The Marshal

by Adrienne Giordano

Penny made a pouty face. “Boo-hiss, Dad.”

  The boss laughed and shook his head at his daughter. “I ran into Brent Thompson at a function last night.”

  Now that got Jenna’s attention. She’d worked with Brent briefly. He’d been assigned to protect Penny from a psycho who’d tried to blackmail her into throwing a case. Each time Jenna had locked eyes with the studly marshal, her blood had gone more than a little warm. He had a way about him. Tough, in charge and majorly hot.

  “Really?” Penny said as if the idea of her father and Brent running in the same social circles was ridiculous. “You ran into Brent? Was he working?”

  “No. He was a guest at Judge Kline’s birthday party. Apparently he was one of the marshals assigned to her after her family was murdered.”

  “Huh. I had no idea. That man is full of surprises.”

  “We got to talking about his mother.”

  For whatever reason, Penny’s eyebrows hitched. “Really.”

  Jenna cocked her head. “That’s the second time you’ve said ‘really.’ What about his mother?”

  Still focused on her father, Penny ignored the question. “He doesn’t usually talk about her. I don’t know the whole story. He mentioned it to Russ, and Russ told me.”

  Russ—Penny’s FBI agent boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé, if Penny had anything to do with it—was a great source of information, and Jenna had learned to use him sparingly, but thoroughly. “What about Brent’s mother?”

  Mr. Hennings turned to Jenna. “She was murdered twenty-three years ago.”

  Frigid stabs shot up Jenna’s neck. If her boss wanted shock factor, he’d succeeded. “Wow.”

  Penny glanced across the table. Momentarily stymied, Jenna gave her the help-me look. “The case is still open,” Penny said.

  Her father turned back to Jenna. “You’ve indicated you’d like more challenging work.”

  Despite her temporary paralysis, Jenna sensed an opportunity coming her way. “Yes, sir.”

  “You know what they say about being careful what you wish for.”

  “Sir?”

  “Brent’s mother’s case, it’s cold. My wife has gotten it into her head that we should have our investigators work it.”

  Jenna sucked in air. A cold case. Simply amazing. For months she’d been craving something more than paper trails and fraud cases. Something she could tear apart and hone her skills on. But this? Could she handle a murder? If it were here in the city, she might be able to pull it off. Her list of contacts was growing, and her retired detective father still had people who owed him favors.

  “Hang on,” Penny said.

  Yes, hang on. “Did the murder happen here?”

  Penny threw up her hand. “Hang. On. Dad, I’ll do anything for Brent, but we’re attorneys. This case has no defendant. Therefore, no client. How do we do this if there’s no client?”

  “It’s pro bono.”

  Penny dropped her head an inch. “I’m... Wait... I’m confused. Again, no client. How are we working pro bono if there’s no client?”

  “We’re helping a friend. I’m not sure how we’ll do the paperwork. There may not be any paperwork. I really don’t know. All I know is that your mother had that look about her.”

  Penny sat back and sighed. “I know that look.”

  Jenna raised her hand. “Where did the murder happen?”

  “Carlisle, Illinois,” Mr. Hennings said. “About sixty miles south of here.”

  Oh, no. She had zero contacts that far away. Even Russ probably wouldn’t be able to help her. Although, maybe he knew someone who knew someone. Heck, maybe she knew someone who knew someone.

  “You’re hesitating. I assumed you’d be interested.”

  “I am. Interested.”

  I think. Breaking a cold case would send her value on the professional front soaring. A cold case would prove she had skills beyond her looks.

  Still with her hands folded, Jenna took a minute to absorb it all. Twenty-three-year-old murder. Sixty miles away. No contacts. Juggling it with other cases. Piece of cake. Hysteria cramped her throat. I can do this. She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and channeled Jenna-the-lioness, the Jenna everyone around the office knew.

  “I can handle it, sir. Thank you.”

  “Good. Penny is your point person on this.” He turned to Penny. “You’re the logical choice. I can’t give it to one of the associates. Technically, this case doesn’t exist. Plus, he’s your friend.”

