The creepy detective. His son probably fell off the face of the earth. Or they cleared him.
Wouldn’t that be her luck?
In the back of her mind, a nagging, paralyzing, incessant fear that sometimes dulled, but never truly vanished, roared with full force. Images flashed through her mind of Brian’s bloody body, laid out on a prison floor where he’d bled to death after a prison brawl.
Don’t think about it.
Zac shifted sideways and peered over his shoulder, his expression neutral. If he’d at least smile, her fear would go back into hibernation. Come on, Zac. But his lips remained...well...flat. He waved, but she stood still, half-terrified to step closer and hear whatever news he had to deliver.
Then, as if sensing her panic, he finally waved her over. She breathed in, ignored her pounding heart and forced her feet to move. Perhaps whatever he had to say wasn’t so bad after all.
She stopped in front of his table. He wore navy slacks and a white dress shirt, no tie. Must have come straight from dinner with his folks. Translation: bad news. Horrible news, if he’d driven from Wisconsin to deliver it.
He squeezed her wrist and the connection, all that warm male heat, sparked.
“Everything is fine,” he said.
Emma dropped her chin to her chest and breathed. With each exhalation, her pulse slowed a notch and she focused on releasing the tension that had wound her body so tightly. How had she gotten so accustomed to bad news that her mind always went straight there? After a few seconds, her composure restored, she lifted her head. “I got nervous when I saw you.”
“I can tell.”
She stole a glance at her customers. Everyone was busy eating. She went back to Zac. “I’m sorry. Prosecutors usually bring bad news. I’ve been conditioned.”
“I understand.” His lips quirked in a subtle, mischievous way and tingles shot up her arms. “Maybe I can break the trend.”
We can’t have that. She had no room left for personal sinkholes and Zac Hennings was one giant sinkhole waiting to swallow her up. If her brother’s freedom weren’t involved, there would be no question that she’d be on this man like nobody’s business. But right now, Zac’s job was to keep her brother incarcerated.
She could flirt with the charming prosecutor, though. No harm in that. “If anyone can, it’s you. Why are you here? I thought you went to Wisconsin.”
“I did. We had dinner and I decided to come home. Penny stayed with my folks. They’ll all come back tomorrow.”
“So you’re not here for dinner.”
He grinned. “Wicked smart you are.”
Oh, that smile—charming and slick and devilish. The man knew his way around a woman’s heart. And most likely other body parts as well.
Bad, Emma. Bad.
“I’m here because I don’t want you going home by yourself. I’ll follow you and make sure you don’t have any unexpected visitors.”
If ever there was something to make her shamelessly sigh, it was that statement right there. After what had happened to her the night before, knowing how alone she was, Zac Hennings, the guy who could destroy her family, wanted to protect her.
I’m in trouble. Deep trouble.
Nothing about this situation would roll into a happy ending. Her luck didn’t hold that long. Not even close. She’d fall for him and he’d wind up keeping Brian in prison. Recovery from that emotional devastation would be unlikely. This, she understood.
Intellectually.
Physically, she craved a connection. Several connections. On an ongoing basis.
Bad, Emma. Bad. She had to get her head together. “Hang on. I have to check this table.”
Her customers might have been a lame excuse, but she needed to consider the fine-looking prosecutor with gorgeous eyes and a build she wouldn’t mind seeing sans clothing offering to escort her home.
Had Penny told him to do this?
Could be. Or he was just a nice guy, which wouldn’t be hard to believe because she’d seen that side of him already. That morning over breakfast—his treat—he’d regaled her with stories of childhood antics involving Penny and her hijinks. Emma had laughed and laughed and laughed and, for the first time in two years, she’d allowed herself an hour of fun. To shut her mind off and not think about Mom and Brian and working on finding a solution for the mess that had become her existence.
Now, tonight, fun time had ended. She had to forget how late it was and the fact that she hadn’t been held by a man in an excruciatingly long time.
She checked in with her customers. They were fine. Just fine. Figured. A trip to the kitchen wouldn’t have been a bad stalling tactic. Again her luck had gone bad. Back to the charming prosecutor she went. “Sorry about that. Duty called.”
“No problem. Do I need to order something while I wait for you?”
“Nah. I’ll just tell them you’re my ride. The cheesecake is pretty awesome, though, if you want dessert.”
“No cheesecake. Anything chocolate?”
Emma propped a hip against the side of the booth and nudged his arm with her elbow. “We have a ferocious brownie à la mode.”
Again came the devilish smile. “I love ferocious.”
I’ll bet you do. Bad, Emma. Bad.
“Okay then. One ferocious brownie for the ferocious prosecutor. Be right back.”
One of the other waitresses, Kelly, sidled next to Emma on her way to the kitchen. Work and school and Brian’s case had sucked away every last bit of Emma’s time, but Kelly had been a constant and the closest thing Emma had to a friend.
Kelly pushed the kitchen door open and held it. “Who’s the guy?”
“Prosecutor on my brother’s case.”
“Shut. The front. Door.”
