THE PROSECUTOR

by Adrienne Giordano

  Apparently that was all he needed because he lifted his head and gave her his million-dollar country-club smile.

  She glanced down as he worked the buttons on her blouse, one button, two buttons, three buttons. And then her shirt was open and his hands were on her breasts, detouring as they moved to push the blouse off her shoulders, those fantastic fingers moving down her arms until the shirt was off and Emma’s chest hitched.

  He wanted her. Somehow she believed it was more than sex. Maybe it was the gentleness of his touch or the brief hesitation that gave her a chance to follow Penny’s orders, but it was there, urging her forward. Penny who?

  He gave her a playful push toward his bedroom. One of us will get hurt. Most likely me. Right now, though, with all this crazy lust roaring inside her, she’d risk it. All this time she’d taken a backseat to everyone else. If she could have one night that was all hers, one night to forget all the problems and heartache, one night of ecstasy, she’d live with potential heartbreak. When it came to a broken heart, she was a pro.

  In the bedroom, Zac yanked his shirt off and tossed it. Light from the hallway threw shadows and she watched the shirt sail through the air and land on a high-backed chair in the corner of the room. She reached for him, giving herself a minute to explore the planes of his chest and shoulders. Yes, it had been too long. Closing her eyes, she let the moment drift and stretch and settle in her mind so she’d always remember.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m great. It’s...” Her voice trembled and she stopped. Don’t lose it now, Emma.

  He backed away, cupped her face in his hands. “What?”

  “Fun. It’s fun. And I’ve been without fun for a long time.”

  “Fun is good.” He nudged her backward and her calves smacked the edge of the bed.

  She sucked in a breath, her arms flailing as she flew backward and landed with a whoosh. The prosecutor wanted to play. From the bed, she placed her foot on his belly and pushed. “You’re going to get it for that, Zachary.”

  “Bring it on, Emma. Bring it on.”

  Slowly, he lifted her foot and ran his hands along her leg, his long fingers skittering over her jeans as they made their way up. So good. Inside, little by little, she came apart, abandoned all control.

  He settled one knee on the bed and went to work on the button at her waist.

  “I’ve got it.” She flicked the button and worked the zipper down.

  Again, Mr. Prosecutor went to work, removing her jeans, those dangerous hands slowly moving over her bare legs. He glanced up and the slant of light from the hallway illuminated his face and the slow, easy smile quirking his lips. Her chest hitched again. She was gone. So gone.

  He’ll destroy me.

  But she didn’t care. She shot to a sitting position, clamped her hands on the waistband of his pants and shoved. “Get these off.”

  Then something happened, like an eruption of energy, the air around her crackled and her skin tingled and snapped and she breathed in just as Zac kissed her, his tongue doing magic things to her. Needing the contact, Emma dug her fingers into his back.

  Zac broke away, flipped her over and unhooked her bra. She flipped over again, still in her underwear, but letting him see her. Even in the dark, she saw that gleam in his eye. “Get naked, Zac. I’m a chick in need.”

  He cracked up, but did as he was told. How she loved a man who followed directions. He reached across her to his bedside table and his erection poked her leg. Wow. It had definitely been a while since she’d felt that. The crackle of foil drove away the silence and Emma tried not to think too hard about him keeping condoms in his bedside table. Or the women who’d been here.

  Not going there.

  Within seconds, he was back to her, trailing kisses over her chest, those luscious hands moving over her breasts and stomach and she slapped at the bed, squeezing the blanket. Surely she would die from all this attention.

  She opened her legs and watched him slide between them. God, he was gorgeous. She wanted this, wanted him. Grabbing his cheeks, she pulled him to her and kissed him. Long and soft and then he pressed into her and she gasped. Too good.

  They moved together, her locking her legs around him and gliding her hands over his back, then his face and chest, and when he settled himself on his elbows and kissed her again it was all too much. She’d been alone for way too long.

