THE DEFENDER

by Adrienne Giordano

  Looked as if he was hoofing it.

  Minutes later, he stormed into Hennings & Solomon, sweat pouring from his face onto his already soaked-through shirt, and, yeah, he probably smelled ripe.

  The receptionist rolled her lips back and angled away. He’d just sprinted through unbearable heat—what did she expect? “Penny and Brent. Where?”

  He wouldn’t get charm-school points for that greeting, but it got her moving.

  She pointed to the door. “They just left.”

  “What?”

  Had he heard that right? Maybe the heat fried his brain? He’d told Brent to sit tight. Wait. Had he? Don’t know. From his pocket, his cell phone rang and he dug it out. Brent.

  “Where are you?”

  “On our way to Penny’s. Total cluster. Heath told her she had fifteen minutes to get there or Zac...”

  Brent cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to finish the statement in front of Penny.

  “I get it. Why her apartment?”

  “Said he’d call the landline with further instructions.”

  Trap. Russ paced the reception area, dragged his free hand through his damp hair. “Could be a setup.”

  “Yep.”

  “You got backup for when you get there?”

  “They’re on the way. We’ll clear the apartment before she goes in.”

  Good man. “I’ll take care of the phones. See if we can get a trace.” Russ wrapped the thumb and third finger of his free hand around his forehead and squeezed. Crazy pressure. “How is she?”

  “Not good.”

  Russ stopped walking, let the words sink in. Adrenaline made his head throb and he squeezed his forehead harder. Penny needed help and he couldn’t seem to get to her. “Let me talk to her.”

  “Hang on.”

  A long minute passed and Penny finally came on. “Russell?”

  And, oh, damn, her voice. Broken. Shredded. The gravelly sound of a postcrying jag. Penny in tears. All of it so un–Killer Cupcake. Russ hustled out of the office, headed for the emergency steps and stopped before he lost the call—and her—in the stairwell.

  “Hi, honey. I’m on this. The marshal’s office and my office are already working it. We have people en route to the scene now. We’ll find Zac. I promise you.”

  Even if he’s dead. He shouldn’t let his mind go there. He knew it, but he’d been at this job long enough to know how this could play out. Zac Hennings might already be gone.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Okay? No screaming, no hollering, no drama. Bad news all around. But through a phone line, there wasn’t much he could do. “I’m on my way to your place. Where’s your father?”

  “He’s at a meeting across town. He doesn’t know. I have to tell him.” She paused and he heard the sharp intake of breath. “How am I supposed to tell him?”

  “We’ll figure it out. Just get home.”

  “I hate this man. I hate him. I want him dead.”

  The only bright spot was the return of Killer Cupcake. That was who they needed now and they needed her at her fighting best. “I know.”

  “I want to squeeze his neck in my hands and watch the life drain from him. He stole my brother.”

  * * *

  PENNY STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of her living room, in her secure building where no harm would come to her, and knew it was all a lie. Her supposed sanctuary was a joke.

  Zac’s gone. Waiting for that stupid call, the cordless phone she held grew slick. She squeezed it, sending every ounce of anger and hurt and pressure into her fingers. Starting at her knees, an involuntary quaking grew, then slithered up her thighs, into her hips, over her torso until finally, the insanity of it all, the horror of her brother being kidnapped—possibly murdered—crashed inside her.

  Get it together. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  She squeezed the phone tighter, moved to the window, turned and came back. At any second, Heath would be calling. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe getting her here was a game. A way to control her. She wouldn’t put it past the sick, degenerate animal.

  The phone rang.

  She stared at it for half a second while the harsh bling-bling-bling clawed against her nerves, punishing her already battered brain. This is it.

  She needed Russ. If nothing else, just for his presence. Brent was in the hall, where she’d made him wait because she needed a minute alone. He’d objected, of course, obviously fearing she’d harm herself, but one thing about her, she knew how to persuade men to do things they didn’t agree with.

  Besides, he didn’t give her the sense of calm Russ did. Russ had a way of communicating with her, of making her feel safe without weakening her. Brent didn’t have that. Maybe it was his hugeness or the way he sometimes came off as pushy, unyielding. She didn’t know. All she knew was Russ didn’t make her feel that way.

  Russ also wouldn’t have left her alone.

  But Russ wasn’t here and the phone had just rung for the third time. She hit the button. “Hello?”

  “Lovely Penny.”

  Sick, demented monster.

  She breathed in, visualized her hands around this man’s neck and squeezing. She’d only ever seen him in photos, but it was enough where she had an image in her mind. “Save it, Heath. Put my brother on.”

  “In good time, my dear. He is, in fact, on the way to this location.”

  Long drive. Where was he taking him?

  “Then why am I here? Aside from you taking pleasure in ordering me around.”

  Heath laughed, but it was one of those fake, salesmen laughs. “How well you know me.”

  “You’re fairly predictable.”

  Fast comeback aside, she bit her bottom lip. The man had stolen her brother—maybe now might be the time to show a bit of fear.

  Even with her love for her brother, she wasn’t sure how to do that. How to become a weak female incapable of handling a life-shattering event.

  Besides, Zac would hate that.

