Adrienne Giordano - The Defender

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.”

Not what he’d expected. Score one for her on the surprise attack. “That’s not on you. You were standing on the steps. How is it your fault some nut decided shooting innocent civilians would solve his problems? Whatever the hell they are.”

“But—”

“Penny. Stop.”

She closed her mouth. No. Really? If he’d known it was that easy to keep her quiet, he’d have done it months ago.

She threw her hands up. “Russell, I was trying to take responsibility for my actions.”

There we go. Much better. Killer Cupcake returns. “I don’t want to hear you apologize. Not for this.” He grinned, shifted forward and focused on those hot blue eyes of hers. “If you want to apologize for something, apologize for beating the hell out of me in court five months ago. My ego still hasn’t recovered.”

She scoffed, “Never. Besides, that was an excellent cross. Probably my best work.”

“Congratulations. I was the victim.”

She scooted forward in her chair, her smile drifting wide. “You held your own. As I recall, you rather enjoyed the battle.”

Some truth there. Maybe he would have enjoyed it more had he not been the guy in the witness box, but in a seriously twisted way, he got off watching her stalk around the courtroom, hurling impossible, well-developed questions at him.

“You’re tough, Penny, but I’m not afraid of you.”

“Too bad. I suppose.”

He cracked up—couldn’t help it. Wanting this woman was a death wish. Simple as that. Also a damned shame, because he couldn’t have her. Not when her job required her to dismantle months—sometimes years—of work that guys like him busted their tails on. He wholeheartedly believed every American deserved a fair trial, but at the end of some seriously rotten days, he wondered how defense lawyers justified getting murderers off.

“Anyway,” she said. “Why are you here? More questions?”

“No. We never had our meeting from this afternoon.”

Before the shooting, they were scheduled to meet after her court appearance to discuss a deal for a witness Russ needed on a stock-fraud case.

In one smooth motion, Penny bolted straight and threw her shoulders back. Battle mode. “Elizabeth Brooks. You still want to discuss it after today?”

“If you’re up for it.”

Penny cocked one of her perfect eyebrows. “Oh, Russell, I’m always up for it.”

Didn’t that get him thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking? Things like Penny Hennings sprawled naked in his bedsheets. Sick, demented man. And what was up with the Russell business. She always called him by his full name when everyone else called him Russ. Or various other four-letter words.

He smacked his hand on his armrest. “Then let’s do it.”

“You’re on. Elizabeth is willing to testify, but she’ll need protection.”

“She’ll give me everything?”

Penny nodded. “All she knows.”

As defense lawyers went, Penny Hennings was as smart and slick as they came. Worse, she was beautiful and knew how to manipulate men. An all-around excellent package. Had she not earned a living trying to decimate his cases, he could probably love her. But if he gave her even the slightest edge, she’d gut him.

A sly, sexy grin spread over Penny’s mouth. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not one bit.”

She batted her eyes. “Oh, Russell. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

At that, he had to laugh. “You’re a piece of work. I’m glad I saved your life today.”

She picked up a pen and threw it at him. “No fair bringing the whole saving-my-life thing into it.”

The pen hit him in the chest and he snatched it up. Montblanc. For what that sucker cost, she shouldn’t be throwing it around. He set it back on the desk. “I’ll make you a deal. You don’t try to play me and I won’t remind you I saved your life.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

If she agreed to this it would be the second miracle of the day. The first being that no one died in that hellacious shooting on the courthouse steps. She glanced at his hand and pursed her lips.

Russ dropped his hand. “You’re afraid you can’t do it.”

“Oh, please!”

So damned hot.

After what felt like another solid minute, she reached her hand out. “Fine. Deal.”

The handshake was nothing and everything he expected. Penny had a firm grip, but her hand was small and delicate and smooth, and he took a second to consider other delicate and smooth areas he’d like to touch.

Hokay. Rough day. Clearly, lascivious thoughts were a coping strategy. Russ cleared his throat.

Penny got up and asked, “Are you okay? Let me get you water.”

What he really needed was a Scotch. She strode to the minifridge in the corner and Russ’s gaze shot to her feet, where she’d lost the crazy heels she’d been wearing earlier. Now he wasn’t sure which was more of a turn-on: Penny in heels or Penny in bare feet. Either way, he had no argument.

She handed him a water bottle, then took the seat next to him. Interesting, that. Some women would stay behind the desk to remind him that (a) he was the guest and (b) she had control.

And suddenly, much to his consternation, he liked Penny Hennings a whole lot more.

Russ slammed half the water bottle—could really use a Scotch—and replaced the lid. “Elizabeth Brooks. I want everything on Heath and her involvement in the pump-and-dump scheme.”

The woman in question was the widow of a stockbroker involved in a hundred-million-dollar fraud scheme. The broker and his partner, Colin Heath, created shell companies and then issued the stock for themselves. They publicized how great their companies were through press releases, industry newsletters and any other form of communication they could find. When their victims went crazy buying their stock, thereby pumping up the price, the broker and Heath dumped their shares and made a killing. They also bankrupted thousands of innocent investors.

When the broker decided he’d had enough of screwing people out of their life savings, Colin Heath arranged for him to have a timely and torturous death. It was a murder carried out by Heath’s number-two guy, a real leg-breaker who’d been dumb enough to get caught. Only the guy wasn’t talking and the FBI didn’t have enough to nail Heath.

Nailing Heath was what Russ wanted. And apparently what Elizabeth Brooks, via Penny, could give him.

“She’ll talk,” Penny said. “She needs immunity. And protection.”

“Why is she suddenly willing to talk? Her husband’s been dead for months.”

Penny hesitated. Already their deal crumbled. Russ stood, set the water bottle on Penny’s desk, more than ready to walk away. He wanted Colin Heath, but Penny wouldn’t play him.

He took one step and she tugged on the back of his jacket. “Don’t go. I was thinking. That’s all.”

Turning back, Russ stared down at her, took in those amazing blue eyes and decided he was cooked.

* * *

DAMNED RUSSELL VOIGHT. Completely infuriating. Always brewing for a fight with her. At least, that was what it felt like. Still, Elizabeth Brooks was in trouble and had come to Penny hoping to make a deal with the FBI. It was Penny’s rotten luck that the lead agent on the Colin Heath case happened to be one she’d previously dismantled in court. Not that it had been his fault. During her research, she’d discovered an exemplary investigator and had prepared for him like no other witness.