  Jenna flipped her thumbs up. This was a chance to have a profound impact on someone’s life. “Works for me. Let’s solve a cold case.”

  * * *

  “GOOD MORNING, MARSHAL THOMPSON,” Penny Hennings said in the snarky voice that had earned her the Killer Cupcake moniker from law enforcement guys who’d been on the rough end of one of her cross-examinations.

  Brent stepped into the Hennings & Solomon conference room—a place he’d been countless times before—and smiled. “Good morning, Ms. Hennings,” he shot back in a damned good imitation.

  Penny popped out of her chair, cornered the huge table and charged him.

  He held his arms out and folded her into them. “You’re like a teeny-tiny bird,” he cracked.

  She gave him a squeeze, then shoved him back. “Well, I was going to be nice, but now I’m not.” He unleashed a teasing smile and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t think that smile will work on me,” she said with sisterly affection. “I’m a lawyer. I’m immune.”

  “Yes,” came a female voice from the end of the table. “But I may not be.”

  He’d know that voice anywhere. Jenna. Five months ago he’d been standing in the hallway right outside this room and spotted her amazing body gliding toward him in a way that would make any red-blooded male drop to his knees. He’d seen her dozens of times since then, and she’d invaded his mind on a regular basis. She was one of those women lucky enough to have her weight evenly distributed, but with a little extra magically landing in all the right places. With her long legs—perfect for a guy who clocked in just shy of six-four—and a body that was more lush than slim, Jenna Hayward gave him an itch he seriously wanted to scratch.

  Right now, though, he needed fresh eyes on his mother’s case, and his mother always took precedence.

  He held his breath, readying himself for the sight of Jenna to knock him daffy. By now he knew to prepare for it. That first day? He’d been toast. He released his breath, turned and there she was, sitting with her shoulders back and one hand resting on the tabletop. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders and draped over her red blouse. The blouse with one more button undone than was technically appropriate. He studied that extra button and imagined...

  Don’t.

  He brought up his eyes and found her staring at him, head tilted. Their gazes held for a long second, the blue of her eyes sparking at him and—yeah, baby—he started to sweat. Slowly, knowing exactly where his mind had gone, her lips eased into a smile that should have dropped him like a solid right hook. Bam!

  “Nice to see you, Jenna,” he said.

  Very nice.

  She stood and he moved to the end of the table, holding out his hand. She took it, gave it a firm but brief shake. “Hello, Brent. Always a pleasure.”

  “It’s like a reunion in here,” Penny said.

  Penny. Right. They had company. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and took the seat across from Jenna, leaving the head of the table open for Penny. Her meeting, her power spot.

  He waited for Penny to get settled and then angled toward her. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “It’s the least we can do. You know I hate to get mushy, but you mean a lot to us. If we can help you get some kind of closure, we’ll do it.”

  Brent slid his gaze to Jenna. Talking details about his mom in front of people he barely knew never came easy. The basic stuff about her murder and the case still being open, he’d gotten used to. Now he’d have to get comfortable with Jenna real quick. And not in the way he wan
ted.

  He swiveled his chair to face her. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s been twenty-three years. The case is as cold as they get.”

  “I don’t mind a challenge, and if we can figure this out, well, I suppose we’d all be...satisfied.”

  “I’d be more than satisfied. But listen, there’s no pressure here. If you can dig up some leads, it’ll help. A fresh look might crack it.”

  “Maybe,” Jenna said.

  “Where do we start?” Penny asked.

  “I can tell you what I know, take you to the crime scene, go over whatever notes I have. The sheriff is a good guy. I can’t see him being subversive. Right now, he’s got an unsolved murder messing with his violent crime statistics.”

  Jenna’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Yeah, that statistics line sounded harsh. He sounded harsh. After spending eighty percent of his life wondering what happened to his mother, he’d forced himself to detach. Emotional survival meant burying the pain. Stuffing it away.

  Coping 101. Brent style.