“Truth. I think I have a mad crush on him. He’s so flipping hot and I’m a girl who hasn’t had a man’s hands on me in...a while.” She pulled Kelly aside. “I’m crazy, right? Should I feel this way about a guy who wants to keep Brian in a cell?”
“Considering I’ve never experienced this scenario, I can’t really say if you’re crazy or not, but yeesh, that guy could melt asphalt. I’m thinking you’re crazy if you don’t sleep with him.”
Emma aimed for a laugh, but it came out more like a panicked, hysterical squeak. “This is nuts.”
“Don’t get nervous. See where it goes. You might wind up hating him.”
Yes. She barely knew Zac and getting ahead of herself about the nature of their friendship—or whatever it was—wouldn’t help matters. His coming here could be a matter of doing Penny a favor by making sure Emma got home safely.
That’s all this was. A guy offering a kind gesture because his sister asked. “You’re right. By the time we’re done with Brian’s case, I’ll probably despise him.”
Emma nodded to emphasize the point. One solid jerk of her head. Total control. She had it.
Too bad she didn’t believe any of what she’d just said.
* * *
ZAC TURNED ONTO EMMA’S street, trying to convince himself that he knew exactly what he was doing. Sure did. He also knew it was an epic—beyond epic—mistake. Bulldozing himself into believing he was a nice guy for getting his sister’s client home safely wasn’t a problem. That was easy enough. The problem was that under all that chivalry he’d buried a guy who wanted to get Emma Sinclair into bed.
And not just once.
Certain things he couldn’t deceive himself about.
All through dinner he’d wondered if Ben Leeks would pay a repeat visit to Emma’s. He could see that scumbag doing it just to mess with him. Throw in the chivalrous, but horny guy—the one buried under the professional veneer—and Zac found himself logging the miles back to Chicago.
He parked in the minuscule driveway—a luxury in Cook County—
behind her ancient compact and studied the house. He’d always liked the cultural diversity of Parkland. Certain streets had a small-town feel while still being part of the city.
The Sinclairs’ small colonial with the sagging covered porch could use more outdoor lighting, but he supposed two women living alone didn’t necessarily have the ambition or funds to take on major maintenance projects.
Emma kicked open her car door, held it with one foot. I know what I’m doing. Zac got out, sucked cold air. Focus here. She reached over to the passenger seat for her purse and the bag of food from the restaurant and bungled it all. He snatched it from her before it hit the pavement.
“Got it.”
“Thanks. My mom wouldn’t want her dinner for tomorrow splattered on the driveway.”
She locked the car and leaned back on it. The garage spotlight illuminated those luscious brown eyes. Fantastic eyes.
“Do you always bring her food from work?”
“Yep.” She shrugged. “She doesn’t go out much anymore.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It sure is.”
The cold, quiet air whipped around him and he breathed in, let it soak his body and, perhaps, if he got lucky, freeze his lascivious thoughts. He gestured to Emma’s unbuttoned jacket. “It’s cold. You should button up.”
Plus, it would be another layer between them. The now frozen and buried horny guy wasn’t too thrilled with the chivalrous guy’s suggestion.
“It’s just a short walk to the house.”
Unless I keep you out here. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll carry this to the porch for you.”
She stared up at him with those eyes that slayed him every time and then a small smile split her full lips. Perfect lips. The top one a hair bigger than the bottom and enough to bring a man down. Horny, frozen guy had big trouble because every inch of him ached to show her how he could put a bigger smile on those lips.
Instead, he gave her a light push toward the door and surveyed the area for a particular detective who had better not be in the vicinity.
Emma climbed the three steps to the wooden porch. Zac spied a loose board on the middle step and stooped to check it. The board flipped up when he pushed on the end. “Hey, you need to get this nailed down. Someone’ll break a foot.”
“I know. It came loose last week and I haven’t had time to deal with it. I’ll take care of it.”
He stepped over the board and gave Emma the bag. “One of my buddies is a contractor. I’ll get him to swing by.”
“Thanks, but don’t go to the trouble.”
“No trouble. He won’t mind.” He grinned at her. “He owes me.”
Emma stared down at the fractured step and sighed. “It sounds dumb, but even getting a stupid board fixed feels like a monumental task.”
A gust of wind blew a sliver of hair out of her ponytail and, on instinct, he reached for it. She flinched and he paused with his hand in midair. Her gaze ricocheted to it then back to him and he waited for her to either back away or green-light him. His baser needs hoped for the green light.
I know what I’m doing.
Except they were standing on the porch where any rat-faced detective might be watching. Tree branches smacked against the house and twigs cracked. Zac breathed in and—how about that—she didn’t back away.
Green light. What that green light entailed he wasn’t entirely sure, but he’d never been a guy afraid to take a chance. Particularly when it came to women he wanted naked and under him doing wicked things. Slowly, he tucked the loose strand behind her ear. “Houses need maintenance.”
“Yeah, but so do people.”
Oh, honey.
She slapped her free hand against her forehead, her big eyes horrified. “Wow. That came out so wrong.”
