The Marshal

by Adrienne Giordano

  “Brent,” Penny began. “You are the client here. I’ll do whatever you want, but your goal in this was to heat up the case. Obviously, you and Jenna have done that.”

  No kidding there. As if he’d read her mind, Brent slid his gaze to Jenna and their eyes held for a long moment while her mind flashed back a few hours to her bedroom and how they’d made each other smile.

  No one was smiling now.

  Brent gave in first and turned to Penny. “I’m worried about her.”

  “I know. I worry about her all the time. But this is her job, and if she wants to see this through, it should be her choice.”

  “And what if something happens to her?”

  “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

  Brent scoffed, shook his head, then scratched the back of his neck. Killing time. She had him. Time to move in.

  “Please, Brent,” Jenna said. “I’ll be careful.”

  His eyes were on her again, growing darker by the second, and she held her breath. The tension between them ran so thick an ax couldn’t penetrate it, but she sat tall, challenging him. He wanted her to give in. To crumble. To let him have his way. Well, she wouldn’t. Not this time.

  Being the smart woman she was, Penny swung to Jenna and then back to Brent before turning to Russ. “Am I missing something here?”

  “What are you asking me for?”

  “You had a beer with him earlier. Maybe you know something.”

  “He doesn’t,” Brent said.

  Jenna didn’t believe it any more than Penny did, but that was between Russ and Brent. If Brent had shared his thoughts about his relationship with Jenna, good for him. At least he was talking to someone.

  Even if it did sting a little bit that she wasn’t that person. Later. There’d be time to worry about that later, when she and Brent actually figured out what the hell they were doing with each other. Aside from having multiple orgasms.

  Jenna puffed up her cheeks, felt the tug of skin on her still-seeping wound and winced.

  Brent moved to the bed, got right into her space. “You can’t go home. We find you somewhere else to stay and you don’t go anywhere alone. Whatever we have to do, I don’t care. You can’t be alone. Those are my terms. You agree to them and you stay. If you argue, you’re fired.”

  At once, her toes, her fingers, her arms, everything tingled. Yes! Victory. He wouldn’t see it that way, and she definitely wouldn’t point it out, but she had most definitely won this round. Maybe there was hope for them yet, because stubborn Brent Thompson hadn’t sacrificed her. He could have, but he hadn’t.

  Penny rolled out her bottom lip and studied the two of them for a few seconds. “I don’t know what’s going on and I’m not sure I want to, but, Brent, if you need to be somewhere, I can drive Jenna wherever she needs to go.”

  “I’m good,” he said. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

  Penny clucked her tongue. “I’m sure you will.” She spun to Russ. “Russell, shall we go?”

  Oh, boy. She’d busted out the Russell business. Poor Russ would get a grilling in the car. Any other time, Jenna would have jumped in and asked to speak to Penny alone. To tell her that Russ was an innocent in this mess and even if Brent had confided in him about their relationship—or whatever the subject was—Penny should leave him alone. But, as confused and tired as Jenna was, she didn’t have it in her tonight.

  Even if she did, she wasn’t sure what she’d say to Penny. Hey, boss, you know how I’m not supposed to get up-close-and-personal with clients? Well, Brent is amazing in bed. In case you were wondering.

  Before Penny and Russ could leave, shoes squeaked from outside the room and a female doctor, who looked about twelve, stepped in. “Sorry for the wait, folks. Let’s get this problem fixed up.”

  Jenna didn’t want to be a whining patient, but this was her face. One she’d have to see in mirrors for the rest of her life, and a twelve-year-old wanted to stitch her up? The doctor shoved her hands into gloves and smacked open a cabinet where she messed with items, ripping open packages, fussing with gauze. Little by little, panic climbed in Jenna’s throat. She knew nothing about this doctor, and the woman was about to shove a needle into her face. Her no-fail, always-come-through-for-her face.

  She’s going to make me look like Frankenstein’s monster.

  Brent moved to the side of the bed, hands propped on hips. “You okay?”

  No. She shot another look at the doctor, and then came back to him.

