The Marshal Page 9

  “Have a seat. If you want something from the kitchen, help yourself.”

  Because I’m in work mode and not playing hostess.

  Despite the cement being ruled out as a murder weapon, there was something tugging at her. She needed to study the photos, compare them to the crime-scene pics and let her brain absorb it all. Sometimes, sitting in the quiet, just being, brought everything into sharper focus.

  What she was focusing on, she wasn’t certain, but it was in there somewhere. And she’d find it. For Brent, for his mom and family, for her career, she’d find it.

  She plugged her phone into the laptop, booted up and waited.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Brent drop onto her sofa. He’d avoided the side chair that, when it came to his giant frame, looked like a baby seat.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked.

  “I’m printing the photos to study them.” Laptop still cooking, she swiveled her chair toward him. The man was simply huge and with all that hugeness came a sense of...what? Not comfort because this was her space, her sanctuary that she’d decorated to the tiniest detail. Every muted color, every rich fabric, every quirky photo was her doing. Even the finish on the hardwood was chosen by her. All of it imperfectly coordinated to create a home that from the second she walked into it made her feel warmth and satisfaction and happiness. Her space.

  That now had a very large man in it. A very large man she could see in it for a long time to come.

  If she let herself.

  Brent Thompson was a war zone. That or he was a coward, which she didn’t believe. This was the guy so emotionally damaged that he closed in on himself and refused to let anyone new in.

  And she wanted him. The guy she couldn’t have.

  Obviously, that unbelievable kiss had turned her stupid.

  Her laptop dinged and she whipped back to it. Better that than thinking about Brent and her and the relationship she’d like to try.

  Behind her, she heard him move, and then he was beside her. The soft, clean scent of soap from his earlier shower reached her, somehow settling her.

  This was a destructive path. He’d flat out told her so. What was wrong with her? She was a walking cliché of love-the-man-you-can’t-have. Well, too bad.

  “I’m sorry, but I like having you around.”

  She kept her eyes on the laptop because looking up at the giant hunk behind her wouldn’t help her current level of stupidity.

  “That’s a bad thing?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you apologizing?”

  “Because you don’t want me to like it.” She clicked on the series of photos to print. “You want me to push you away.”

  He sighed. “I never said that.”

  I’m such a cliché. “Ignore me. We had an agreement and I’m blowing it. I don’t want that.”

  Humming noises came from the printer and she rolled her chair sideways to retrieve the photos. Except he moved with her and squatted beside her, that clean soapy smell right there, in her face, making her want to curl up in him.

  “Hey.”

  Jenna focused on her photos. Underneath all her talk about waiting until the case was over, she knew she was a liar. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed the way he took care of everyone around him, enjoyed that smile he hit her with just before he was about to tease her about something. All of it. She wanted it. Even the damaged parts, because those were the parts—each annoying, heartbreaking component—that made him into this man.

  “No, Brent.”

  Slowly, he swiveled her chair to face him, but she kept her gaze down, pretending to study the photos because—darn it—if she looked at him, she’d make a fool of herself.

  “We said we’d be honest, right?”

  Oh, such a man, throwing her words back at her. Now she had to look at him. Or slap him. It was a toss-up as to which would actually happen.

  “Yes. I think we’re both painfully clear on that. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was a statement of fact that has suddenly spun out of my control because—” she threw up her hands “—guess what? I happen to care about you and I don’t want to feel like I shouldn’t. There. Said it. Now I’m done.”

  “Whoa! Who’s making you feel like you shouldn’t?”

  “You. Me. Both of us. You don’t want a relationship. That’s fine, but it doesn’t mean I can’t care about you and enjoy your company. If there’s one message I’ve received it is that you will walk away. You said it yourself.”

  Oh, Jenna. So stupid.

  He’d told her he’d walk, that he’d leave her, he’d set the stage for his grand exit, yet here she was, wanting what she shouldn’t.

  “Hang on,” he said. “All I asked was if we could wait until you were done working my mother’s case. That’s all. I need the two areas separate so I don’t get distracted and miss something.”

  “You don’t actually believe this garbage you sell yourself, do you?”

  He stood, looming over her, and she popped out of her chair, squared off with him even though she barely reached his shoulder.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You’re so emotionally closed off, you’re hollow. Or you like to think you are.”

  He flinched. Good. At last, an unrehearsed reaction.

  “Finally using that psychology degree, huh? Beauty queen turned detective-slash-shrink. Classic, Jenna.”

  She stepped back, a little stung from the jab. Wow. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Nowhere good. That’s for sure.”

  He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and headed for the door. Leaving. Of course. The minute she started dismantling the armor, he wanted to run. Talk about a cliché.

  “That’s the difference between us,” she said. “I see this conversation as an opportunity to talk about the hurt and anger you’ve bottled up for twenty-three years. You see it as an attack.”

  He stood in the doorway with his back to her, his jacket clutched in one hand, his fingers working the fabric. Finally, he glanced back. “What is it you want from me?”

  “That’s the problem, Brent. I want what you can’t give me.”