  The phone at his waist buzzed. “Excuse me, I need to check this.”

  Text from his boss. They had a tip on a federal fugitive. He shot a text back, stood and buttoned his flapping suit jacket. “Ladies, I’m sorry. I need to go. Jenna, call me with your schedule. Outside of work, I’m at your disposal.”

  She gave him that slow smile again—simply wicked—and his chest pinged. Son of a gun. In a matter of minutes, she’d figured out how to distract him from thoughts of his mother.

  Whether that was good or bad, they’d soon find out.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING JENNA rode shotgun in Brent’s SUV while they drove the sixty miles south to Carlisle, Illinois, a place so foreign to city girl Jenna that she wasn’t sure she’d even speak the same language.

  Maybe that was a tad extreme, but Brent had exited the tollway and immediately engulfed them in miles and miles of farmland. Could she get a Starbucks? A Mickey D’s? Anything commercial?

  Not even six o’clock and the late October sky suddenly had gone black. She smacked her legal pad against her lap. Marshal Hottie had taken off his suit jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves a few times. The slightly messy look fit him. The suit look fit him, too. He was one of those men who could wear anything and still look good. Not fussy, pulled-together good, but rugged good.

  She smacked her pad against her leg again and he glanced down at the offending noise before going back to the road. The man had an amazing profile. Strong. Angled. Determined. Even the bump in his nose added to his I’m-in-charge persona. She’d like to see his hair—those fabulous honey-brown strands—a little longer, but he was working the short, lawman look nicely.

  “I’m not great with sitting,” she said.

  “Not the worst thing. We’re only five minutes out.”

  “Can you give me a quick overview? Are you okay with that? I don’t want to upset you while you’re driving.”

  “Jenna, it’s been twenty-three years. If I need to, I can recite the facts of my mom’s case in my sleep.”

  “I guess after a while it becomes...what? Rote?” Ugh. What a thing to say. “Wait. No. Bad word choice. I’m so sorry.”

  Brent shifted in his seat, switched hands on the wheel. “First thing, you’ve got to get over that.”

  “What?”

  “Worrying about offending me. I’m fairly unoffendable. And when it comes to my mom, if finding her killer means dealing with you speaking freely, I’m on board. Do your thing, Jenna. Don’t get hung up on my emotions. If it’s too much, I’ll remove myself and let you work. I need you focused on my mom, not me. Got it?”

  Well, hello, big boy. “I sure do.”

  “Good. I called the sheriff this morning and let him know we were coming. He’ll meet us at the house—the crime scene—so you can take a look.”

  Jenna jotted notes. “This is the house you grew up in?”

  “Yes. My father still owns it.”

  “Does he live there?”

  “No. He’s off the grid. Haven’t seen or heard from him in nine years.”

  She stopped jotting. “What’s that about?”

  “Wish I knew. When I was in college, he paid off the house and left me in charge of Camille, my then seventeen-year-old sister. I was on a football scholarship and had to figure out how to stay in school, play ball and get my sister through high school. My aunt and uncle lived next door so they helped until Camille graduated and went to college. Now she lives in the city with her newly acquired husband.”

  And, wow, Marshal Brent was a machine with the way he recited his life history. “Who lives in the house?”

  Brent cleared his throat. “We lived in it until Camille left for college and I could afford to move to the city. Now it’s empty. It’ll stay that way until we figure out who killed my mother. I pay all the bills and the house needs major work, but I don’t want anything painted or repaired. There might still be evidence somewhere.”

  In an odd way, it made sense. Who knew the secrets buried in the floors and walls? Any major construction would wash away potential evidence. “I understand. It’s smart. And amazing that you’ve maintained the house on your own.”

  Not to mention the fact that at nineteen, an age when most young men were focused solely on the number of women they could sleep with, he’d managed to help raise his younger sister. “Your dad, is he a...um...”

  “Suspect? Yes. The husband always gets a look. They haven’t been able to clear him.” She tapped her pen and Brent glanced at her. “Get over this hesitation, Jenna. I need you unfiltered and open-minded.”

