“The prosecution calls FBI Special Agent Thomas Yellow Bird to the stand.”
Tom snapped to attention, standing and straightening his tie. He should’ve been paying more attention to the trial at hand than musing about the new judge. The prosecutor had warned him that this particular defense lawyer liked to put members of law enforcement on the spot.
As he moved to the front of the room, he could feel Judge Jennings’s gaze upon him. He didn’t allow himself to look back. He kept his meanest gaze trained on the accused, enjoying the way the moron shrank back behind his lawyer. It didn’t matter how intriguing—yes, that was the right word. It didn’t matter how intriguing Judge Caroline Jennings was—Tom had to see justice served on the man who’d pulled a gun on a bank teller and made off with seven thousand dollars and change.
All the same, Tom wanted to look at her. Would she still have that challenge on her face? Or would he see suspicion? He was used to that. He’d been called inscrutable on more than one occasion—and that was by people who knew him. Tom had a hell of a poker face, which was an asset in his line of work. People couldn’t figure him out, and they chose to interpret their confusion as distrust.
Or would he see something else in her eyes—the same pull he’d felt when she’d walked into this courtroom? Would she still have that delicate blush?
Smith, the prosecutor, caught Tom’s eye and gave him a look. Right. Tom had a job to do before he dug into the mystery that was Caroline Jennings.
Leland swore Tom in, and he took his seat on the witness stand. Roses, he thought, not allowing himself to look in her direction. She smelled like roses, lush and in full bloom.
Smith, in a forgettable brown suit that matched his equally forgettable name, asked Tom all the usual questions—how he had been brought in on the case, where the leads had taken the investigation, how he had determined that the accused was guilty of the crime, how the arrest had gone down, what the accused had said during questioning.
It was cut-and-dried, really. He had to keep from yawning.
Satisfied, Smith said, “Your witness,” and returned to his seat.
The defense lawyer didn’t do anything for a moment. He continued to sit at his table, reviewing his notes. This was a tactic Tom had seen countless times, and he wasn’t about to let the man unnerve him. He waited. Patiently.
“Counsel, your witness,” Judge Jennings said, an edge in her voice. Tom almost smiled at that. She was not as patient as she’d seemed.
Then the defense lawyer stood. He took his time organizing his space, taking a drink—every piddling little thing a lawyer could do to stall.
“Today, Counselor,” Judge Jennings snapped.
She got a lawyer’s smile for that one before Lasky said, “Of course, Your Honor. Agent Yellow Bird, where were you on the evening of April twenty-seventh, the day you were supposedly tracing the bills stolen from the American State Bank of Pierre?”
The way he said it—drawing out the Yellow Bird part and hitting the supposedly with extra punch—did nothing to improve Tom’s opinion of the man. If this guy was trying to make Tom’s Lakota heritage an issue, he was in for a rude awakening.
Still, Tom was under oath and he responded, “I was off duty,” in a level voice. This wasn’t his first time on the stand. He knew how this gotcha game was played, and he wasn’t going to give this jerk anything to build off.
“Doing what?” That smile again.
Tom let the question linger in the air just long enough. Smith roused out of his stunned stupor and shouted, “Objection, Your Honor! What Agent Yellow Bird does in his free time is of no importance to this court.”
The defense attorney turned his attention to the judge, that oily smile at full power. “Your Honor, I intend to show that what Agent Yellow Bird does on his own time directly compromises his ability to do his job.”
What a load of bull. That perp was guilty of robbing a bank, and his defense team was throwing everything and the kitchen sink at the prosecutor’s witnesses in an effort to throw the trial. Tom knew it, the prosecutor knew it and the defense attorney definitely knew it.
But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the opinion of Judge Caroline Jennings. She cleared her throat, which made Tom look at her. Then she leaned forward, elbows on her desk. “How so, Counselor?”
“Your Honor?”
“You’re obviously building toward something. My time is valuable—as is yours, I assume. Someone’s paying the bills, right?”
It took everything Tom had not to burst out laughing at that—but he kept all facial muscles on complete lockdown.
The defense lawyer tried to smile, but Tom could tell the man was losing his grip. Clearly, he’d expected Judge Jennings to be an easy mark. “If I could ask the question, I’d be able to demonstrate—”
“Because it sounds like you’re fishing,” Judge Jennings interrupted. “What illegal activity are you going to accuse Agent Yellow Bird of?” She turned her attention to Tom and there it was again—that pull. “Any crimes you’d like to admit to, just to save us all the time?”
Tom notched an eyebrow at her, unable to keep his lips from twitching. “Your Honor, the only crime I’m guilty of is occasionally driving too fast.”
Something changed in her eyes—deepened. He hoped like hell it was appreciation. All he knew was that he appreciated that look. “Yes,” she murmured, her soft voice pouring oil on the fire that was racing through his body. “South Dakota seems made for speeding.”
Oh, hell, yeah—he’d like to gun his engine and let it run right about now.
She turned her attention back to the attorney. “Are you going to make the argument that violating speed limits compromises an FBI agent’s ability to investigate a crime?”