  “We talked about this!” he hollered. “You said you were fine with waiting until you were done on this case.”

  “And I am.”

  “Then what are we fighting about?”

  She folded her arms, checked herself. Focused on not screaming, not falling into the scenario he’d obviously learned to manipulate with other women. Suddenly, she saw it all, could envision him having this argument over and over again, the woman in front of him desperately trying to break through the wall that was Brent. Each time it probably started and ended with the woman asking him to love her and him apologizing. Oh, he was brilliant. As in any football game, he’d figured out the plays that would get him the result he needed.

  The one that allowed him to walk away.

  Well, she wasn’t giving it to him. Sorry. “You think this is about me wanting a relationship. It’s not.”

  He gawked. “I’m confused.”

  “What I want is for you to feel something. Or at least admit you’re afraid to.”

  “Honey,” he said, loading her up on the sarcasm as he stepped into the hallway, “you’re not getting either.”

  * * *

  BRENT HUSTLED DOWN the front steps of the three-flat Jenna lived in on Chicago’s west side. A few kids were messing with a soccer ball by one of the huge trees lining the sidewalk. He angled around them as he passed the tightly packed row of houses. He’d parked two blocks down because—yeah—this was Chicago and on-street parking was a challenge.

  The walk would do him good. He could stomp his way down the block to relieve his aggravation. With his luck, he’d blow out a knee. He eased up on the stomping and sucked in a deep breath. Moisture hung in the air and the temperature had dropped into the fifties, but for him, right now, he needed the cool air hitting his lungs. Perfec
tion. He lengthened his stride—ah, to heck with it—he had sneakers on, he’d run the two blocks, get his heart rate up and bust off some anger. Perfect weather for it.

  Freaking women. Always hassling him. Every time. If he was honest, it backfired on him. If he wasn’t honest, it backfired. Either way, it never worked and the slew of women in his wake could all attest to it.

  And now this one. She thought she could get inside his head a different way. Not happening. It all came down to the same thing. They wanted something he couldn’t give.

  He hit the button on his key ring and hopped into the SUV. Damn, Jenna. He’d thought he would have it made with her. She understood him. At least he thought. Until she hit him with this psyche mumbo jumbo. What the hell was that?

  His phone rang. This would be her. Wanting to talk. He should just video these episodes and play them for the women who came into his life. He’d call it the warning video.

  The phone rang again and he ripped it out of his jacket. “What?”

  “Whoa.” Male voice. “Your social skills need work.”

  “Russ?”

  Special agent Russ Voight from the FBI’s Chicago field office had been the agent on a fraud case involving one of Penny’s clients. The same case where Brent had been assigned to provide security for Penny. In a truly bizarre—or maybe not so bizarre—way, Russ and Penny had managed to explore the personal side of their relationship and were currently in talks about an engagement. Well, Penny was talking. Russ was listening. One thing about Russ, he wouldn’t be rushed into anything.

  At the end of that grueling fraud case, Brent and Russ had found themselves friends. Facing death together had created a bond between them. Not that they talked about it. It just was what it was.

  It didn’t hurt that they were both rabid fans of any Chicago sports team and occasionally met for beers to take in a game.

  “You okay?” Russ asked.

  No. “Yeah. I’m good. In the middle of something. What’s up?”

  “Bears are getting destroyed.”

  Dammit. Missed the Bears game. Brent fired the engine and flipped to the game on the radio. “That bad?”

  “You’re not watching? Wise. Save yourself the agony.”

  “I’ve been running around with Jenna.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “Ha!”

  Russ laughed. “Ouch. Bud, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “She’s a handful.”

  “That she is. Usually Jenna being a handful works in Penny’s favor. You may have noticed, she never gives up.”

  Brent noticed. “That’s a plus. Most times.”

  “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? You sound like a whiny five-year-old.”

  He felt like a whiny five-year-old.

  “I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Women confuse me. I mean, I’m honest and I get in trouble. If I’m not honest, I get in trouble. I don’t understand what the entire female population wants from me.”

  “You think that makes you special? You’re not. None of us know. What happened?”

  Brent snorted. Having this conversation with Russ? Please. He’d rather amputate his own toe. “It’s stupid.”

  “Probably.”

  “Nice. Is this your sensitive side?”

  “No. I save that for Penny. I have to keep it in reserve.”

  At that, Brent laughed. Men were easier to deal with. No hidden messages, no guesswork. If you thought a guy was dumb, you said he was dumb and everyone moved on.

  “It shouldn’t be this difficult to understand women. I mean, I told her straight away what the deal was.”

  “Jenna? What deal?”

  He couldn’t tell Russ. Couldn’t. Russ would tell Penny, and she’d go ballistic and accuse him, like every other male who looked at a female twice, of being a pig. But he was so mad that if he didn’t blow off some of this, he’d explode.

  A guy pulled up beside him, pointed at the SUV. Parking space. Not happening. Brent knew his temper and driving all churned up like this would not end well. He waved the guy on and cut the engine so it didn’t look as if he would be pulling out.

  Theoretically, Russ might understand the Jenna situation. He’d gotten involved with Penny during a case and that had to be dicey, considering it was his case and Penny was the defense lawyer.

