The Defender

“I don’t babble.”

“Yeah, you do. On three, we’re all bolting to the building. Stay low. And get rid of those heels. You need to haul.”

She nodded, kicked off her spiked heels and touched her father’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“We’re good, then,” Russ said. “One, two, three.”

He jumped up and the sight of all that quick movement stunned her. He squeezed her hand with enough force that a knuckle popped, and then he dragged her to her feet and sprinted toward the building. Wait. Dad. Penny glanced behind her, spotted her father a foot behind and reached back for him.

“Go, Penny. I’m fine.”

The safety of the lobby was just ahead and Penny stared at the back of Russ’s head, focused on all that thick dark hair because the man had amazing hair and it was so much better than thinking about gunfire.

He swung open the lobby door and shoved her through. “Find an interior room and stay there. I’ll find you.”

“Russell!”

“Go. I’ll find you. I have to help out here.”

Chapter Two

Three hours later, after helping secure the crime scene, Russ rode the elevator to the tenth floor of the swanky downtown building where Hennings & Solomon was housed. Penny had already been questioned by investigators at the scene, but for some reason—who was he kidding? he knew the reason—he needed to put eyes on her. The woman’s aggressive defense-lawyer attitude and sharp tongue drove him insane, but deep down, when confronted with his baser needs, he had an itch for her.

So, yeah, apparently he was a sick, demented freak, because Penny Hennings was a viper. Five months ago, she’d murdered him on a cross-examination that left him exhausted, frustrated and with a battered ego. Thus, the Killer Cupcake moniker. Without a doubt, she was a looker. Blond hair, blue eyes and a face so perfect he wanted to run his fingers over it just to say he’d done it. Easy, boy. At first look, her petite size fooled people, but that mouth made up for anything she lacked in stature. Russ watched the numbers on the elevator blink off and he laughed.

Sick, demented man.

The elevator door slid open and he was greeted by a thickly carpeted waiting area, where the typical hot, young receptionist cooed into her headset, “Hennings and Solomon, how may I help you?”

You can get off the phone and point me to Penny. Russ waited. It was well after five, but the receptionist remained at her post fielding calls, probably press people wanting a statement about the shooting. Everyone wanted a statement.

Already tired of waiting, he badged the receptionist, who put her calls on hold to direct him to Penny. Nothing like an FBI badge to get someone’s attention.

Having never been at this office, Russ counted down the doors and glanced at nameplates as he strode by. Most of the doors were closed, but a few remained open. The occupants glanced up at him, noting his rumpled navy suit and the unbuttoned shirt collar. After the day he’d had, the FBI would have to deal with his loose tie.

Two open doors stood at the end of the long corridor. Penny’s, the receptionist had told him, would be the second one from the end, and as he drew closer, the long hallway suddenly echoed with the sound of her voice.

“No,” she said. “I’ll bring him in. I’m not letting you guys parade my client in front of a bunch of news cameras. He’s a businessman, for crying out loud. Get over it.”

Even after getting shot at, she continued to do her job. Viper status aside, he admired that. Sick, demented man. He wasn’t the only one, because the poor schmuck on the other end of Penny’s phone call obviously didn’t realize he wouldn’t win.

Russ paused outside the half-open door. Not to listen, but to get his head together and organize his thoughts and emotions. To shake off the exhaustion sitting on him like solid cement. What a damned day.

Penny had almost gotten blown away. If one of those rounds had connected, that pretty head of hers would have disintegrated. Poof!

Gone.

Incinerating heat zinged up the back of his neck. He couldn’t be emotional about her. Not when it might give her, the lawyer defending a woman who could be a key witness in his multimillion-dollar fraud case, the upper hand.

“Fine,” Penny said. “Get back to me. I can have him down there tomorrow. No perp walk. He’ll just quietly turn himself in.”

A smack—the phone hitting the base—came from inside the office.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

He knocked lightly and pushed open the door. “Hey, I saved your life today. Don’t call me an idiot.”

Shockingly enough, those perfect bow lips eased into a smile. “Not you. Idiot.”

Russ grinned and stepped inside the office. She sat back, rested her head against the cushion. Her perfume, something light and fresh, not flowery or overpowering, hung in the air and he tried to place it. No idea. He liked it, though. Reminded him how much he loved a woman’s scent.

Her red suit jacket—that blazing target that almost got her killed—hung on the back of the chair and she’d pushed up the sleeves of her white blouse. A few strands of long blond hair had busted free of her hair clip and hung down the sides of her drawn face. The look suited her, gave her an edgy, just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance, and Russ decided thinking about Penny and a bed at the same time could get a man in trouble.

He dropped into the fancy leather guest chair in front of her desk. “You okay? Relatively speaking.”

“I’m not in the morgue, so I guess I’m okay.”

“Scary as hell.”

She rolled her lips together and breathed deep. “I froze. How ridiculous.”

After what she’d been through, she questioned her reaction? Killer Cupcake didn’t just shred witnesses—she shredded herself. “You were terrified. I’ve seen seasoned agents react like that. Don’t think too hard on it.”

“How’s the reporter?”

“Still in surgery.”

“That poor woman. And the shooter? Did they find him yet?”

Russ shook his head. “No. The crime-scene guys are on it. We’ll find him.”

“You think so?”

“I’d be a crummy FBI agent if I didn’t.”

She shrugged.

“How’s your dad?”

“Rattled, but fine. My brother came by and we double-teamed him. Forced him out the door.”

She stared straight ahead, blinked a couple of times—uh-oh—and slapped one hand across her eyes. Damn, he didn’t want to see Killer Cupcake cry. He resented the hell out of it that some psycho reduced this fiery woman to tears. “Penny—”

She held her other hand up and Russ stopped talking. Finally, she slid her hand away and focused on him with an intensity that had him shifting in his seat. He’d seen that look five months ago from the witness stand.

“I’m sorry, Russell. I almost got you killed today.”