“Prostitutes!” the flustered lawyer yelled, waving a manila envelope around in the air. “He patronizes prostitutes!”
An absolute hush fell over the courtroom—which was saying something, as it hadn’t been loud to begin with.
Shit. How had this slimeball found out about that?
“Your Honor!” Smith shot out of his chair, moving with more animation than Tom would have given him credit for. “That has nothing to do with a bank robbery!”
This was ridiculous, but Tom knew how this game was played. If he displayed irritation or looked nervous, it’d make him look shifty—which was exactly what the defense wanted. So he did—and said—nothing. Not a damn thing.
But his jaw flexed. He was not ashamed of his after-hours activities, but if Judge Jennings let this line of questioning go on, it could compromise some of his girls—and those girls had been compromised enough.
“That’s a serious accusation,” Judge Jennings said in a voice that was so cold it dropped the temperature in the courtroom a whole ten degrees. “I assume you have proof?”
“Proof?” the lawyer repeated and waved the manila envelope in the air. “Of course I have proof. I wouldn’t waste the court’s valuable time if I couldn’t back it up.”
“Let me see.”
The defense lawyer paused—which proved to be his undoing.
Judge Jennings narrowed her gaze and said, “Counselor Lasky, if you have evidence that Agent Yellow Bird patronizes prostitutes—and that somehow compromises his ability to trace stolen bills—I’d suggest you produce it within the next five seconds or I will hold you in contempt of this court. Care to start a tab at five hundred dollars?”
Not that Tom would admit this in a court of law, but Caroline Jennings had just taken that spark of attraction and fanned it into a full-fledged flame of desire, because the woman was amazing. Simply amazing.
Lasky only hesitated for a second before he strode forward and handed the manila envelope over to Judge Jennings. She pulled out what looked to be some grainy photos. Tom guessed they’d been pulle
d from a security camera, but at this angle he couldn’t see who was in the pictures or where they might have been taken.
He knew what they weren’t pictures of—him in flagrante delicto with hookers. Having dinner with hookers, maybe. He did that all the time. But last he checked, buying a girl dinner wasn’t illegal.
Even so, that the defense lawyer had the pictures was not good. Tom had a responsibility to those girls and his tribe. But more than that, he had an obligation to the FBI to make sure that what he did when he was off the clock didn’t compromise the pursuit of justice. And if Judge Jennings let this line of questioning go on, Tom’s time at the truck stops would be fair game for every single defense attorney in the state. Hell, even if this criminal wasn’t found guilty, another defense lawyer would try the same line of attack, hoping to be more successful.
“Your Honor,” Smith finally piped up into the silence, “this entire line of questioning is irrelevant to the case at hand. For all the court knows, he was meeting with informants!”
Not helping, Tom thought darkly, although again, he didn’t react. If people suspected those girls were turning informant, they’d be in even more danger.
Judge Jennings ignored Smith. “Mr. Lasky, as far as I can tell, this is proof that Agent Yellow Bird eats meals with other people.”
“Who are known prostitutes!” Lasky crowed, aiming for conviction but nailing desperation instead.
Smith started to object again, but Judge Jennings raised a hand to cut him off. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? He ate—” She turned to face Tom and held out a photo. “Is this dinner or lunch?”
Tom recognized the Crossroads Truck Stop immediately—that was Jeannie. “Dinner.”
“He ate dinner with a woman? Did she launder the stolen money? Drive the getaway car? Was she the inside woman?”
“Well—no,” Lasky sputtered. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this case!” The second the words left his mouth, he realized what he’d said, and his entire face crumpled in defeat.
“You’ve got that right.” Amazingly, Judge Jennings sounded more disappointed than anything else, as if she’d expected Lasky to put up a better fight. “Anything else you have to add?”
Lasky slumped and shook his head.
“Your Honor,” Smith said, relief all over his face, “move to strike the defense’s comments from the record.”
“Granted.” She fixed a steely gaze on Lasky.
Tom realized he’d never seen such a woman as Judge Jennings—especially not one for whom he’d felt that spark. He wanted nothing more than to chase that fire, keep fanning those flames. Stephanie would have wanted him to move on—he knew that. But no one else had ever caught his attention like this, and he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than everything. So he’d stayed faithful to his late wife and focused on his job.
Except for now. Except for Caroline Jennings.
There was one problem with this unreasonable attraction.
She was his next assignment. Damn it.
“Agent Yellow Bird, you may step down,” she said to him.
Tom made damn sure to keep his movements calm and even. He didn’t gloat and he didn’t strut. Looking like he’d gotten away with something would undermine his position of authority, so he stood straight and tall and, without sparing a glance for the defense attorney or his client, Tom walked out of the courtroom.
There. His work on the bank robbery case was done. Which meant one thing and one thing only.
Caroline Jennings was now his sole focus.
He was looking forward to this.
Two
As Caroline headed out into the oppressive South Dakota heat at the end of the day, she knew she should be thinking about who had sent the flowers. Or about James Carlson’s brief reply to her email saying he had contacted an associate, who would be in touch. She should be thinking about the day’s cases. Or tomorrow’s cases.
