loss is my gain, so to speak.
    I come from a long line of educators. Mom was my first-grade teacher. Both of her sisters, her father, and her grandfather taught as well. You could say it’s in my DNA. I resisted it for a while, thought I wanted to go into finance, but by my junior year at Clemson I had to finally admit to myself that teaching was what I really wanted to do. I changed my major to education and finished my credentials just before Mom died.
    Since her death, it’s felt even more urgent to me to teach—like maybe following in her footsteps will somehow keep her spirit alive. I had a position all lined up in Jacksonville for the fall, but had to give it up to come home. I’ve looked here, but Port St. Mary and the surrounding communities are small, and teaching jobs are pretty scarce. I was afraid I was going to have to try elsewhere and suffer a miserable commute come fall. This was a prayer answered . . . which makes me a little afraid I might have had something to do with poor Mrs. Martin’s gallbladder flaring up. And now it’s starting to feel like one of those “be careful what you wish for” scenarios.
    I rub my sweaty palms down my slacks. “What happens if they hate me?”
    Dad wraps me in his arms and squeezes me in a bear hug, crushing the air out of my lungs. “They’re going to love you, punkin. Your mom would be so proud of you right now,” he says, a catch in his voice. “I hope you know that.”
    I swallow back the lump in my throat and look up at him. I can’t even remember the last time he’s brought her up out of the blue like