  “Maybe so,” Heath said. “But if you’d like your brother to remain alive, you will turn the widow over to me. Or better yet, tell me where I can find her. She’s still talking and I’m done waiting. Do not move from your apartment or your brother is dead. Do not call the FBI. Do not call the attentive Special Agent Voight. I’m watching and I’ll kill them all. I’ll call you back on this line with instructions.”

  Silence followed. A burst of dead air that made Penny’s pulse kick.

  “Hello?” She pulled the phone down, stared at the screen a second—for what reason she had no idea—and put it to her ear again. “Heath?”

  Her only link to Zac and he’d hung up. She squeezed the phone, let the twinge of pressure slide through her fingers into her wrist. Stay calm.

  If ever there was a time she should be allowed to throw a fit, it should be now. Her brother was gone.

  And it was her fault.

  Fear curled into her throat, choking her, making her gasp at its ferocity. How had a financial-fraud case spun so far from her control?

  She threw the phone. Just slammed that sucker against the wall and watched it shatter into three pieces. The only sound in her apartment was the churn of the air conditioning, that low hum that often relaxed her, but now? Now it reminded her how alone she was.

  A knock sounded on her apartment door. Brent. “You okay in there?”

  Get it together. If she didn’t, he’d be busting in here and she didn’t want him to see her in full meltdown mode. She didn’t want anyone to see her this way. So much for the fearless defense attorney.

  “I’m fine,” she called. “Having a little hissy fit. Occasionally, I do that.”

  Right. Make him think this was normal behavior. Why not?

  From the coffee ta
ble, her cell phone rang and the dual vibration caused a rumbling sound.

  She dived for it. Checked the number. “Russell?” Her voice cracked and—I’m losing it—tears filled her eyes. She shoved her thumb and middle finger against her closed eyes, praying the tears would stop. Tears, she didn’t need. She drew a breath, let it out. I shouldn’t talk to him. “You can’t come here.”

  “I’m two blocks away. Traffic is nuts and I had to wait for a cab because I ran to your office.”

  Two blocks. He’ll be here soon. “You ran to my office?”

  “Faster that way. Probably not the smartest move, but at the time it seemed like a good option.”

  “Heath called. Just now. Don’t come here.”

  “Stop talking to me and write everything down. Right now. Before you forget.”

  She nodded. Some defense attorney. That should have been the first thing she’d done. You know better. “He said no FBI. Please. He’s calling me back and he’s watching.”

  “Penny, I promise you, he won’t see me.”

  * * *

  RUSS SWUNG OUT of the elevator on Penny’s floor and halted. Brent stood, hands on hips, squared off with Penny’s closed apartment door. What she’d done this time, Russ didn’t know, but Brent’s stiff body language transmitted one seriously pissed-off dude.

  He swung his head in Russ’s direction. Yep. Pissed. “What’d she do?”

  “She won’t open it. I’ve been talking to the door for five minutes. How am I supposed to help her if she locks me out? I’m about to kick in this damned door.”

  Time to chill. Russ stepped closer and, as he’d hoped, Brent backed away. One thing he’d noticed about Brent, he didn’t like people in his space. “She got the call,” Russ said.

  The enormous marshal threw his hands up. “That explains it. I heard a crash, but she said she was having a hissy fit and was fine. Since then, nothing. Total darkness. I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone.”

  She’s far from fine. “She can be convincing.” Russ angled between Brent and the door and knocked. “It’s Russ. Open up.”

  Three seconds later, the door flew open.

  Penny stood in the doorway, her suit jacket off and a thin, silky tank top clinging to her torso. Russ refused to acknowledge the outline of her bra cups through the white shirt. Not going there.

  He glanced back at Brent, who was just as red-blooded as Russ and had definitely acknowledged the cups. Time to break this up. Russ slid into the doorway and nudged Penny inside before turning back. “I got Penny. Do me a favor and head back to your office. See what you can shake loose.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. We’re good here.”

  He closed the door and faced Penny. Maybe later he’d mention she shouldn’t open the door dressed like a fantasy from a lingerie catalog when two single men stood on the other side.

  Back to business here.

  Except, Penny stood there, six inches away, gazing up at him with huge blue eyes that had been sucked of all their sparking energy. Killer Cupcake, slaughtered.

  “You okay?”

  She reached out, curled her fingers into his shirt and squeezed. Her knuckles pushed through the shirt to skin and he glanced down. Before he had a chance to look back at her, she rested her head against his chest. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Ah, Penny. I’m sorry.”

  “He’s gone, Russell.”

  He rubbed his palms over her arms—her freezing arms—and squeezed. “We’ll find him. I promise you. We’ll find him. There’s nowhere Heath can hide. We’re talking to everyone he knows. I got ballistics back on the rifle and it’s a match. Someone is working on Randy Jones now. Soon we’ll have the shooter and he’ll tell us where Heath is. We’ll make it happen.”

  Finally, she glanced up, met his gaze briefly and then focused on his mouth.

  And, if Russ knew women, which he was fairly sure he did, Penny was about to kiss the hell out of him.

  And he wouldn’t fight it, which was a problem.