At the very least, she should be thinking about what she was going to eat for dinner. She had been relying heavily on carryout for the last couple of months, because she hadn’t finished unpacking yet. She should be formulating her plan of attack to get the remaining boxes emptied so she could have a fully functional kitchen again by this weekend at the latest and make better food choices.
She wasn’t thinking about any of those things. Instead, all she could think about was a certain FBI agent with incredible eyes.
Thomas Yellow Bird. She shivered just thinking of the way his gaze had connected with hers across the courtroom. Even at that distance, she’d felt the heat behind his gaze. Oh, he was intense. The way he’d kept his cool under fire when that defense attorney had gone after him? The way he’d glared at the accused? Hell, the way he’d let the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile that had threatened to melt her faster than ice cream on a summer day when he’d said he was guilty of speeding?
So dangerous. Because if he could have this sort of effect on her with just a look, what would he be capable of with his hands—or without an audience?
She hadn’t had the time or inclination to investigate the dating scene in the greater Pierre area. She assumed the pool of eligible men would be considerably smaller than it was in Minneapolis—not that she’d dated a lot back home. It’d been low on her priority list, both there and here. Messy relationships were just that—messy. Dating—and sex—left too much room for mistakes, the kind she’d dodged once already.
No, thank you. She did not need to slip up and get tied to a man she wasn’t even sure she wanted to marry. Her career was far more important than that.
Besides, she spent most of her time with lawyers and alleged criminals. Her bailiff was married. It wasn’t like an attractive, intelligent man she could date without a conflict of professional interest just showed up in her courtroom every day.
Except for today. Maybe.
Because there was that small matter of whether or not he patronized prostitutes. That was a deal breaker.
Lost in thought, she rounded the corner of the courthouse and pulled up short. Because an attractive, intelligent man—FBI Special Agent Thomas Yellow Bird—was leaning on a sleek muscle car parked two slots down from her Volvo. Her nipples tightened immediately, and only one thing could soothe them.
Him.
She shook that thought right out of her head. Good Lord, a man shouldn’t look this sinful—and in those sunglasses? He was every bad-boy fantasy come to life. But she’d watched him on the stand and seen flashes of humor underneath his intense looks and stoic expressions—and that? That was what made him truly sexy.
Was secretly lusting after an FBI agent in a great suit a conflict of interest? God, she hoped not. Because that suit was amazing on him.
“Agent Yellow Bird,” she said when he straightened. “This is a surprise.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up as he pulled his sunglasses off. “Not a bad one, I hope.”
It wasn’t like they’d had a personal conversation in court today. There’d been several feet of plywood between them. She’d been wearing her robes. Everything had been mediated through Lasky and Smith. Cheryl had recorded every word.
Here? None of those barriers existed.
“That depends,” she answered honestly. Because if he were going to ask her out, it could be a very good thing. But if this was about something else...then maybe not so much.
His gaze drifted over her, a leisurely appraisal that did nothing for Caroline’s peace of mind right now. She’d thought she’d been imagining that appraisal in the courtroom when she’d met his gaze across the crowded courtroom and everything about her—her clothes, her skin—had suddenly felt too tight and too loose at the same time.
No, no—not lusting after him. Lust was a weakness and weakness was a risk. The heat flooding her body had more t
o do with the July sun than this man.
As his gaze made its way back up to her face, a look of appreciation plain to see, she knew she wasn’t imagining this. When he spoke, it was almost a relief. “I wanted to thank you for having my back today.”
She waved away this statement, glad to have something to focus on other than his piercing eyes. “Just doing my job. Last time I checked, eating dinner wasn’t a conflict of interest.” Unlike this conversation. Maybe. “I have no desire in being perceived as weak on the bench. I run a tight ship.”
“So I noticed.”
This would be a wonderful time for him to assure her that he didn’t patronize prostitutes—in fact, it’d be great if he didn’t eat dinner with them at all. She tried to keep in mind what Smith had said in his objections—perhaps Agent Yellow Bird had been meeting with informants or some other reasonable explanation that could be tied directly to his job.
Strangely, she wasn’t feeling reasonable about Agent Yellow Bird right now. She steeled her resolve. She couldn’t be swayed by a gorgeous man in a great suit any more than she could be influenced by cut flowers. Not even loyalty could corrupt her. Not anymore.
Everything about him—his gaze, his manner—was intense. And, at least right now, they were on the same side. She’d hate to be a criminal in his sights.
“Well,” she said, feeling awkward about this whole encounter.
“Well,” he agreed. He shoved off his car—an aggressive-looking black thing with a silver stripe on the hood that screamed power—and extended his hand. His suit jacket shifted, and she caught a glimpse of his gun. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Tom Yellow Bird.”
“Tom.” She hesitated before slipping her palm into his. This didn’t count as a conflict of interest, right? Of course not. This was merely a...professional courtesy. Yes, that was it. “Caroline Jennings.”
That got her a real smile—one that took him from intensely handsome to devastatingly so. Her knees weakened—weakened, for God’s sake! It only got worse when he said, “Caroline,” in a voice that was closer to reverence than respectability as his fingers closed around hers.
Pride and Pregnancy Page 2
