Lawman Protection

“I’m saying I’m attracted to you, too, Captain. It takes a special man to appreciate a woman like me.”

His gaze swept over her like a caress. “Then those other men are fools.”

She laughed. “Maybe. But some men don’t know how to handle a woman who’s five-eleven and probably outweighs them. I’m no delicate flower.”

“I’m not interested in flowers.” His gaze drifted to her cleavage. She had plenty of that. And an ample backside. He wouldn’t be the first guy to appreciate her killer curves, even if the women in fashion magazines never looked like her.

“So did you come here this afternoon to ask me out?” she asked.

“No. I came to ask for your help. You know a lot more about Richard Prentice than I do. Maybe you can give me some insight.”

“Richard Prentice?” The mention of the billionaire surprised her. “Do you think he’s behind Bobby’s death?”

“We don’t know. Your friend worked for him, so that seems the most logical place to start our investigation.”

He still wouldn’t look her in the eye, a sure sign he was holding something back. “You’re not telling me everything,” she said. “Why focus on Prentice? Do you think he’s connected to other crimes in the park?”

“I’d rather you tell me what you think—and what you know—about Prentice.”

She considered the question for a moment, sorting through her impressions of the billionaire. “He pretty much hates the federal government, but you already know that,” she said. “He’s made a career of forcing the government’s hand and of trying to circumvent regulations he sees as controlling and unjust. But he’s never broken the law.”

“Never that anyone can prove.”

“But you think he has now? Why? How?”

Graham shook his head. “I have no proof that Mr. Prentice has anything to do with any crime—his only connection is that the dead pilot was known to have worked for him.”

“But you have your suspicions.”

His silence was as good as a confirmation. “I understand why you won’t say anything more,” she said. “And I wouldn’t write anything about Mr. Prentice without a lot of proof to back it up—he can afford very good lawyers and we both know he’s not afraid to use them. But anything you can tell me I’ll keep in confidence until it’s appropriate to write about it.”

The line of his jaw tightened, but he gave a single nod. “I can’t tell you everything I know about the case,” he said. “But I will say—off the record—that the cargo we think was in that plane could be very dangerous, and it’s definitely illegal.”

“Will you tell me more when you can?”

He hesitated. “When I can, yes.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I know about Richard Prentice, even though I don’t see how it can help.”

He took his hands out of his pockets, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Good. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner?”

“Is this a date?”

He flushed. “No. Yes. Why don’t we call it dinner and see what happens after that?”

* * *

EMMA INSISTED ON driving her Jeep to the restaurant, with Graham following in his Cruiser. He’d do whatever it took to put her at ease, though he wasn’t used to yielding control. The little Italian bistro occupied an old house off a side street, and at this time of day they were the only customers, but the owners seemed to know Emma and greeted her warmly. “I just took some lasagna out of the oven,” the woman, who looked more like Sophia Loren than an Italian grandmother, said.

“And we have a new wine you should try,” her husband, a short, burly man added.

Emma looked at Graham. “Does that sound good to you?”

His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t had anything but coffee since breakfast. “It sounds great.”

The couple left them alone in a secluded booth and Graham studied Emma across the table, vowing that he wouldn’t press her for information, even though he was dying to know her impressions of Richard Prentice—and what her relationship with the billionaire might have been. She’d insisted on changing before they went out, and instead of the jeans and boots she’d worn earlier, she’d put on a long dress made out of some light fabric that clung to her curves. A colorful scarf around her shoulders brought out the green in her eyes. She looked soft and sexy and too distracting for him to be comfortable. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about her suggestion that they explore their mutual attraction. Getting involved with a reporter struck him as one of the worst ideas he’d ever had.

But if the reporter was a beautiful woman...

“My editor at the Post wanted a story on Richard Prentice after his run-in with the county officials here over his attempts to force the federal government to buy the land he owns near the park entrance,” she said after their host, Ray, brought their wine. “I approached Prentice with the angle that this would be a chance for him to tell his side of the story. He ended up inviting me to visit his ranch and shadow him for a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe he wanted you close, where he could keep an eye on you.” His fingers tightened on the stem of the wineglass as he thought of how close Prentice had probably wanted to be to her. As close as Graham himself wanted to be.

“Maybe. But it worked in my favor. I met the people who worked for him, saw how he lived.”

“What did you think?”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You really should read the article.”

“I will, but give me your impressions now.”

“All right.” She spread her hands flat on the table in front of her. She wore rings on one thumb and three fingers of each hand. Her nails were polished a shell pink, the manicure fresh. “First of all, he’s smarter than you probably think. A genius, even. He can rattle off phone numbers of almost everyone he’s ever called, remember minute details about things that happened years ago—he practically has a photographic memory.”

“Smart people can still do dumb things.”

“Yes. And he does have a weakness—because he’s very smart, he views everyone else as dumb. That kind of arrogance leads him to underestimate his opponents sometimes.”

The woman, Lola, brought two plates loaded with thick slabs of fragrant lasagna, accompanied by buttered and seasoned zucchini. “This looks amazing,” Graham said as he spread a napkin in his lap.

“It is.” Lola beamed. “My special recipe.”

“It really is divine,” Emma said. She slid a forkful into her mouth and moaned softly.

The sound made Graham’s mouth go dry. He shifted to accommodate his sudden arousal, and took a long sip of wine. When was the last time a woman had affected him this way? Maybe when he was a teenager—twenty years ago. “What kind of people does Prentice hang out with?” he asked. Focus on the case.

“All kinds. Politicians. Foreign businesspeople. Fashion models. Celebrities. Lobbyists. People who want favors. People he can order around. He’s not the kind of man who has close friends, though, just a lot of contacts and acquaintances.”

“Any romantic interests?”

She shook her head. “He’s been photographed with a lot of beautiful women at various events, but he treats them like accessories—necessary to his image, but there’s no real attachment there. He likes women, but they’re not an obsession. And in case you’re wondering, he was a perfect gentleman around me.”

Neither perfect nor gentleman fit his impression of Prentice, but he was relieved to know the man hadn’t taken a personal interest in Emma. “How did he get all that money he has?”

“He was vague about that. Some of it he inherited. He owns a lot of different companies. He’s sort of known for running competitors out of business, and for buying up marginal concerns and selling off their assets. As you might have gathered, he has no qualms about using people or situations for his own gain.”

“He clearly enjoys sticking it to the government.”

“Definitely. Believe it or not, he sees himself as a kind of champion, fighting against the feds. And there are people who look up to him for that.”