  “Did anyone see you enter the building?” she asked.

  “No. I called your doorman. Cab dropped me a block away and I weaved through the alleys. The doorman let me in the service entrance in the back alley.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Again her gaze went to his mouth.

  “Penny, you’re fine.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m a total screwup.”

  And then she did it. She gripped his shirt harder, slid to her toes and kissed him. Long and slow and soft. I’m toast. From somewhere inside—he’d never know where—he found the good sense to break the kiss.

  “This isn’t what you need.”

  “Actually, it is.”

  Um, okay.

  “And I don’t want to think too hard about it, because that’s where we’ll mess it up. My brother is gone and there’s nothing I can do but sit here, useless, waiting for the next call. That’s all I can do.”

  “Listen to me—”

  “I don’t want to listen. I want to fight. For my brother. I brought this to my family and I can’t fix it. The guilt and anger and hurt are killing me and I hate myself—hate, Russell—and I have to tell my parents. My dad has been locked in an off-site client meeting all morning and I’m not telling my mother until my dad can be with her. At this moment, there is nothing I can do to fix this. It’s my fault and I need someone—you—to remind me I’m good at something. To tell me I’m not a failure. You and I, together, will not be a failure. I know it.”

  Huh. This was a first. On many levels. The first being Killer Cupcake having a meltdown. The second being a defense attorney throwing herself at him. And him liking it.

  She slid her arms around him and—yep, she was going to lay another one on him. He sucked in a breath and waited for that second when her lips would hit his and his body would ignite all over again.

  Bam. She kissed him. Hang on, hang on, hang on. He hesitated. At least until she crushed herself against him, wanting him to pick up the pace. Control. That was what he needed here.

  What she needed now wasn’t fast, hard sex. She needed slow and quiet. Yep. That was what she needed. Whether she knew it or not.

  Maybe he’d give her both. He squeezed her arms and broke the kiss.

  She stepped back. “What’s the problem?”

  Where should he start? He had a list.

  “First, I have a technical agent on the way here to rig your phone. Second, we’re not rushing through this. You’re all keyed up, and that’s probably a crummy reason for us to go back on our agreement to steer clear of a physical relationship.”

  The lines between her brows deepened. “Russell Voight, sometimes I want to hate you, but most times I’m just thankful.”

  “For what?”

  “For you. As crazy as you make me, I love when you’re around.”

  Well, damn. Not what he’d expected. He stepped forward, grabbed her hand and, one by one, skimmed her fingers, working the tension from them as he went. When he’d flattened the last finger, he dipped his head, kissed her palm. Don’t do this.

  Her sharp inhalation shattered his concentration and he glanced up in time for her to ease forward and wrap her arms around his waist. He ran his hand over her head, twirled the long blond strands over his fingers, and her shoulders shook. Crying.

  “Oh, baby, I’m sorry.”

  “My parents will never forgive me. I’ll never forgive me.”

  She squeezed him tighter and deep sobs ripped into her. Killer Cupcake unglued. But she looked up at him, those lush lips right there, and jerk that he was, he knew what he wanted. What they both wanted.

  He did the only thing he could. He bent low, scooped her up and headed to
her bedroom. Her face transformed into wide-eyed shock that beat the hell out of seeing her in tears. “You’re all mine.”

  She wiggled around, smacked him on the chest. “Russell!”

  There we go.

  “Russell! You are not manhandling me in my own home.”

  “Yeah, I am. You need it.” He grinned. “You need a lot of things. And I plan on giving them to you.”

  She kicked her legs and almost blasted him in the crotch. “Hey, now. Don’t damage the equipment before you’ve used it.”

  She gasped. “Pig!”

  Damn, he loved rattling her. Making her forget the nightmare currently known as her life.

  Once in her bedroom he tossed—yep, tossed—her on the bed and waited half a second for the yelling. One, two, three.

  No yelling.

  “You’re quiet,” he said, slipping off his tie and unbuttoning his collar.

  More than a little heavy on the eye contact, she sat up and tore the cami over her head and Russ stood, like some fumbling high schooler, paralyzed by the sight of her. Do something, man. For months he’d been fantasizing about Penny Hennings naked and now all he wanted was to slow her down. Let him savor each piece of clothing coming off so he could seal it into his subconscious.

  He set one knee on the bed and grabbed her hands. “Go slower for me, okay?”

  A sexy grin quirked one side of her mouth, a look he’d seen on her before and recognized. The look of assuming control. Yes, he’d just given Killer Cupcake all the power. She’d eat him alive.

  “Russell?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m thinking about all the things I want you to do to me.”

  Well, hell. He threw his head back, tried not to think about his raging erection straining against his pants and her hands at the button of his waistband.

  “Still want me to go slow?” she cracked.

  And, if for no other reason than to drive her—and maybe himself—insane, he stepped back. “I do. I’ve been thinking about this a long time. I want it to last.”

  Still on the bed, she got to her knees, gripped his shirt and kissed him. Slow and gentle, just as he’d said he wanted, and something in his brain fired. Pent-up frustration—need—tore into him. She’d mess him up in a million different ways. His career, his emotions, all of it would be hers.