  And then, as if something clicked, Brent nodded. “Uh, doc?”

  The doctor set supplies on the tray near the bed and turned, her gaze shifting to the butt of Brent’s sidearm that stuck out from the hem of his shirt. “Is that a weapon?”

  He dug into his pocket for his wallet and badged her. “Brent Thompson. I’m a US marshal.”

  “I see. Did you have a question for me?”

  “I do. No disrespect here, but are you by any chance a plastic surgeon?”

  Thank you. Jenna hadn’t said one word, but he knew.

  The doctor glanced at her and Jenna turned her face, putting the vertical gash on display.

  “No, sir, I’m not. But I can stitch up a wound.”

  “I don’t doubt that and, again, no disrespect here.” He tucked his finger under Jenna’s chin and inched it up. “But look at this face. Tell me you can stitch it up and it’ll be as perfect as it was before she got cut.”

  About to follow Russ out the door, Penny took it all in and Jenna dared no eye contact. Her boss wasn’t stupid and Brent jumping into the fray, putting his hands on Jenna in such an intimate way was sure to have her perception-radar blinking.

  The doctor studied the gash again. “I can’t guarantee that. A plastic surgeon couldn’t, either.”

  Brent nodded. “I understand and appreciate your opinion, but we’ll take our chances with the surgeon.”

  “Sir—”

  “I want the surgeon,” Jenna said. “I’m sorry, but you’re a woman. Please understand.”

  Voices erupted from the hallway. “Coding!” someone shouted.

  Snapping off her gloves, the doctor tossed them in the trash and spun to the door. “I have to go. I’ll see who’s here.”

  “Thank you,” Jenna called.

  Penny smacked her hands together. “Okay. Well, that was...interesting. You’re in good hands here, so Russ and I are leaving. Call me in the morning. We’ll talk. Count on it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  First thing Monday morning, Jenna hunkered down in the Hennings & Solomon boardroom with a whiteboard, the box of files she’d made Brent retrieve from her apartment and all of her notes.

  Avoiding the bazillion questions that would come from her family, she’d opted to spend the night in a hotel. Plus, if she knew anything about her boss, Penny would ask, in no uncertain terms, where Jenna had slept the previous night and Jenna wouldn’t have to lie. She wanted to truthfully tell Penny she’d slept in a bed alone.

  Of course, Brent had insisted on playing bodyguard and slept on the hotel room’s sofa, which was rather heartbreaking since he was twice as big as the thing and couldn’t have gotten any decent sleep. But there were only so many battles she could win with him, and, as tough as she’d played it, his presence calmed her. It let her feel a little less wary.

  None of that could be admitted. All that would do was ignite the argument that she should walk away from his mom’s case. Instead, they’d found a compromise with Brent following her to work and escorting her upstairs after which he went off to make sure a federal witness got to the courthouse unscathed. Right now, that witness—bless him—got Brent out of her space so she could make sense of her notes without her personal feelings interfering.

  Penny popped her head in the door. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  “Hi.”

  “How’s the face? I’m assuming the big, bad marshal got you a plastic surgeon?”

  Jenna turned her head, revealing the bandage running from
her jaw to midcheek. “Yes. He did. Eleven stitches.”

  Penny rolled out her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes in the way she did when focusing on a potential witness. “That was something, seeing Brent take over like that. He has a protective nature about him though, so I’m not sure why I was surprised.”

  Anytime now, Penny would find a way to pry about what she’d witnessed at the hospital. “He’s a good man.”

  “He is indeed. Where did you sleep last night?”

  Good old Penny. “I was too tired to deal with my family so I went to a hotel. Got the highest floor and double locked the door.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What?”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Nope. Want to see my receipt?”

  Penny circled one finger in Jenna’s direction. “You better not be lying.”

  “I’m not. Promise. Why would I lie?”

  “Because Russ has gone into Band of Brothers mode and clammed up. That tells me Brent told him something, and he’s refusing to betray his confidence. I love that about Russ, but when he uses it against me, I could stab him and dump his body.”

