The Marshal Page 6

  “Which ankle hurts?”

  “The left.”

  “When I put you down, don’t put any pressure on it. Just lean back against your car.”

  With one hand on her back, he eased her to the ground. His hand slid over the side of her hip to her thigh where he held her leg. And, oh, the feel of his hand running down her body made that headache seem a whole lot less annoying. She lifted her foot, hung on to Brent’s arm and levered onto the hood of her car.

  “You good for a sec?” he asked. “I need to shut the gas off.”

  “I’m fine. Go.”

  He tore around the far side of the house, disappearing while she checked out her ankle. She set her foot down, didn’t feel agonizing pain and considered it a bonus. So far, so good. She tried a little weight on it. Ew. A pang bolted up her calf, but nothing unbearable. “Junior ow.”

  If it were broken, she’d know. She hoped. Having never broken a foot or ankle, she wasn’t sure. At the very least, she wouldn’t be able to put weight on it, which she could do. If it was a sprain, she’d at least get around on it. Just not in high-heeled boots.

  “What are you doing?” Brent shouted as he came around the side of the house, his face all hard and yummy angles.

  Had to love a man on a mission. “I have sneakers in the car. I’m taking my boot off so I can put them on.”

  “Just stay in your sock. There’s a doc in town. We can run over there and get it x-rayed.” He squatted in front of her, pushed her hands away and lifted her foot. “I’ll take the boot off. You ready?”

  “It’s not that bad. What’s up with the gas?”

  One hand braced around her calf, he guided the boot off and—wow—his touch was soft but with rough skin that caused friction. Friction and thoughts of Brent. Without clothes. All those solid muscles waiting for her to run her hands over. Jenna tilted her head up to the perfection of blue sky and prayed she didn’t make a fool of herself in the next five seconds.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I turned the main off. I’ll call the gas company and get them out here.”

  Needing to demolish the lust filling her body, she shooed him away. “Make the call. I’m fine.”

  “We’re still getting it x-rayed after I make this call.”

  He dug into the front pocket of his jeans for his phone and dialed. While he waited for the operator to connect him, he scooted next to her, leaned against the car and patted his lap. “Slide that foot up here.”

  “Look at you being all Mr. Caretaker. I like it.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t help it. I’m on hold. Let’s hope the house doesn’t blow.”

  “You left the front door open. It’ll air out.”

  “True. Did you get anything done before I got here?”

  Meaning, had she made any miraculous discoveries. Not yet. “I had everything set up and was about to run through my timeline when you showed up. I got waylaid by your cousin.”

  “She was here?”

  Jenna nodded. “Dropping something off for your aunt. I got to talk to her a little bit about that night. She was watching from her window.”

  “I know. I read it in the file.”

  “Have the two of you ever talked about it?”

  He waggled his free hand. “Some. I had questions related to the investigation and she answered them. That’s about it.”

  Again with burying his emotions. How the hell did these people not discuss this? With her family, they talked about everything. Even her father. Maybe he wasn’t free-wheeling with his emotions, but if something bothered him, he spoke up. Brent’s family? Forget it? They were cinched so tight they’d never be free.

  Jenna sighed. “That seems to be a habit with you.”

  * * *

  BRENT’S BODY DAMNED near turned to stone. What the hell was Jenna muttering about? “What does that mean?”

  Jenna eased her foot off his lap. Obviously the woman wasn’t stupid and had a fine sense of when she’d irritated someone. Good for her because she’d just royally peeved him. He stood and shook out his legs while waiting for the gas company to take his emergency call.

  “Brent, I don’t think it’s a shock to you that you hide your feelings about your mother. It’s obviously a defense mechanism—self-preservation maybe. I don’t blame you. I’m not sure I’d be able to do what you do without squashing all those feelings. Still, it’s not healthy.”

  Unstable territory. And really, he didn’t want to have this conversation. Outside of discussing her case, he didn’t talk about his mother. Or his feelings about her death. Why give rage room to drown him?

