The Marshal

by Adrienne Giordano

  “The defense will have a field day,” Jenna said.

  All of this, he knew. One slipup and the bricks could be inadmissible. Ideally, they needed the State Police to send a crime scene investigator to handle evidence collection and marking.

  But they didn’t know if this truly was evidence. For all they knew, they had a stack of worthless bricks.

  “I’ll do it,” Barnes said. “I was part of the original investigation, and if it comes down to it, a prosecutor can make that fly. I’ll take it to the lab myself to keep the chain of custody intact.”

  “Perfect,” Jenna said. “We have a private lab the firm uses. It’ll be quicker.”

  That’d cost a fortune. A fortune Brent didn’t have. Just as he was about to say it, Jenna turned to him. “The firm will cover the cost. Penny told me that early on.”

  Next time he saw Penny, he wouldn’t tease her about how short she was. He wouldn’t tease her about anything. Ever again. Well, that might have been pushing it, but for the next while, he’d leave her alone.

  At some point, he’d figure out a way to thank her and make her understand how grateful he was. Suddenly, after all the years of no progress, maybe they’d be able to close his mother’s case and give his family closure.

  Closure.

  He despised that word. Wasn’t particularly sure he even understood it. One thing he did understand was that when they found his mother’s killer, he’d have to find a way to deal with his messed up emotions. Once the killer was found, his goal would be achieved. And after spending his entire adult life—every spare second of every spare minute of every spare hour—studying his mother’s case, he’d have to figure out a way to move on.

  Barnes turned back. “Let me get gloves out of the car.”

  While Barnes chased down gloves, Jenna stepped closer. “Are you okay? You’re quiet.”

  “You could be right about the bricks. The color is right.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Of course it wasn’t. She wanted inside his mind again. Maybe soon he’d let her in. Now? He couldn’t do it. That storm of emotions already churned, filling his lungs and trapping his air. When it broke through, it would drown him.

  “I know.” He touched her face, ran his finger down her cheek and over her jaw, and that simple motion—the connection—centered him. “I can’t go there. Part of me wants to. It’s...” He shook his head. “It’s too much.”

  There. Best he could do. Lame as it was. He just hoped she understood how difficult lame could be.

  She went up on tiptoes and—hey, now—kissed him. Quick. Probably didn’t even qualify as a kiss, but he wouldn’t complain. Not when that minor peck told him that she wouldn’t bug him about his emotional failings.

  The damned kick to the chest happened again, pounding at him as if he was supposed to do something. Whatever something was. But when she backed away, he wrapped his hand around her head and held her there, kissing her the way they’d done it earlier. Fast and hard and making sure his intent was clear. He wanted her and—surprise, surprise—it was about more than sex.

  If dealing with his pit of emotional garbage scared him, thinking about a relationship might give him a coronary.

  The crunch of boots on dry leaves sent Jenna leaping backward, but her gaze was on him and a wicked smile met his.

  “We’ll finish that later.” She spun to Barnes, already shifting to work mode. “We can compare the shape of the bricks to the wou—”

  She glanced up at him, brought her fingers to her mouth and tapped. Still, she was protecting him. Noble, but a problem.

  “Unfiltered, Jenna.”

  She dropped her hand. “Wound. If we can match the shape of the wound to one of these bricks, we have the murder weapon.”

  “And possibly DNA,” Barnes added.

  Could they get that lucky? Brent didn’t think so. This exercise, like all the ones before, could be a bust.

  Jenna stepped forward, tugged on his shirt and met his gaze. “It’s okay to be hopeful. I’m hopeful.”

  “I know, but...” He waved his hand. “All the disappointments.”

  Barnes handed them each two pairs of gloves. “You won’t be touching anything, but we all wear them. Double ’em up. No chances.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barnes dropped to his belly. “Here we go. I’ll take photos before I bring anything out.”