  Jenna cracked up. Penny, all five-foot-one of her, didn’t pull any punches. “Thanks for the laugh. I needed that.”

  “Tell me not to worry about whatever is going on with you and Brent. This is business, Jenna, but he’s my friend and I care about him.”

  “You don’t have to worry. We’re fine. We’re both adults and we know what’s at stake. I promise you. We’re fine.”

  After a solid thirty seconds of silence, Penny waved her off, then gestured to the papers spread on the table. “What’s this?”

  “I’m working on a murder board.”

  “Ooh, can I help?”

  As a defense lawyer, the most morbid things excited Penny. Jenna supposed the constantly thickening skin came with the job.

  “Sure. I’m adding suspects to the white board. It helps me sort everything.”

  Penny grabbed a marker out of the fancy oak pencil box on the credenza. “You tell me what to write.”

  “I have this Jeffries guy and Brent’s father. The sheriff is double-checking on any home invasions in the surrounding areas around that time. So far he’s come up with one person. The guy was nineteen at the time and didn’t have a history of violence. He was a petty thief looking for jewelry and small items to hock.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Lives in Indiana. His name is Carlton Boines. He did a two-year prison stint the year after Brent’s mom died.”

  Penny made notes on the board as Jenna babbled. “Here’s a photo of him.” She handed Penny the picture and tape.

  “That could be something. What else?”

  For the next thirty minutes, Penny made notes on the board. By the time they were done, they had a lineup with three photos. Boines, Jeffries and Brent’s father. That was it. Three suspects. Not a lot, but a start.

  Jenna shoved her notepad away and sat back. “While we’re waiting for DNA on the brick, I’ll find Boines and then start working on family members and acquaintances of his and Jeffries. Anything from Russ on Brent’s father?”

  “That’s what I came in here for.” She held up a note. “Russ got you this number and an address in Severville. It’s near the Kentucky state line.”

  How interesting that Brent’s father lived just over seven hours south and hadn’t taken the time to let his children know. “Thank you. I’ll call him.”

  “How does Brent feel about you questioning his father?”

  Jenna set the note on the table. “He hasn’t said. Not a shock since he doesn’t say much about anything.”

  “You’ve read the evidence, what do you think? Did Mason kill his wife?”

  “Penny, I honestly don’t know. He’s still considered a suspect. They just don’t have any solid evidence. But after meeting Jeffries and finding out the sheriff doesn’t have diddly on him, I have to start looking elsewhere. And that means questioning Brent’s other family members about the relationship between Brent’s mother and father.”

  “Did they get along?”

  Jenna scrunched her nose. Somehow it felt like a betrayal sharing what Brent had told her, but this was Penny. His friend. Someone he trusted. “He said they yelled. Plenty of couples yell and it’s not abusive. It’s simply the way they communicate. Brent may have been too young to know the difference.”

  Still holding the marker, Penny tapped it on the table. “And you’re afraid of what you’ll find.”

  “And I’m afraid of what I’ll find. From what I’ve gathered, Brent’s dad doesn’t have it in him to kill someone. He’s weak. Evidenced by his walking out on his children. But we’ve seen crazier.”

  “We sure have. You have to question him. If nothing else, to rule him out.” Penny leaned forward and spun the phone toward Jenna. “Let’s call him.”

  Yes. Let’s. She eyeballed the number, grabbed the phone and dialed.

  By the third ring, her hopes were dying fast. Come on, be there. Voice mail. Drat. Maybe she should just drive down and surprise him? Always an option. A long beep sounded and Jenna left a generic message telling Brent’s father her name and that she was calling from Hennings & Solomon. That was it. If nothing else, he’d be curious why someone from a law firm would call him.

  She dropped the receiver into the cradle and pushed the phone back to its original spot. “Now we wait. I’ll talk to Brent’s cousin. His aunt isn’t comfortable talking about her sister. At all. She gets that deer-in-the-headlight look every time I’m around. Plus, Brent adores her and I don’t want him annoyed if I push too hard. Jamie and her father are easier to get information out of.”