  “I don’t like to talk about her.”

  “I realize that.”

  Tired of the crummy hold music, he pulled the phone from his ear, put it on speaker and set it on the hood of her car. “Then why are you bugging me about it?”

  “I’m not. I made an observation. It’s what I do. I observe. And you, my friend, are an impending train wreck.”

  “I know I compartmentalize, but if I let loose, I’ll tear this town apart.”

  She tilted her head, pursed those lush lips of hers and—no—not going there. Not letting Miss Illinois mess up his thinking. At least not any more than necessary.

  “Maybe you need to tear this town apart. Maybe if you let some of it out, it’ll clear your head.”

  “Ha!” All that festering anger with the lid blown off? He wouldn’t know what to do with that hell on earth. She could take her psychological evaluation somewhere else. Finally, the hold music ended and he scooped up the phone, jabbing at the screen and taking it off speaker. “Hello? I need to report a gas leak.”

  He eyeballed Jenna who eyeballed him right back, then stuck her tongue out at him. Crazy woman. Still, he had to grin. When she returned the smile, he waved her off, but knew he’d have to be careful with her. She had a way of defusing him and he wasn’t sure if he was losing his edge or he’d met his match.

  After finishing with the operator, Jenna sat two feet in front of him, leaning on her sporty little BMW, her long dark hair pulled over one shoulder, looking like the vixen she was. Time to face facts. He liked her. A lot. And it wasn’t just about her looks—although he couldn’t complain about them.

  He liked the challenge of her. How she questioned every damned thing. Annoying, sure, but fun, too. Call him a masochist.

  “They’re sending someone out,” he said. “Let’s head into town and get that ankle x-rayed. By the time we get back, the gas company will be here.”

  “So that’s it? Conversation about your mom is over?”

  “Yep.” He smacked her on the hip. “Let’s get you in the truck.”

  Ninety minutes and a mild sprain diagnosis later, Brent pulled back into the driveway. A utility truck was parked on the road, but he didn’t see any workers. They were here somewhere. “We’ve got activity.”

  “All my notes are still in the house. The, uh, photos are on the floor. Just so you know. I didn’t get a chance to pick them up. I’ll do that now.”

  He wouldn’t object. Having never viewed the photos, he wasn’t about to start looking now. “I’ll get the crutches for you.”

  “I don’t need them. I can hobble.”

  “Humor me. Use the crutches for a few days. Your ankle will heal faster.”

  “Yes, dear,” she cracked. “At least I can still drive.”

  Yeah, like he’d let her drive with a sprained ankle. He’d figure that one out later, but he might be carting her around until that ankle healed enough for her to ditch the crutches. He hopped out of the truck, grabbed the crutches from the backseat and brought them around to her side. Antsy pants already had her door open, ready to go.

  He held the crutches up while she slid off the seat, balancing on one foot. “Do you feel comfortable on these?”

  “They’re fine. If it’s clear of gas, I’ll be in the house.”

  “How are you gonna get to the floor?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll sit on the co
uch and lean. You worry too much.”

  “Wha, wha,” he said, hanging on to her as she moved across the walkway to the steps. “Hold up. Let me check inside.”

  The front door was still open—nothing to steal in there but old furniture—and he stuck his head in. No gas that he could detect. He hopped back down the steps. “It’s good. Just don’t stay in there too long. Get your stuff and get out.”

  He made sure she got inside then walked around the side of the house where he found a middle-aged guy wearing a neon orange vest with the gas company logo on the back.

  “I’m Brent Thompson.”

  The guy checked a work order that he’d shoved in his back pocket. “You’re the owner?”

  “Yes.”

  Technically, his father owned it, but—yeah—not going there.

  “I found your problem in the basement.” He pointed to the rear of the house where the only entrance to the basement was an exterior door with a broken lock he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. “It’s the furnace. The flexible line leading from the furnace disintegrated. Must be pretty old.”

