Leanne Banks: The Danforths: Marc, Tanya & Abe: The Laws of Passion / Terms of Surrender / Shocking the Senator

Marc drove his hand through his greasy hair and winced. “The only thing I know for sure is that I won’t be my own lawyer. I’m a damned good corporate counsel. But that doesn’t mean I know anything about criminal law. Even if I did, the old saying that ‘a man who hires himself as an advocate gets a fool for an attorney’is true.”

“Well, Dad can suggest some good firms. And you have a few days to get yourself together before you worry about getting a lawyer.”

“Like hell.” Marc stopped in the middle of the parking lot and turned to his brother. “I intend to find the evidence that proves me innocent. I have to clear my name. And I have to do it before the drug cartel buries the information so deep I can never dig it out.”

Suddenly he felt a determination that startled him. He’d been sleepwalking through his life for the last year, dedicating himself to his work and nothing else. But he didn’t have that luxury anymore. No more feeling sorry for himself. His freedom depended on it.

Both brothers looked up as a car squealed around the corner and headed down the parking lot lane toward where they were standing. Each of them absently backed up a step to let it pass.

The car slowed and stopped right in front of them. It was a late model four-door sedan. In Marc’s opinion, the nondescript white, American-made vehicle looked just like an unmarked cop car should look. He groaned quietly and prepared himself for another hassle with the police.

The driver’s door was on the far side away from them, so they couldn’t see who was driving. While the car continued to idle, the door opened and out stepped a long, lanky female. Dressed in jeans, boots and a denim jacket, she looked serious and tough—except for the riot of curly black hair that hung halfway down her back.

If this was a cop, she might as well take him in right now. His thoughts could get him arrested—again.

All he could think of was being able to touch those soft, wild curls. Running his hands through that silk and burying his face in it as if it were an ebony pillow. He didn’t suppose that was exactly what had brought her here, though.

“Marcus Danforth?” she asked in a whiskey-soft voice.

He closed his mouth and nodded. “That’s me. And this is my brother, Adam. He doesn’t have anything to do with these racketeering charges, however.”

The woman walked around the front of the car and held out her hand. “Glad to meet you. The name’s Dana Aldrich.”

She shook his hand and then turned to Adam. While she was shaking his brother’s hand, Marc’s fingers could still feel the strong, cool grasp of hers. And he wondered why anything so firm and businesslike should seem so erotic.

“Are you with the police?” Adam asked.

“No.” She smiled at Adam but the cheer didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m a private investigator. I work with your father’s bodyguard, Michael Whittaker, on special cases. He’s hired me to watch over your brother until the trial.”

“What did you say?” Marc choked. This woman was definitely not what he thought of when someone said the word bodyguard . “I don’t need a bodyguard. And no offense, Miss, but you don’t look like the bodyguard type.”

Adam ignored his remarks and asked a question of his own. “Can we see your ID, please?”

“Sure thing.” She dug into her back pocket and came up with a leather case. “And I’m a damn good bodyguard, if I do say so myself.”

Marc watched over his brother’s shoulder while he studied the photos on both her state private investigator’s license and driver’s license. Adam handed them back.

“Give us a second, will you, Ms. Aldrich?” Adam took his elbow and escorted him down past three or four parked cars. “You buying this story of hers?” he inquired of Marc once they were out of earshot.

“Yeah, I guess so. Why would she lie?”

“Any number of reasons. In fact, she could be a tabloid reporter just looking for a good story.”

Marc considered that possibility. “That’s not what my gut tells me. But if you’re concerned, call Michael and ask him if he sent her. I’d be interested to know why he thinks I need a bodyguard. And why he would send me one that was such a knockout.”

Adam grinned. “I’ll do just that.” He took his cell phone from its place on his belt clip. “You go back and keep her talking.”

“No problem there. Take your time.” As Marc walked toward her, he thought about what exactly having a female bodyguard might entail. And he wondered just how much of his body she might want to guard.

Dana glanced over her shoulder through the rear window and cut the wheel to the left. It was late for rush-hour traffic, but some of the roads were still clogged with cars.

“Are you hungry?” she asked Marcus, who sat quietly in the passenger seat beside her. “I thought we could stop somewhere and maybe miss some of this traffic.”

As she drove onto the interstate, Dana relaxed her shoulders. It had been ridiculously easy to talk Marcus into letting her be his bodyguard. His brother, Adam, had been a little more leery, but he’d given in after he called Michael Whittaker and verified her story.

Adam wasn’t the brother that interested her, however. She’d done a lot of research on Marcus Danforth for this assignment. But nowhere in the reams of paperwork about him did it say that he had fascinating chestnut eyes.

Or that his voice would be a dreamy baritone that brought out captivatingly sensual sensations in her. She shook her head a couple of times, trying to dislodge the strange impressions.

Her thoughts simply never turned to lustful cravings—never. She was too tough to allow such things. Clearly, she shouldn’t think about that stuff when it came to a suspect. Marcus was a job, and she was a professional.

“I’m starved,” he replied with a smile. “Fortunately, I didn’t get a chance to eat jailhouse food. But, right now, all I want to do is go home. I think there might be some things in the refrigerator that’ll be fresh enough to eat. I could fix us some eggs…after I take a shower, of course.”

“Okay. That’ll be fine. But you’ll have to give me directions to your place.”

“Just keep heading south for about twenty miles. I’ll tell you when to get off the interstate.”

Despite her momentary lapse into a ridiculously lust-filled haze over the man, her cover had held. Apparently, Steve had convinced his old army buddy, Michael, that the FBI wasn’t simply out to prove Marcus guilty. An investigation might prove him innocent, as well.

And, moreover, it might be prudent to have a bodyguard around to help keep Marcus alive while he awaited his trial.

So she was in. But she intended to do everything in her power to find the evidence that would make the case hold. She felt sure this rich playboy lawyer was somehow involved in money laundering for the drug cartel.

She knew Marcus came from a very wealthy family with all the money in the world to hire legions of lawyers and private investigators. And Dana was determined to get to the evidence first so she would have a bargaining chip to help convince him to turn on his racketeering buddies and become an informer.

That is…if she could keep herself focused on the assignment and off Marcus’s intense brown eyes.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, Dana caught sight of the same black SUV that she’d noticed earlier. “Hope you don’t mind if we take a detour. Hang on.” She whipped the wheel hard to the left and stepped down on the gas.

“What the hell?” Marcus jerked his head around to stare at her as she ripped in and out of traffic.

He cursed under his breath when she two-wheeled it past a car going seventy, hit the next exit ramp and locked the brakes. He struggled to balance himself on the seat while Dana maneuvered the boxy sedan down the ramp and blasted past the stop sign at the bottom.