Dang, she was cute. Laughing at her, he set his hand on her shoulder and pulled her in for a friendly hug. Maybe it was more than friendly in his mind, but he made sure to keep it PC in case his radar was way off and Emma Sinclair hadn’t given him the go sign.
His radar was pretty good, though. He kissed the top of her head and visions of her sprawled across his bed, tangled in his sheets, tangled in him, filled his mind. Totally cooked. That’s what he was. He wanted her—no two ways about it—and horny, frozen guy didn’t much care who might be watching.
She rested her forehead on his chest and rolled it back and forth while he held her there. A few seconds passed. Then a few more. He’d stand there all night. Emma in his arms got his engines firing in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He relaxed his shoulders, tried to stay loose and control his raging body. Something was happening here. Something good and hot and satisfying and he always wanted more of anything good and hot and satisfying.
“This is bad,” she said.
“Probably.”
She snuggled closer and he slid his arm farther around her shoulder, stroking the back of her neck.
“No probably about it, Zac.”
“I won’t argue, but I generally don’t walk away from something this good.”
Finally, she retreated. “It’s more than good. I’m not sure we should do anything about it, though. You’re the prosecutor on my brother’s case. You have the ability to destroy my family. I can’t risk that.”
He leaned down, got right next to her ear and she stiffened when his lips brushed her skin. “You’re convinced he’s innocent. Convince me and I’m the guy who puts your family back together.”
Again, the tree branch smacked the house and twigs crackled. Suddenly the air was harsh and charged and his skin started to flame. She grabbed a handful of his jacket and pulled him closer. He shifted his head, his lips hovering just over hers. And right then he decided that if they were being watched, he didn’t give a damn.
Her breath hitched and she blinked a couple of times. “I guess I’ll have to convince you then.”
He dipped his head lower, waiting for her to meet him halfway. She lifted her chin and their lips touched. A light brush that made him groan and then he made his move, hauling her in and sweeping his tongue over her bottom lip. She gripped his jacket tighter and pulled him even closer. Clunk. Her purse hitting the porch. Still holding the food bag, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her smaller body molding to the curve of his, while he feasted on her lips, nipping and tasting and wanting more and more and still more.
Something about Emma had buried itself inside him and every minute he spent with her didn’t seem long enough.
Slowly, she backed away, but he stole one last nip of that lush upper lip before releasing her. She laughed. “You’re a devil, Zac Hennings.”
“I’m greedy for sure.” He rubbed his hand over her arm. “It’s cold. You should go in.”
She glanced at the door. “Yeah, I should. I don’t necessarily want to, though.”
“I know. We have time, Emma.”
With the places his mind was going, there’d never be enough time, but he’d figure it out. He wanted her. Job or no job, wrong or right, he’d figure it out.
“Zac, this—whatever it is—will be complicated.”
“Yep. I don’t know how to get around that. Not going to try. We’ll take it a step at a time. See where it goes. Deal?”
She nodded. “Deal.”
Chapter Seven
Sunday mornings were always Emma’s favorite. Her schedule didn’t allow much downtime, and with all the studying she had to do, Sundays were no exception. At least hitting the books could be done in her pajamas with a steaming cup of peach tea.
She sat at the dining room table, tea in hand, flannel PJs keeping her warm and her books sprawled in front of her. If civil liberties and constitutional law weren’t the most stimulating reading, she had no one to blame but herself. Typically, she’d b
e engrossed. Today, though, her mind repeatedly wandered to that soul-scorching kiss Zac Hennings had plastered on her.
Total charmer, that one. But nice. The nice part was the problem. If he’d been a jerk, she could justify hating the prosecutor handling Brian’s case. If he’d been a jerk, she could let her anger fester, eat away at her and push her to work harder to free her brother. If he’d been a jerk, she’d have been disgusted by that kiss.
Because he was a good guy, Zac ruined everything.
Above her, a floorboard squeaked. Mom in her bedroom, probably changing the sheets. Another thing that happened every Sunday. Routine kept her mother from thinking too much about Brian.
Emma sighed and went back to her constitutional law book. It was easier than contemplating her mother’s state of mind.
The house phone rang and Emma pushed out of her chair to grab the cordless. “Got it!”
She checked the display and saw the too familiar prison phone number. Brian calling. Each inmate paid for calls using his commissary account, which for Emma and her mother, saved a ton on the phone bill.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Sinclair?”
Not Brian. Throbbing panic shot up Emma’s neck into her head. “No, this is her daughter, Emma.”
The sound of shuffling paper drifted through the line. “Yes, Emma, this is Trent Daniel.”
Brian’s prison caseworker. They’d spoken before. Emma’s head continued to pound and she pressed her fingers against her temple. Please, let him be okay.
“We’ve had an incident with your brother.”
He’s not okay. “Is he sick?”
“He was attacked this morning in the prison laundry. The nurse believes he has several broken ribs. We’ve sent him to the local hospital.”
Emma leaned against the counter, thinking prison caseworkers should be required to take classes on bedside manners.
He’s alive. She focused on that. Everything else she could deal with.
“Why was he attacked?”
“We’re still looking into it. It appears he didn’t initiate the fight.”
THE PROSECUTOR Page 7