McIver's Mission

by Brenda Harlen

  "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to," he told her.

  "Then I guess I'll have to invite you in to take measurements."

  "Am I going to get tea and cookies, too?"

  "Cookies," Arden told him. "I still don't have any tea."

  "Coffee would be okay," he suggested. "Maybe some of that Jamaican stuff."

  Arden laughed. "Now I know the real reason for your visit."

  "Just an added bonus," he assured her.

  She opened the front door of the building and led the way up the stairs. Mrs. Dempsey was just coming out of her apartment with a plate heaped with cookies as Arden turned down the hall. She could smell the mouth-watering scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.

  She wanted to ask Mrs. Dempsey if she'd seen anyone she didn't recognize in the building the previous afternoon, but she couldn't do so in front of Shaun. If she did, he'd know she'd been lying about the envelope coming from her landlord. And she had no intention of discussing the letters with him.

  Greta passed off the plate of cookies to Arden and smiled. "Smart girl," she said in a stage whisper.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey," Arden said. Then, to clarify, "For the cookies."

  Greta winked at them both. "Enjoy."

  Arden shook her head as she juggled the plate of cookies and her briefcase, trying to reach the keys in her pocket, but she was smiling. Shaun took the cookies, inhaled deeply, and a low hum of pleasure sounded in his throat. The sensual sound caused Arden's insides to quiver.

  She stepped away from him quickly, into the apartment, and set her briefcase down. "Mrs. Dempsey makes fabulous cookies."

  "And oatmeal-raisin are your favorite," Shaun said.

  "How do you know?"

  "She told me." He followed her into the kitchen.

  Arden didn't want to speculate about what else her neighbor might have told him. "That doesn't mean she has to give me three dozen."

  "She thinks you're too skinny," Shaun reminded her, helping himself to a cookie.

  "If she wants cuddly, she should get a teddy bear."

  He laughed. "She worries about you. She doesn't have any children of her own to fuss over."

  Arden measured coffee grinds into the filter. "How long were you talking to her?"

  "I didn't clock the conversation," he said dryly.

  "Approximately?" she prompted.

  "Half an hour." He grinned. "It was … informative."

  "I'll bet."

  He bit into the cookie, finished it off in two bites and reached for another. "These are fabulous."

  "I'll send some home with you," she promised.

  "Thanks. Mrs. Fields can't compare to Mrs. Dempsey."

  Arden smiled and took a cookie for herself. "I'll be sure to tell her you said so." She pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with fresh-brewed coffee. Then she carried both cups to the table, setting one in front of Shaun.

  "I didn't only stop by to take measurements," he told her.

  Arden sipped her coffee, waiting for further explanation.

  "I wanted to make sure you were okay—after yesterday."

  After her breakdown in the park? Or after his kiss? Her answer would be the same in either case, but she chose to accept the first interpretation. Just because she was obsessing over that kiss, she wasn't going to delude herself into thinking that he was. Shaun McIver probably went around kissing women all the time; she just happened to be the only one in the vicinity last night. What bothered her more than the way he'd kissed her was the way she'd kissed him back. Her response to him had been disproportionate and out of character.

  "I'm fine," she told him.

  He nodded. "Good. You look good." His gaze skimmed over her and he smiled. "A little on the skinny side, but good."

  "You might want to think about whose cookies you're eating and whose coffee you're drinking before you start throwing the insults around."

  "I apologize," he said with mock solemnity.

  Arden pushed the cookie plate a little closer to him.

  "I was a little concerned when you weren't here this morning," Shaun told her.

  Arden frowned. She wasn't comfortable with other people worrying about her. "I told you I was okay."

  He nodded. "Mrs. Dempsey guessed that you were at the women's shelter. She said that you spend a few hours there a couple of days a month."

  "That's true."

  "Visiting clients?"

  "Sometimes. Sometimes just to talk to the women about their legal options."

  "Can you bill for that?"

  "Not everything is about billing," she said testily.

  "It was just a question," he said. "There's no need to get defensive."

  She sipped her coffee, considered another cookie.

  "I think it's admirable that you're willing to share your time and expertise. Not many lawyers do pro bono work anymore."

  "It's surprising, and depressing, how many clients I get from the shelter."

  "It's probably reassuring, though, for those clients to meet you in an informal setting. Most people don't like having to see a lawyer at the best of times. I imagine it would be a lot worse for a woman who's been abused, having to face someone she's never met and share the horrors of her life—particularly if the lawyer is a man."

  His insight surprised her. Most people didn't want to hear about the work she did, didn't understand her commitment. Still, his sudden interest confused her.

  "I'm sure you don't want to talk about my career, or my crusade, as some call it."

  "Everything about you interests me, Doherty."

  She tilted her head. "Are you hitting on me, McIver?"

  "If you have to ask, I'm doing something wrong."

  She laughed softly. "Don't bother. I don't date lawyers."

  In fact, she hadn't dated at all in a long time. But even if she was looking to date someone, even if she was willing to bend the rule, it wouldn't be for Shaun McIver. Shaun was everything she didn't want in a man.