  At least twenty-three years. Brent had kept up with basic maintenance on the house, but the furnace? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked that. Last year maybe, when he’d changed the filter. “Do I need an HVAC repair?”

  “Nah. I took care of it. I’m checking a few other things while I’m here, but I think that’s the only issue.”

  That would be welcome news considering his budget couldn’t stretch for a repairman. Maintaining two households meant juggling funds. A lot. “Thanks. I’ll be inside. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Inside, he found Jenna on the living room floor studying photos stacked on her lap. If he hadn’t shown up earlier than expected, she could be dead right now. Or at least hospitalized.

  And he’d have found her. In almost the exact spot where his mother’s body had been.

  His chest hitched and he rubbed it, digging his fingers in as he pictured shoving that ache down. Down, down, down.

  Jenna covered the photos with another file and glanced up. “I’m fine. I couldn’t bend with the crutches so I slid down the arm of the couch. It wasn’t pretty, but I managed.”

  “I would have helped you.”

  “You were busy.”

  He smiled and then pointed to her lap, letting her know he knew she’d hidden the photos from him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. How’s everything with the gas company?”

  He glanced around the room, imagined walking in here and finding yet another woman he cared about on the floor, and that damned hitch in his chest happened again. “How long were you in here before I arrived?”

  “Forty-five minutes. Why?”

  “Did you see anyone outside?”

  “No. But the drapes were closed and I locked the front door. Safety first, you know.”

  Something wasn’t right. He hires an investigator to help him and suddenly, with the investigator in the house, there’s a gas leak. Didn’t strike him as a coincidence.

  “Brent?”

  “From now on, I don’t want you coming here alone.”

  She drew her eyebrows together. “Why?”

  “Because you were out here alone and there was a gas leak.”

  “And?”

  Miss Illinois was not this dense. Not by a long shot. “It doesn’t seem off to you? Like someone doesn’t want you in this house.”

  “Oh, come on. This was a freak thing.”

  “A freak thing that happened when you were here alone trying to find a murderer. What are the chances of that? I’d say not good. I’m done talking about it.”

  She sat on the floor staring up at him, her jean clad legs flat in front of her. “First of all, can you squat down before I get whiplash? Either that or hand me those crutches so I can get up.”

  He squatted. “There’s no discussion. You’re not coming here alone.”

  She shook her head and gave him the you-foolish-boy look. “That’ll slow things down, don’t you think?”

  “Call it collateral damage. I’ll live with it.”

  She scooped up the items on her lap and smacked them against her leg. “I’ll pay more attention next time. Even if someone cut that gas line—which I doubt—if I’d opened the drapes, I’d have seen someone outside and could have called for help. I was careless. That’s all. Next time I’ll open the drapes.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Brent! I have a job to do and not being allowed in here will impede that.”

  Now I’m done squatting. He stood, purposely looming over her because—yeah—he was about to lose this battle and any position of power would do right now. For added effect, he crossed his arms.

  “If I showed up later, this could have ended differently.”

  Now they were getting to the nasty core and his throat burned clear down to his stomach. Dammit. He scratched his head with both hands, really digging in and feeling the pressure. Sexy Jenna Hayward had managed to crack open that long-locked door. He paced the floor, threw open the drapes and stared out. If she pursued this, he was toast. Let it go.

  “Forget it,” he said.

  Please. Forget it.

  “So, that’s what this is about?”

  “You’re not coming here alone. End of it.”

  She smacked the photos on the floor. “This may shock you, but that doesn’t work for me. You don’t get to order me around and expect me to fall in line.”

  Forget letting it go. The woman never gave up. He spun back to her, jabbed his finger at her. “I don’t care what works for you. You’re not coming here by yourself.”

  “Well, that’ll allow me to get a lot done on your case. Bravo!”

  Most annoying woman ever.

  As Brent contemplated the many ways he could lose his mind, she picked up one of the crutches and tried to lever off the floor. He took two steps before she banged the crutch against the scarred wood, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls. “Don’t help me. I’m mad at you. You’re being pig-headed, and I hate that.”

