Teresa Southwick - Something's Gotta Give

He kept moving until he got to her desk. “Name’s Sam Brimstone. So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Hmm. “You don’t approve of law offices?”

“It’s not the building. It’s the ethics.”

“You don’t like lawyers.”

“Chalk one up for the counselor.”

“If you feel that way, why are you here?” Her gaze narrowed. “Did my parents send you?”

“Yes. I guess you might say I’m your bodyguard.”

Oh, great. So much for intercepting her mother and talking her out of the plan. But one could never go wrong being polite.

She held out her hand. “Jamie Gibson. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” His large palm all but swallowed hers. “By the way—nice people your folks.”

“Yes, they are. But I don’t get it,” she said, then let out a long breath. “My parents are so overprotective they’d wrap me in plastic and put me on the shelf if they could. And you’re a total stranger. Why would they trust you?”

It was one thing to buy the time a man donated for auction, but making him her bodyguard was something else.

“They checked out my references.”

“And those are?”

“While I was with the LAPD, I moonlighted and did some work for Hayden Blackthorn.”

“Of Blackthorn Investigations?”

“You know him?”

She nodded. “This law office has used the agency’s services, and my parents have become good friends with him and his mother, Margaret, since they moved to Charity City a couple years ago.”

“Hayden and I knew each other pretty well. Apparently, he said some good stuff because Roy and Louise acted like I have wings and a halo.”

He was on a first-name basis with her parents? “So, is that why you moved here? To work for your friend?”

“Nope. I just dropped in to say hi.”

“Then I don’t get it. Why would you volunteer time for the auction?”

“Wasn’t exactly voluntary. More in the nature of community service. Judge Gibson—”

“Uncle Harry?”

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “I thought something was fishy.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, the punishment should fit the crime. I stopped in the bar for a beer. While trying to mind my own business, Bo Taggart decided to play fast and loose with one of the waitresses and I decked him.”

“In my humble opinion, Mr. Brimstone, you’ve already done the community a service. Why would my uncle be so tough?”

“Because I played into his hands by pleading guilty.”

Oh, great. A family conspiracy. “Surely your attorney advised against it,” she protested.

“Didn’t have one. Like I said, I don’t believe in them.”

Hmm. A cop who didn’t believe in attorneys. He probably had his reasons, but she didn’t want to know. The sooner they settled this misunderstanding, the better.

“And so here you are doing community service for…”

“Thirty days.”

Her eyes widened. “You must have really ticked him off.”

“And vice versa. When I called him, on the scam in progress, he threatened me with sixty days to deal with my anger-management issues.”

She couldn’t say that she wouldn’t feel the same under the circumstances. But maybe there was more Sam wasn’t saying. “My uncle is a good, fair judge. Why would he throw the book at you?”

“Because he could.”

“Define could.”

“I’m between jobs and it’s not a financial hardship to put myself up here in town for thirty days. And—”

“There’s more?”

“Oh, yeah. I used to be a detective. The town auction was coming up. And your family thinks you need a cop on your side.”

Jamie recalled Abby telling her about his police background. “Are you any good?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the double meaning hit her and a blush crept into her cheeks. “What I mean is—”

“I get your drift.” One corner of his mouth curved up before his frown returned. “Uncle Harry asked the same question. Some people thought I was a good detective, but they were wrong.”

“Why is that?” she asked, looking into blue eyes that had probably seen too much. No, no, no. Curse her soft-hearted streak. She refused to get sucked in, and held up her hand. “Forget it. I don’t need to know.”

What she needed was to get back to work. And to do that, she had to get Sam Brimstone out of her office. Buying her a man had crossed the line. Even by her parents’ standards.

“Look, Mr. Brimstone—”

“Sam.”

“Okay. Sam,” she repeated, annoyed at the husky tone that slid into her voice. “Here’s the thing, my parents arranged all this without my knowledge. They promised—”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She could see the questions in his eyes and wasn’t going there. “The point is if I’d known what they had in mind, I’d have stopped them.”

“They’ve got their reasons. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” he suggested.

She could at least do that. He would see why the bodyguard thing was over the top.

“I’ve had a series of hang-up phone calls in the middle of the night.”

“Heavy breathing?” he asked.

“No.”

Not until now. With him. A man who was the walking, talking definition of raw sexuality. And how inappropriate was she? This wasn’t a half hour episode of Sex and the City. This was real life. Her life. And she didn’t want a guy complicating things. Especially a stranger who was just passing through.

A man she’d known in law school and moved across the country to be with had dumped her and turned his back when she was losing their baby. The miscarriage was the worst thing she’d ever been through. If there was any up side—and that was a big if—she’d learned a valuable lesson. When the going gets tough, men just keep on going, and she didn’t care to count on another one. On top of that, her family had apparently conspired against Sam. Why would he be sympathetically disposed toward her?

“Did he ever say anything?” Sam prompted.

“Hmm?” She blinked and tried to focus her thoughts. “Oh. No. He just calls between midnight and four in the morning. It was every night for a while.”

“You could have turned it off.”

“I finally did.” When exhaustion had set in. Unfortunately fatigue had loosened her tongue and she’d mentioned to her folks what was going on. “I still had my cell for emergencies, but then he started calling that number.”

“Your father said a photo of you is missing from his desk at the restaurant.”

She nodded. “Someone left the frame and just took the picture.”

“I see.” He rested a hip against the corner of her desk. “Did you report this to the police?”

“Yes. And they investigated. Followed every possible lead and came to a dead end. There wasn’t much to go on.” She sat in her chair, putting a little distance between them.

“I see,” he said again.

“Then the calls just abruptly stopped. I haven’t had one for several weeks now. My theory is that it was someone who was venting about something and the police involvement brought them to their senses. And now they’re over whatever was bugging them.”

“And your point is?”

She folded her hands on her desk. “I’m not an idiot. If I was the heroine in a bad B movie, I wouldn’t go outside to face the serial slasher without a well-equipped army. The police would be actively involved if there were a concrete threat. And let’s be clear, this harassment wasn’t even very original.”

“As harassment goes you’d prefer a horse’s head under your pillow?” he asked wryly.

“Very funny. You know what I mean. I’m no hero. If there was reason to be concerned, I’d have picked out my own bodyguard.”