  She held on and moved with him, their bodies in perfect unison, and then her stomach clenched and she sighed. Zac licked behind her ear, teasing her. He got as good as he gave because the muscles in his back tensed under her hands and he picked up his pace, racing, racing, racing until her mind whirled and her body turned frantic while she held on, wanting to prolong this moment before it all went away.

  Too late.

  Her world exploded into enormous flashes of light and ecstasy. She focused on breathing, enjoying the long-denied release of a good, healthy orgasm. Her world wasn’t the only one exploding. Zac collapsed on top of her, his breaths coming in heaving bursts while she ran her hands over his back, along the quaking muscles.

  “Heck of a way to end a rotten day,” he said.

  “I’ll second that.”

  After a few moments, he rolled off her, taking all the warmth with him, and a blast of cold sent goose bumps up her legs. Zac lifted his arm, an obvious invitation for her to snuggle into his side. She wouldn’t complain. She curled into him and ran her hand through the wispy blond hair in the center of his chest.

  “Emma Sinclair, somehow I didn’t figure you for a snuggler.”

  “Usually I’m not.” Loneliness did that to a girl. “So you figured right.”

  He nibbled her neck. “I’m a snuggler.”

  Oh, this man is a total destroyer. But she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed because it all felt so right. So effortless.

  Perfection.

  Don’t go there, Emma. Perfection didn’t exist. At least not for her. She eased her hand over his hip, drew tiny circles and loved the feel of being so close. “We have food out there. We should eat.”

  “There’s food, too?”

  Smarty-pants. “Yes, there’s food. And then we have work to do, so no funny stuff.”

  Finally, with great effort, Zac rolled away. Part of her hated it, wanted him to stay close, let her feel loved a bit more. When had she turned into such a needy person?

  Maybe since she’d been without affection for so long.

  Who knew? She watched Zac gather his clothes and slide into his pants, already wondering if they’d do this again.

  “Emma, quit looking at me like that or you won’t get food. I’ll keep you in this bed all night.”

  Promises, promises.

  * * *

  ZAC TUGGED HIS SHIRT ON and from outside the bedroom, a cell phone chirped. Good distraction before carnal thoughts coaxed him back to bed.

  “That’s my phone,” Emma said.

  “I’ll grab it for you. In your coat?”

  “Yep. Pocket.”

  He left the room in search of the phone and to give his brain a minute to catch up to what just happened. If there were any more ways to annihilate his career, he wasn’t sure he could find them.

  But, yeah, Emma Sinclair was worth it. She had to be because he’d never crossed the line when it came to his job. Right now, he didn’t care, didn’t anticipate caring in the near future, either.

  More of Emma was what he wanted.

  He retrieved her phone, grabbed the bag of food and headed back down the hall. He’d heat up dinner while she got dressed. Give them both a little privacy. By the time he stepped into the bedroom she’d already slipped on her blouse. “Don’t get dressed on my account.”

  She swatted at him and bent to pick up her jeans. “Yeah. Whatever, mister.”


  “Can I turn on the light?”

  “Sure.”

  Zac flipped the switch, flooded the room with light and found Emma with her eyes closed. She slowly opened them and he imagined lazy mornings watching her roll out of bed. Easy now.

  He handed her the phone and she checked the screen. “Oh, this is funny.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a text from Penny. What timing.” Using her thumb, she hit a button. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

  This should be good. He waited, wondering if she’d share whatever news Penny had sent. Was that fair? To wonder? To expect it?

  Hell if I know.

  After a second, the silence morphed into awkward and he held up the bag. “I’ll nuke the food.”

  Emma finally lifted her head. “Zac?”

  “Yes?”

  “She got a call from Ray Gardner.”

  Son of a gun. If he were being taken off the case, he’d have been told. Maybe not. Ray had been pretty steamed at him earlier. Zac waited, the silence tearing his brain to shreds. “Ray is my boss.”