  “It’s like walking through a minefield.”

  “Let me tell you, my psychology degree is coming in handy. I could do a thesis on this family. They were all questioned and apparently ruled out years ago, but they’re still traumatized and no one wants to admit it. Instead, they stare at an empty house and watch Brent drive himself crazy. Tragic. Any way you slice it.”

  Penny checked the clock on the wall. “I have a client call in five minutes. Mike will go with you to track down Boines. Don’t go alone.”

  For once, Jenna wouldn’t argue about taking her rival, a retired detective and Hennings & Solomon’s other investigator, with her. The itchy stitches on her face were all the convincing she needed. The irony of her marred face was not lost on her, because suddenly the beauty queen couldn’t use her looks to get information out of men.

  This she’d have to do on skill alone.

  * * *

  THERE WERE PLENTY of things about this case that bugged Jenna, and sneaking off to Carlisle without telling Brent might be the one that bugged her most. Even if she’d planned on telling him—after the fact—she was defying his request that she inform him when contacting his family. Plus, her goal today was to garner information about his father, about whom he clearly had conflicting emotions.

  But he wanted his mother’s killer caught, and that meant poking around in his parents’ marriage.

  The only thing she knew for sure was that she despised the knot of fear stuck in her throat. Someone had put a brick through her window and whoever that someone was, they didn’t want her poking anything. Well, too bad. The stitches on her face alone were enough to push her forward. If she had a scar, when she found the person who did this to her, she’d beat them senseless.

  So, with time ticking and Brent working, she’d recruited Mike to play chaperone. She also brought along her .38 for added protection.

  Jenna exited the tollway with the midmorning sun shining through her windshield. Great day. Days like this weren’t made for fear. They were made for strolling the lakefront, snuggling up with a sweetie, holding hands. All the good stuff. Maybe at some point, she and Brent would do that. Was he even the strolling type? So much to learn.

  She let out a small sigh and hooked a right into the truck stop where Jamie had agreed to meet her.
Wanting to keep this meeting out of eagle-eye Aunt Sylvie’s range, Jenna had concocted some nonsense about a time crunch and asked Jamie to meet her at the truck stop to save her thirty minutes of driving.

  The entire thing might be a joke because these people were so tight that Jamie probably had hung up with Jenna and called her mother. Still, if they met at the house, Sylvie would be all up in their business and calling Brent wanting to know what was going on. And considering Brent didn’t know, well, enough said.

  Complicated. Not so much the professional aspects, but the emotional ones. On a professional level, she had no problem going rogue and hunting down witnesses. Brent was different. The double orgasm the night before proved that. Now she’d slept with him, gotten emotionally involved and—voilà!—immediately began hiding things. How would that look to him?

  If the roles were reversed, she’d think she was being used.

  Which he would despise. And couldn’t be further from the truth. For a second, she considered calling him, just admitting the whole damned thing. For a second. Then the investigator in her grabbed hold and smacked her upside the head. This was her job. Emotions must be removed. That meant Brent and her feelings for him, that comfort she felt when around him, the way her body responded when his big hands touched her skin, all needed to be set aside.

  “Jenna Hayward, cliché of the year,” she muttered. “That’s me.”

  “What?” Mike asked.

  “Nothing. Talking to myself. You can wait in the car. I don’t want to spook her. Just keep an eye out, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  She parked and glanced around the parking lot. To her right, a few truck drivers stood gabbing in front of their rigs. The fuel pumps were relatively quiet with only two cars in need of their service. No Jamie. Jenna checked the time on her phone. Five minutes early. She’d wait. Maybe grab a cup of coffee from inside.

  But that meant walking around with this hideous bandage on display. She flipped the visor mirror open, fluffed her hair a bit, pulling it forward. Nice try. Even with long hair, the bandage was visible.

  Eh, who needed coffee?

  She’d just wait. Maybe answer some emails. Call her family. File her nails. Anything to not think about Brent and the multiple orgasms.