  Overhead, a bird chirped and Brent looked up. Wind rattled the almost barren tree branches. Slowly, he walked to the back end of the house, turned and came back. This could be it. A murder weapon. Don’t go there. Not yet. But...maybe. Jenna watched him. No talking. Please. No talking.

  After fourteen laps and some serious mind-shredding later, Brent saw Barnes crawl from under the porch. The sheriff, straightened and brushed moist dirt from his clothing. “I got a broken one.”

  “Ooh,” Jenna said. “Let me see.”

  Stooping low, he grabbed the broken brick from the pile. “Don’t touch it.”

  “I won’t. Let’s take it inside.” She turned to Brent, making hard eye contact in the dark. “I’ll compare it to crime-scene photos.”

  Translation: I’m going to look at photos of your mother and don’t want you to see.

  He could live with that. Even if the waiting might kill him. Then he wouldn’t have to live with anything.

  She left him standing beside the house, but he strode to where he could see part of the porch and Jenna just inside the front doorway. She held a photo, the overhead light shining down on her. “What is it?”

  “I think we’ve got something.”

  “What?”

  From her spot, she looked down at him. “I had the sheriff line the brick up with the wound on your mom’s head. The corner of the brick looks like a match. We could have our murder weapon.”

  * * *

  JENNA OPENED THE outer front door of the building and stared into the dimly lit hallway leading to her apartment. Two hours earlier, they’d found that stash of bricks, all of which were now at the lab. Maria, her scientist friend, didn’t appreciate being called on a Sunday evening, but as Jenna often did, she talked her way around it.

  Even if she now owed Maria a huge favor.

  “Everything okay?” Brent asked from behind her.

  After the kiss he’d hit her with earlier? No. Everything was not okay. And now he had to go and be a gentleman and walk her to her door. She was no fool and her no-fool self knew his protective instincts ran deep. After that kiss, there was definitely something else running deep.

  On both their parts.

  She angled back to him. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretending we didn’t make an agreement about the...uh...physical aspects of our relationship.”

  He was no fool either. “We said we’d go slow.”

  “What’s your point?”

  She laughed. Then to her great horror, stepped inside, waving him in while her brain and body sent conflicting signals. Do it, don’t do it, do it, don’t do it. Her brain may have known what it wanted, but her body was buzzing in a way she’d only felt...well...never. That’s what this was. A first. Firsts didn’t happen often and she wasn’t exactly one to let an opportunity slide by.

  “Don’t ask me if I’m sure. I’m not. My brain is saying one thing, but my body is definitely saying another. And I like what I’m hearing.”

  Brent cracked up and the sound of it—the newness and unexpected pleasure of this tormented man lightening up—filled her. Sure, she’d heard him laugh before, but he’d held back, muffled it under the weight of grief. This laugh came right from his belly, and she’d made it happen.

  I’m a goner. “Let’s go.”

  She left the front door open and darn near sprinted to her apartment, glancing back to make sure Brent followed. Yep. There he was, marching toward her, his gaze on her as she reached the door and jammed the key in the lock. Or at least tried to. Wrong ke
y. Shoot.

  “I’m stupid with lust right now.” Again he laughed that amazing belly laugh and—oh, my—she wanted to hear that over and over. “Brent Thompson, if you ever fake laugh in front of me again, there will be hell to pay. That’s a promise.”

  Finally, she shoved open the door, reached back and grabbed his jacket, hauling him inside. The timed lamp on the end table had switched on and threw soft shadows across the room. “You promised me a late dinner, by the way.”

  “We can order.”

  And even as he said it, he ditched his jacket and tossed it on the chair by the window where she’d forgotten to close the drapes. Forget it. Her plan didn’t include the living room anyway. She slid her jacket off and dropped it. Brent inched closer, sending her body into sizzle land.

  “Pizza. Later.”

  “I like pizza.”

  “Excellent. Follow me.”

  Walking the narrow hall to her bedroom, she stripped off her shirt, tossed it back to him and he laughed again. “Is this some twisted stripper act? If so, it’s working.”