  “He’s assigning an investigator from the SA’s office to Brian’s case.”

  Air flew up Zac’s throat and came out in a whoosh. If it was relief or satisfaction, he didn’t know. Either way, his boss had redeemed himself. Zac leaned against the doorframe and stared at Emma’s face, where a tentative smile appeared. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away.

  “It’s okay to be happy,” he said. “You’ve worked hard for this.”

  She lifted the phone then let her hand drop again. “I know. I just can’t believe it. Someone is listening.”

  “And you made it happen.” He held up the bag. “I’m on the food. Take your time.”

  He turned from the doorway, hoping she wouldn’t press him on what he knew about the investigator. In short—and overdue—order he had to separate his job and this case from his feelings about Emma. It was all too intertwined and...muddy.

  “Zac?”

  He popped his head back in the bedroom and she held the phone up. “Did you have anything to do with the investigator being assigned to this case?”

  “I may have suggested it as a precaution.”

  “You think my brother is innocent.”

  Trouble. Part of him wanted to tell her he agreed with her, but the truth was, he didn’t know. The prosecutor in him wanted to believe the jury got it right and hadn’t convicted an innocent man. But he’d also been an ASA long enough to know that, sometimes, justice got sidetracked. Things went wrong. Innocent people went to prison.

  He tapped his hand against the doorframe and stared into her big, hopeful eyes. “I think there are inconsistencies with Brian’s case that need to be looked at.”

  If she was disappointed, she didn’t show it. Nothing moved. No slumping shoulders, no dramatic sigh, no pinched eyebrows. Nothing. Emma Sinclair, rock star.

  Finally, she ran her hands over her legs and drummed her fingers. He should say something. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit that Brian might be innocent, he should say something. But that was the tricky part.

  “Emma—”

  She held up her hands and attempted a brief smile that screamed of indecision. “It’s okay. You’re a prosecutor. I know what your job is. And thank you for suggesting the investigator. It’s more than anyone from your office has done since this nightmare began. That means a lot to me. By the end of this, you’ll see that Brian is innocent.”

  For her sake, he certainly hoped so.

  Chapter Twelve

  After her morning class on Wednesday, Emma headed to her mother’s favorite Italian restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall near the United Center. With her crazy schedule, she and her mom hadn’t managed to arrange a dinner out together, so they’d found a sliver of time to squeeze in lunch.

  As she drove, Emma turned up the volume on the radio and sang along. At the traffic light, still wailing, she glanced at the car next to her and found the driver, a young guy wearing a baseball cap, howling at her. Hey, whatever. She threw her arms up and wiggled them. Still laughing, he shook his head and waved her off. Fun stuff, that. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to lighten up, to keep from being so serious about every darn thing.

  Blame it on the orgasms—as in multiples. Thanks to one Zachary Hennings, whom she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about today. A total stud.

  Bad, Emma. Bad.

  Emma made a left on a tree-lined street where the homes, in typical city fashion, had roughly six inches of space between them. She found a parking space a block away from the restaurant and called it a done deal.

  Not a bad day for a short walk. She tightened the belt on her coat and faced the unseasonable cold. Even if the temperature hadn’t made it out of the forties yet today, the sun’s warmth poured over her. She’d take it after the vicious winter they’d had. Above her, a few birds chirped and the clear blue sky stretched as far as she could see. She stopped, tipped her head up and the damp smell of early spring tickled her nose.

  Two years of her life had slipped away, two years of not taking a few seconds to enjoy a pretty day or belt out a song. Two years of being smothered under the blanket of a wrongfully accused brother.

  As was typical of her life, the piercing shriek of a police siren interrupted her moment of grateful appreciation. Out of curiosity, she spun toward it and spotted a Chicago squad car near the corner, where he’d made a traffic stop. A car that looked suspiciously like her mother’s. Oh, come on. Mom finally leaves the house and she gets pulled over? And for what? The woman barely drove the speed limit. If anything, she’d be cited for driving too slowly.