  "Neither do I," he admitted, contradicting his earlier statement.

  "Your fiancée was a lawyer, wasn't she?"

  "Yes," he said shortly.

  She nodded. "I could give you a speech about how you shouldn't let one bad experience disillusion you against a whole profession—but I'm not sure it's true. Life is a hard lesson, and we should learn what we can from it."

  "You sound like you're speaking from experience," he said, his dark green eyes intent on her.

  She wasn't happy that the conversation had taken such a personal turn. She didn't mind talking about his life and his past, but she had no interest in rehashing her own sordid history. "No one lives thirty-one years without having some experience," she said lightly.

  Shaun finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. To Arden's surprise, he came back with the coffeepot in one hand and the carton of milk in the other. He refilled both of their mugs, then added a splash of milk to her cup.

  She stared at her coffee, then at Shaun's back. It was only the second time he'd been in her kitchen, and yet he moved around as if he was comfortable there, as if he belonged there.

  "So tell me about this wealth of experience you've acquired in your thirty-one years," Shaun suggested, when he was again seated beside her.

  She gestured around the spartan apartment. "As you can see, it's not the only wealth I've acquired."

  He grinned. "Smart, sexy and a sense of humor."

  "Can you turn off the charm, or does it always flow that easily?"

  "Maybe you bring out the best in me."

  "Is that your best?" she challenged.

  "Not even close."

  Her lips curved in a reluctant smile.

  "If you won't succumb to my endless charm, how about desperation?"

  "Do I look desperate?"

  "Not you, me."

  She cupped her mug in her palms and raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, McIver?"

  Before he could respond to her questio
n, the kitchen window exploded in a shower of glass and Arden was on the floor.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Shaun didn't have time to think or plan. It was pure instinct that had him leaping from his chair, knocking Arden from hers and rolling with her to the floor as glass sprinkled down around them.

  "Ow. Dammit." She rubbed the back of her head, her eyes wide with confusion. "What are you doing?"

  He felt her shift beneath him. The subtle movement made him all too aware of each and every curve of the body pinned beneath his, causing his to respond in a very predictable fashion. "Stay down."

  "I can't go anywhere with you sprawled on top of me."

  He felt his lips curve, marveled at the fact that she could make him smile at a time like this. "Don't move," he said, slowly levering his body off hers.

  Glass crunched beneath his feet as he crouched beside the window and cautiously peered out. People were starting to converge on the sidewalk below, questions and explanations exchanged through a mixture of agitated voices and frantic hand gestures. In the distance he heard the low wail of a police siren.

  He returned to Arden, offered a hand to help her to her feet. "Are you okay?"

  "I think so. What happened?"

  "Somebody took a shot through your window."

  "A shot?" She sounded more puzzled than concerned.

  "With a gun," he clarified, and watched as her cheeks drained of all color. "What did you think that sound was?"

  "I thought it was a car backfiring."

  "This is reality, not the movies."

  "This is Fairweather, not Philadelphia," she countered. "Why would someone be shooting through my window?"

  "I'm sure that's a question the police will be asking you," Shaun said as the sirens grew closer.

  She lifted a hand to push her hair away from her face, and her fingers trembled. She dropped her hand quickly and tucked it into the front pocket of her pants.

  "It's okay to be scared," he said softly. "And to admit it."

  Arden just shrugged. "I should call my landlord about getting that window fixed."

  He bit back the oath of frustration. Why wouldn't she open up to him? Why couldn't she trust him? He decided to try another tack. "Do you want to come home with me until the glass is replaced?"

  "That's one I haven't heard before."

  He grinned. "I've had the pleasure of you writhing beneath me once already, but I thought the next time we might try someplace a little more comfortable than your glass-strewn floor."

  "Is body slamming your usual method for getting a woman horizontal?"

  "No," he admitted. "I don't usually have to resort to blackmail to get a date, either. You seem to inspire me to new heights, Doherty."

  "Should I be impressed?"

  "I might have saved your life."

  "And given me a concussion in the process," she grumbled.

  "Doubtful, considering how hard your head is." But he combed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair and encountered a small lump at the back of her head. He touched his lips to it gently. "Maybe I do need to work on my knight-in-shining-armor routine."

  She managed a smile. "I guess you did pretty good."

  He let his hand linger at the back of her neck, considered kissing her again. Her eyes were wide, wary, but she didn't pull away. His gaze dropped to her lips—soft and pink and tempting. Before he could decide whether or not to follow his impulse and cover her lips with his own, a loud knock sounded.

  Arden jolted, and the opportunity was lost.

  "Fairweather P.D.," a voice called from the other side of the door. "Is anyone in there?"

  Arden moved away from him quickly, her hand not quite steady as she wrapped it around the knob.

  An interesting and complicated woman, Shaun mused. She seemed more unnerved by the heightened awareness between them than by the knowledge that she'd been shot at. Her demeanor with the police officer confirmed his suspicions. Arden answered the questions smoothly, her voice never wavering. It was only because he was watching her so closely that he saw the flicker of unease in her eyes, noted the way she clasped and unclasped her fingers.