  Sideways in her seat, she focused on him. She couldn’t quite grasp his he-man attitude. Sure, he had the physical size of a tough guy, but even the most hardened men had to feel something when their mother had been murdered.

  But he wanted unfiltered. She’d give it to him. “Tell me what happened.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted and hello again, Marshal Hottie.

  “Atta, girl. It was just after midnight and we were sleeping in our rooms. I woke up to a noise in the living room—I’d later find out it was my mother hitting the floor after someone blasted her on the skull. We never found a weapon.”

  Jenna jotted notes in her quasi shorthand, but paused to look at him. His features were relaxed, as if he was deep in thought, but other than that, she sensed no anxiety. They might as well have been out for a Sunday drive given his body language.

  “I heard the back door shut. I figured it was my dad coming home. He worked second shift at a manufacturing plant. Farming equipment. But the house got quiet. Usually, when my dad came home, he walked straight back to their bedroom and the floorboards squeaked. That night? No squeak. I stayed in bed for a few minutes thinking about it, and then got up to look.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “No. I don’t know why. I should have been.”

  Jenna took notes, letting him focus on the road and on the facts of his mother’s murder. Facts she was stunned he remembered with such clarity and, again, recited rather...dispassionately. He hooked a left onto another rural road and pressed the gas. What speed limit sign? “You left your room?”

  “I walked down the hall to the living room and found her on the floor.” He tapped the top of his forehead. “Bleeding. Then I got scared. My mom’s sister and her husband live next door and I ran there. My uncle went back to check on her. He called 9-1-1 from the kitchen phone, grabbed my sister and brought her to be with me. My aunt and uncle put us in their bed and told us to go back to sleep. By then, I was too scared to do anything so I stayed there.” He glanced at Jenna and then back at the road. “I can’t figure out if that’s a blessing or a curse.”

  “Probably both.”

  “Finally,” Brent said. “She’s unfiltered. That’s what we need. For twenty-three years the same man has had this case. He’s done a decent job, but he only sees what he sees.”

  Just ahead, a crossing came into view. To the rig
ht, a few houses with lit windows dotted the two-lane road. Brent cruised past them and continued on for a quarter mile to a second set of twin, single-story homes with cute porches she’d bet were great for sitting on during summer. One house was dark, the other with only a porch light. He pulled into the driveway of the darkened one, parked and cut the engine.

  “This is it,” he said. “If my aunt and uncle are home, they’ll be over in three minutes. Guaranteed.”

  Jenna sat forward, scrunched her nose at the darkness. “I’m assuming the electricity is on.”

  “It’s on. We’ve got ten minutes before the sheriff arrives. You want to go in?”

  She nodded.

  He slid from the SUV and came around to open her door. A gentleman. Love it. The front porch light flashed on and she flinched.

  “Sorry,” Brent said. “Motion sensor. Should have warned you.”

  “No problem.”

  Side by side, they walked to the porch. Brent swung his keys on his index finger once, twice, three times, and then snatched them into his hand.

  Jenna stopped at the base of the stairs. “What about other suspects?”

  “The sheriff thinks it might have been a robbery gone bad. Back then the only one in town who locked their door was my dad. Every night after he came home he’d lock up. My mom would wait for him. The working theory is an intruder came through the unlocked back door and tried to rob the place.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Maybe. Carlisle isn’t that big. Eight hundred people. Everyone knows everyone. There was a junkie who lived across town. He’s moved away since, but they looked at him hard thinking he needed cash to score drugs. Couldn’t make a case.”

  Junkie. Jenna made a note on the pad she’d brought from the car. “Does the sheriff know where he is?”

  “I keep tabs on him. I’ll get you his address. Then there’s my dad. He left work that night and said he came straight home. No one knows what time he left the plant, and there was no security video inside the plant back then. He punched out at midnight, but theoretically his buddies could have punched him out. Guys did that all the time.”

  “How does that feel?”

  “What?”