  Her bra came next and she threw that back as well. A few more feet and they’d be at her bedroom where he’d see her naked from the waist up. Her body had been judged countless times, from all angles in all sorts of outfits. But that was fifteen pounds ago and never naked. Now that extra fifteen pounds spooled into nervous tension and gripped her. He said he likes my curves.

  She stepped into her darkened bedroom and stopped. When his arm came around her, she didn’t flinch, just settled back against him where his erection poked her lower back. Oh. Boy. He dragged his hand up, gently cupping her breast, and heat shot to her core.

  “You’re beautiful, Jenna.”

  In all the times and ways people had told her that, it was never more than words simply coming at her. She’d heard it so much, somewhere along the way, it became meaningless. Except those words never sounded like this. So filled with meaning and...and...truth. When Brent said it, her heart opened up and took it in.

  And she believed it.

  * * *

  BRENT COULDN’T STAND IT.

  All he wanted was to strip Jenna naked and spend the entire night exploring her lush body. Pure torture. When she went for the button on his jeans, he didn’t stop her. He also didn’t stop her when she shoved them down to his ankles, letting her fingers skitter over his hips—and other places.

  If she’d had any doubt about his level of interest, he’d just blown that away. Far away.

  He stepped out of his jeans, kicked them to the side and dealt with the condom from his wallet. He ripped his shirt off and stepped forward, nudging her against the bed until she fell backward and scooted to the center. Needing his hands on her, he grabbed her ankle to hold her still, and then dropped next to her.

  Lowering himself on top of her, he took a second to let that skin-to-skin heat absorb. Damn, he loved that. Loved that the woman under him was no beanpole and he didn’t have to worry about snapping her in two. He kissed her neck, nipped at her chin and smiled when he coaxed a tiny moan from her.

  All these months of picturing her naked and sprawled under him, on top of him, beside him—any way he could get her—and it had finally happened. Yeah, he’d take his time. Not rush to the end and that big bang that cleared his mind. This time, he wanted slow, then fast, then slow again. Endless minutes to memorize every place he touched and kissed and nibbled.

  With Jenna, that’s all he wanted.

  Another moan. She’s mine.

  He buried his face near her ear. “I like that sound. Is that what you do when something feels good?”

  Slowly, she slid her fingers along his back and—whap!—smacked his butt. “I guess it is because what you’re doing feels good. You feel good.”

  He nuzzled her ear, trailed kisses along her jaw, anticipating that first second, the ultimate pinnacle of his fantasy when he entered her. Months of thinking about that moment, and here it was. Waiting for him.

  Jenna arched against him, prodding him to make a move. To do something.

  “You don’t have to get pushy about it,” he said.

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “I’m enjoying you. Big difference.”

  And something he hadn’t done in a long time.

  “Enjoy me later.”

  Certain things in life had become clear in the past few days. Jenna being brutally honest was the first. The second was he hadn’t laughed enough. Until Jenna, he hadn’t laughed nearly enough.

  He kissed her again, lingering a second while she hooked her legs around him. He pushed and—oh, man—the shock of those first few seconds of being inside her made him gasp. He dropped his head, breathed in and she arched against him, urging him on. Locking her legs, she held on while they moved together in that first-time rhythm that would—if he had any luck—move to second-and third-time rhythm.

  Another moan, this one louder, came from Jenna and he moved faster, wanting to hear it again and again and again. So close. He was so close to that edge and hanging on, just ready to go over, but for once not wanting it to end. Damn, he’d turned into a sissy. Who cares? When it came to Jenna, he didn’t care.

  Her body bucked and she arched up, gasping and—zap—his mind fried. He looked down at her, took it all in. The way her mouth tilted up, her long hair spread across the pillow, her closed eyes—beautiful—and his world came apart.

  Sprawled on top of her, his breaths came out short and shallow. Cripes. He needed to pull himself together. Get control of his mind and body because—hell-to-the-yeah—every Jenna fantasy he’d ever had needed to be explored. Every damn one of them. And he’d do it. Slowly.