  To be sure, Emma moved closer and—yep—that was her mother in the driver’s seat. The officer hadn’t gotten out of his car yet and as Emma got closer, she found her mother digging through the glove compartment, probably looking for her registration and insurance card. Emma pulled off her glove and tapped the passenger side door. Her mother flinched, glanced up and slammed her hand against her chest.

  “Open the window,” Emma said.

  From the driver’s side, her mother lowered the window and Emma stuck her head in. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. He just signaled me over.”

  “Did you run the light or something?”

  Mom scoffed. Perhaps the timing stunk, but Emma laughed. She had to. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

  The cop finally heaved himself from his car, slipped his cap on and headed their way. Emma backed out of the window and stood tall. “Hello, officer.”

  “Step away from the car, please.”

  He wore a light jacket, obviously padded with a vest underneath. In this town, any cop would be nuts not to wear one. This was her home, but it was still a city and cities had gangs and drugs and guns that could steal a life.

  “This is my mother.” Emma jerked her thumb down the street. “We’re meeting for lunch.”

  “Yeah, fine. Step away from the car.” The cop’s nasty gaze focused on her and he pointed to an area in front of the car. “Move. Now.”

  What the heck? A second officer—this one younger and not as tall, but bigger-chested—got out of the car and walked toward her. “Ma’am, step to the side.”

  Mom leaned over to the passenger side and spoke through the window. “Emma, it’s fine.”

  The second cop puckered his lips, glanced at the other cop and gave a subtle nudge of his chin.

  Emma eyeballed them both. “Why are you pulling her over?”

  “Broken taillight. License and registration, please.”

  Emma angled around the second cop to check the taillights. If Mom had a broken taillight, it had just happened because they were fine this morning. Both taillights were intact. She pointed to the t
aillights. “They’re fine.”

  The first cop wandered to the back of the car and stared at the driver’s-side taillight. “This one is burned out. I saw it when she made the turn.”

  “Mom, hit the brakes.”

  Both taillights lit up. Emma gave the first cop a hard stare, daring him to argue with her. “It seems you’re mistaken.”

  The cop shrugged. “She must have a short in the wiring. Better get it checked before she has an accident, Emma.”

  And the way he said her name, sarcastic and taunting and drawing out the m’s. She jerked her head back and then came the “aha” moment. Her mother didn’t have a broken taillight. Her mother had a daughter making the CPD look bad. Clearly, they didn’t like that because not only had they pulled her over on a trumped-up violation, they’d suggested that her mother might have an accident.

  That, Emma would not stand for. She threw her shoulders back, held her head higher. “Are you threatening us?”

  The cop placed his hand over his chest in mock horror and Emma thought her blood would seep clear through her pores. She’d like to climb over the car and pummel him. Just beat him senseless for being an idiot.

  “Ma’am,” the second cop said to her mother from the passenger side, “we’ll let you go with a warning today, but you need to get that light checked.”

  A warning. They’d given the warning all right.

  The second cop stepped around Emma and headed back to their car. She watched him for a second and zeroed in on his name tag. Collins. Gotcha. She brought her attention back to jerk number one. She hadn’t gotten close enough to catch his name, but she had his partner’s. She’d find them.

  Jerk number one tipped his hat. “Enjoy your lunch, Emma.”

  With all the crime happening in a city the size of Chicago, these creeps had nothing better to do than harass a widow whose son was in prison, wrongfully convicted.

  Despite the brisk air, hot stabs punctured Emma’s skin. They weren’t harassing her mother, they were harassing her. First it was the detective coming to the house and now this. From the curb, Emma watched the lights on top of the police car move down the street. That crazy detective and his friends were trying to scare her by targeting her loved ones, by letting her know they could find them wherever they happened to be. Well, guess what? She was out of loved ones.