  Almost an hour passed before the officer was gone and the broken window boarded up and they were alone again.

  "Do you feel any better?" Shaun asked.

  Arden rubbed her hands down her arms and shrugged. "It's hardly reassuring to know that something like this can happen in this town. And in broad daylight."

  "The police figure it was just a bunch of kids joy-riding in a stolen vehicle."

  "The police don't know—" her outburst ended abruptly.

  Shaun's eyes narrowed. "What don't they know?"

  She shrugged. "They can't know anything for sure. Not until they find whoever was in that car."

  It was a valid response, but he somehow knew it wasn't what she'd originally intended to say. "Do you know something that the police don't?"

  "Of course not," she denied, but she didn't look at him. "Is there any reason for you to think that you might have been the shooter's target?"

  She shook her head. "As the police said, mine weren't the only windows blown out."

  He nodded slowly, but he wasn't convinced.

  "I'm going to get some Tylenol," she said. "My head is still pounding."

  Shaun nodded again, wondering how his life had become so complicated since yesterday afternoon. The answer was obvious: Arden. Since he'd encountered her in the park less than twenty-four hours earlier, he'd experienced a wider range of emotions than at any time in the past twenty-four months. Empathy, compassion, attraction, desire. He'd held her while she cried, he'd laughed with her, argued with her and dodged bullets with her. It made him wonder what other surprises might be in store if he spent more time in her company. One thing he knew for sure: he wouldn't be bored.

  "I was about to tell you that I needed a date," he said when she returned. "Before we were so rudely interrupted by gunfire."

  "You need a date?" Her voice was filled with skepticism.

  He nodded. "For the Criminal Lawyers' Association Annual Ball."

  "Are you asking for a recommendation?"

  "No. I want you to go with me."

  She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she had any idea how sexy she looked, how his blood heated when he thought about that kiss—and about kissing her again. It didn't matter that she wasn't his type, that he wasn't in the market for a romance right now.

  He was concerned about her. He knew there was something going on in her life, something that worried her, and he figured if he spent some time with Arden, it might encourage her to confide in him. And if they engaged in a little flirting or shared a few kisses along the way, well, there was no harm in that.

  "I don't date lawyers," she reminded him.

  He'd heard her the first time, but her insistence only made him all the more determined to break through her barriers. Because he was concerned about her, he reminded himself again.

  "It wouldn't really be a date," he said.

  "I'm not agreeing to be your pretend date," she said, sounding miffed. "And I don't believe you're so desperate you'd need to take me. The ball isn't until sometime in December. I'm sure you'll be able to find a date before then."

  "I want a date who won't have any expectations."

  "How do you know I won't?" she challenged.

  "Because you've already stated—twice—that you don't date lawyers, and you're about as interested as I am in a romantic relationship."

  "That's not a very flattering invitation."

  "I could try flattery," he admitted. "But you'd see right through me."

  "I might have appreciated the effort, though."

  Shaun grinned. "I thought you'd appreciate a more honest approach."

  "The answer's still no."

  "I haven't finished outlining the terms of the proposed contract."

  "Contract?" Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a sm
ile. "And what kind of consideration would I get for entering into this contract?"

  She sounded so sexy when she was in lawyer mode; the combination of that smoky voice and cool attitude went straight to his loins. "Other than the pleasure of my company?"

  "Other than that," she agreed dryly.

  Now he smiled. "Tickets to the opening night performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead next month." He'd learned, again courtesy of Greta Dempsey, that Arden loved the theater. It was a happy coincidence that he had season tickets to the Fairweather Players' Theater.

  Arden's eyes narrowed. "That's an interesting offer."

  She was practically salivating, but he wasn't above sweetening the deal. "Box seats."

  "Damn," she swore under her breath, but she was smiling. "I really don't want to go to the ball. All those lawyers, talking shop." He didn't think her shudder was feigned.

  "But you really want to see that play," he guessed.

  "How did you know?"

  He didn't think it necessary to tip his hand just yet. He had a feeling that Mrs. Dempsey might be an invaluable ally, but not if Arden knew he was tapping her for information. "Is it a deal?"

  "I'll check my calendar." She came back into the kitchen with her appointment book in hand. "When is the ball?"

  "Saturday, December fourth."

  She flipped through the book. "I have appointments that day."

  "In the evening?"

  "Well … no," she admitted.

  "Then pencil me in," he told her.

  She did so, but with obvious reluctance. Her calendar, he could tell even from a distance, was quite full.

  "Is it hard dealing with marital disputes day after day?" he asked.

  "No harder than dealing with career criminals, I imagine."

  Shaun grinned at the jibe. "Did you ever consider anything but family law?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  She shrugged. "I just felt that it was the one field in which I could make a difference for people."

  He hesitated, certain she wouldn't appreciate his prying. Still, he felt compelled to ask, "But at what cost to yourself?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You were a wreck yesterday, Arden." His words were gentle but firm.

  "Yesterday was the first time I buried a client. I think I was entitled to a few tears."