  She ran her hands over his back in a sweeping motion that if she kept up he’d drop to a dead sleep. “That feels good,” he said.

  “You feel good. I knew you would. Knew it.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because I love you.”

  Chapter Ten

  He loved her? He did not just say that. Not now, when things had been so perfect. So fun. But no, Brent had to remind her just how emotionally twisted he really was.

  As much as she’d fooled herself into thinking they could have a fling, a physical release that would satisfy both their curiosities, she should have known better. She cared too much. About him. About his family. About his mother.

  Now he claimed he loved her, and she was just needy enough—and smitten enough—to believe it and get her heart stomped on when his infatuation cooled.

  Brent rolled off her, his big body landing precariously on the edge of her queen-size bed. Need a bigger bed. Great. Already buying king-size furniture for the king-size man she had no business buying anything for. With his need to close himself off and her need for constant approval, they’d be New Orleans the day after Katrina. One heck of a mess.

  But she had yet to respond to his big announcement. What was a girl supposed to do with that? Thank you? Back at ya? No.

  He rolled to his side, kissed her bare shoulder. “I promised you pizza. I’m starving.”

  Pizza. Really? She shook her head, smacked her palm against her temple and shook again. Yep. Fully awake. “Um, did I miss something?”

  “I said I’m hungry.”

  “Before that. The thing you said.”

  He cocked his head, closed one eye. Thinking. He must be joking. How could he forget something that important?

  “The I-love-you thing,” she said. “Did I hear that right?”

  Brent laughed and in one quick move was on his feet, dealing with the damned condom and collecting his clothes, all those yummy muscles and hard lines of his body kicking up her pulse.

  “You heard it. We don’t have to talk about it.”

  Oh, now she got it. People said all kinds of nutty things during an orgasmic high—not that she’d ever been afflicted with that particular problem. But obviously, Brent had.

  And now he needed to backpedal because he was afraid she’d start dropping the “L” word also. That made
total sense. A weird sense of relief set in and the sudden tension in her shoulders eased.

  “It’s all right. I just didn’t know what I should do.”

  Brent zipped his jeans, checked that all was in proper order and shoved his T-shirt over his head. “About the fact that I love you? Or that I said it?”

  “Uh...both?”

  Again, he laughed. “You’re funny. You don’t need to do anything. I said it. I meant it and we can be done.”

  “You can take it back.”

  He gave her an are-you-on-medication? look. “Is this third grade? Why would I take it back?”

  She grunted—take a second—and rolled to the opposite side of the bed where her bathrobe hung from a hook on the wall.

  “You know what I mean. We were caught up. It was fun. A great stress reliever. Even if you think you’re in love, you’re probably not.”

  Propping his hands on his hips, he stared up at the ceiling and blew air before facing her again. Everything about him, the stiff stance, the squinty eyes, the locked jaw, screamed impatience. Well, excuse her for wanting to clarify. Any woman would.

  “Jenna, I know you were a psychology major, but last I checked I know how I feel. I may stink at sharing it, but I know. And I sure as hell don’t need you telling me. Thanks for that, though. I’ll be in the living room.”

  Darn it. Knotting the belt on her robe, she followed him down the hallway, his long strides fast and purposeful. Mad again. Too bad. He would not goad her into a fight so he could deflect the subject. No chance. Snap. Her brain clicked into gear. How had she not realized that when he didn’t like a topic, he picked a fight? The best defense is a good offense. Brilliant.

  “Brent, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  He stopped, just halted in his spot and stared straight ahead. “What did you mean, then?”

  She scooted by and swung to face him. “I was giving you the out, in case you didn’t mean it. You just sprung this on me after great sex. What was I supposed to think?”

  “You weren’t supposed to think I was lying about it. You’re the one always on me about talking, so I talked. What, in your experiences with me, makes you think I casually throw that phrase around?”