  Pig-headed? He’d give her pig-headed. “I’ll stand here and watch, then.”

  Hell, he’d even hum while she struggled to get up. Then, when she finally asked for his help, he’d prove to her she should listen.

  He watched as she rolled to her knees, crawled to the couch and dragged the crutches upright. Damned stubborn woman. That acid in his stomach continued frying him. Eventually, using the couch for leverage, she got to her feet and rested on the crutches, staring at him with those unrelenting eyes. She wanted answers. Probably deserved them. But he wasn’t going there. Not with her.

  Finally, she shook her head. “Are you going to tell me what this is really about?”

  Stubborn woman. “No.”

  “So when my boss asks me how it’s going, I’ll just tell her that you refuse to let me do my job. That’ll go over well considering my firm is doing this pro bono. Nothing like wasting the resources of Chicago’s top law firm.”

  That cracked it. More than cracked it. An explosion of energy shot from his feet straight to his brain. He bent at the waist, breathed in and his eyes throbbed. Boom, boom, boom. The pressure might blow his skull apart and he knew it, knew it would be this way. He’d spent his life avoiding this nonsense, avoiding unleashing a storm that would rip this blasted house apart. Well, hell, maybe he needed to unleash it. Why not? She wanted him to talk, he’d talk. He’d do more than that, he’d let her know exactly how he felt. He stepped closer, dipped his head and made direct eye contact.

  Keeping his voice low and controlled, hoping she’d finally get the damned point, he said, “I think someone cut that gas line hoping you’d die.”

  Chapter Five

  Jenna opened her mouth, then stopped. As much as she wanted to rail on him, the smarter, wiser Jenna took hold. This man had spent most of his life coping with trauma he’d been unable to find relief from. Now he stood in front
of her as if he’d like her to vaporize. Just be gone. Everything about him—the stiff posture, the locked jaw and heavy breathing—all of it screamed anger and hurt and confusion.

  “What?” he said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “No snappy comeback?”

  She gripped the crutches tighter, willing herself not to take the bait. That’s what he wanted. To redirect this conversation. Make it about her and not him and the emotional disaster living inside him. “No, Brent. No snappy comeback.” He watched her for a second. Yeah, big boy, I’m not giving you what you want. “This isn’t my fault. I didn’t think about you walking in here and finding me...” She circled the crutch on the floor, but couldn’t say it. “I’m sorry for that. But don’t bait me into a fight because you’re redirecting your anger.”

  “More psychobabble?”

  Oh, he was pushing it. “I don’t think someone cut that gas line. It was an accident.”

  “Ever consider someone might be following you?”

  “No. I’m an investigator and these roads are quiet. You don’t think I’d have noticed someone following me?”

  Brent shook his head. “I’m not arguing with you about this. It’s done.”

  “If you don’t want me alone, fine, but with your schedule, you won’t be able to pick up and go when I need to. We need a compromise.”

  Yes. That was it. Bring it back to the case and solving it.

  From his spot, he eyed her. “What do you propose?”

  “I either bring someone with me or have a member of your family here. I can call ahead and make sure they’re home, and they can come over with me. That way, I won’t be alone and I can still get something done. In fact, Jamie gave me her cell number today. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  He turned back to the window and shoved the drapes aside. Dust particles flew, but he ignored them and rested one arm along the edge of the frame to stare out. Obviously, he didn’t like her compromise but at least he wasn’t yelling anymore.

  Maneuvering the crutches, she hopped over to him and settled against the wall. “Just think about it. Please.”

  He rested the side of his face against his arm and dropped into a long, fitful silence. She didn’t know what to do. Offer comfort? Stay quiet? Touch him? Don’t touch him? What? After a minute that should have been an hour, he lifted his head and focused on her face. His gaze locked with hers and there it was, that heat, that enormous energy that made her think about all the ways she’d like Brent Thompson to be in her life. Maybe he worried too much, but when he went into protection mode, she couldn’t help admire him.