  “Okay. But you need to let me finish. Hear me out and then—”

  “You slept with her. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No. I just said let me finish.”

  “When you start like that, where’s my mind supposed to go?”

  Point there. “I didn’t sleep with her, although, that thought hasn’t escaped me. I’m not blind. But we’ve got this...” He waved one hand in the air, searching for the word. “...energy. It’s getting in the way.”

  “I know that energy.”

  “Exactly. But here I think I’m being a good guy by telling her my personal life doesn’t exist until I figure out what happened with my mom, and it blows up on me.”

  “You said that?”

  “In a nice way, yeah.”

  “Huh,” Russ said. “Can’t imagine why she’s upset.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say it was right, but at least I’m honest. What do these women want from me?”

  I want you to feel something. That’s what Jenna had said.

  “Uh, your time?”

  “Which I don’t have.”

  Russ sighed. “Look, don’t get agitated, but if this happens a lot—”

  “All the time!”

  “Then you gotta wonder if it’s not you and change your approach.”

  Brent slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m being honest.”

  “And I appreciate that. I’m just saying there might be more to this than you want to acknowledge.”

  Or at least admit you’re scared.

  Dammit. Every line she’d laid on him was looping in his head. He needed to break that loop. Rip it to pieces. Fast.

  “Did I lose you?” Russ asked.

  “No. I’m here.”

  “Jenna’s a great girl. Penny loves her. But she needs a certain amount of positive reinforcement. She’s at her best when people love her. If you choose to get involved, you’d better be able to give her what she needs. That’s how this works. You get what you need. She gets what she needs. With Penny, it’s easy. I keep her stocked in white gummy bears and she knows I love her. I just sat through a Bears game sorting gummy bears. If you’d ever asked me if I’d do that, I’d have flattened you. But here I am.”

  Brent rested his head back and dug his thumb and middle finger into his eyes. All this talking about not talking wore him out. And he wasn’t even close to done with this topic.

  “Jenna is great. Amazing even. She’s the first woman in a long time I think I could actually...” Love. No. Not love. Nuh-uh. “I don’t know. Something.”

  “You need to talk to her.”

  “And say what?”

  He knew. Down deep, in those nasty places he didn’t dwell on, he knew she terrified him.

  “Wha, wha. How the hell should I know? But if you didn’t care, you’d have forgotten about it by now. Talk to her.”

  “Dude!”

  “Dude!” Russ hollered back.

  Despite his foul mood, Brent smiled. Once again, guys were easy. “I gotta think about how to do this without losing my man card.”

  Russ laughed. “You do that. I’m coming downtown to meet Penny for dinner. She’s running late—shocker, that. Meet me for a beer and we’ll talk sports.”

  That wasn’t a bad idea. Sports was a nice, low impact topic that would distract him from all this other emotional nonsense.

  Women.

  His entire life consisted of either losing them or fighting with them. No wonder he was still single.

  Chapter Eight

  There had been record-setting trips to Carlisle before, but this one may have been the topper. Forty-three minu
tes. After his aunt had called him asking why Jenna was in Carlisle without him, Brent decided that was a great question, ditched Russ and the beer he’d been nursing for an hour and headed south. He’d hit the left lane and off he’d gone. He’d love to know what the hell Jenna was doing traipsing through his house with the sheriff. At least she hadn’t gone back on her word to not go there alone. That might be the only thing keeping him from blowing his stack.

  For a second, he’d considered calling her, but had nixed that. At the time, he wasn’t ready for another round of arguing. Still wasn’t, but if he concentrated on his mom’s case, like he always did, he could keep everything in check.

  He swung into the driveway and parked behind the sheriff’s cruiser and Jenna’s BMW. To his left, Aunt Sylvie had obviously been doing her eagle-eye routine and was now heading toward him. Great. All he wanted was to get inside and see what the hell was going on, and now he had his aunt detaining him.

  He met her on the patch of grass between the two houses, and they stood in the dark where the spotlights from both homes didn’t quite reach.

  “Hi,” she said. “You drove too fast.”

  He kissed her cheek and the scent of cooking meat—dinner—lingered on her, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet. “Yell at me later. Let me see what’s going on inside and I’ll update you.”

  “Do you think they’ve found something?”

  She’s worried. Or simply agitated over the sudden activity at her sister’s house. He wrapped her in a hug, gave her the good, solid squeeze she loved. “I don’t know. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let me see what’s what. It could be nothing.”

  “I’m scared, Brent.”

  Me, too.

  He backed away, held her at arm’s length. “I know.”

  “I don’t know if I can take another disappointment.”

  That, he understood. All too well. “I have a good feeling this time. Maybe we’ll get a break and we’ll finally let Mom rest.” He jerked his head. “Go inside. I’ll update you in a few.”

  Aunt Sylvie glanced up at the house where light seeped through the drapes. A shadow crossed through the slit and Brent’s stomach seized.

  Combining the activity around the house with the Jenna-torment left his ability to compartmentalize a crumbling mess. He was most definitely coming apart.