Home Is Where the Heat Is (9 page)

“Dear Mr. Luck, I am writing to you on behalf of my client, Rodney Mitchell….” Her words faded as JT recalled his last communication with Mitchell. He’d made multiple threats when JT fired him, including legal action.

“…You must reply within thirty days. If no reply is received, this lawsuit will be filed in the Denver County Circuit Court.”

JT interrupted. “So he hasn’t actually sued yet.”

“No, he’s just trying to scare you.”

“Write up a reply. I’ll review it when I get back to the office.”

A second threat from an employee he’d terminated. He’d dismissed Perkins’ grade-school taunt.
You’ll be sorry
. That punk would never carry it out—but Mitchell had contacted a lawyer, and JT believed he would file the lawsuit. The ex-foreman had taken concrete action, made good on one of his threats. Perkins’ bad wiring had started the first fire, but Mitchell’s inspection should’ve caught it.

I’ll ruin you and your company
. The angry foreman’s last words echoed in JT’s head. Could he have set the other fires?

JT shoved those questions to the back of his mind and focused on the present. He ran a couple of yellow lights and rolled through a stop sign in his neighborhood, dashed inside to grab a cold bagel from the pantry, and ran back to his truck.

With just minutes to spare, he pulled into the parking garage and sprinted toward the elevators, wearing a shirt of questionable cleanliness he’d found on the closet floor, and jeans without holes. His jacket still smelled like Claire though.

Shit! Will anyone notice?

He doubted anyone except her boss got that close to her, and the prosecutor never got near JT. No one could match her scent to his clothes without a chemistry experiment.

Damn it, Claire! We could’ve pulled this off.

The jurors were waiting outside the courtroom for him. He apologized as he took his place, and they filed into the jury box. JT had picked up on court procedure pretty quickly. The jury was always the last party to be seated after the defense and the prosecution took their places, but today, the prosecutor’s table lacked an assistant.

Where the hell is Claire?
Had she called in sick? Had her boss found out about them and removed her from the case? Had the judge found out and thrown her in jail?

Cold sweat coated his skin, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He clutched the rail in front of him, forcing his breathing to slow. He closed his eyes until the room stopped spinning, then he scanned the courtroom—no sign of her.

Alex called a witness to the stand and began questioning her. The defense attorney objected. The judge overruled. Everyone acted normal.

JT pulled the arrowhead from under his shirt and wrapped his fist around it.
She’s okay. She has to be okay.

An endless hour later, Claire slipped in the back door and crept to her seat. She handed a document to her boss, and he studied it and smiled. JT read his lips: ‘Good work.’ Research—that explained her absence.

Sweet relief knocked him back in his seat. Even the fact that Claire ignored him completely couldn’t taint the knowledge that their secret appeared to be safe.

Alex used the document she’d given him and recalled a previous witness, much to the defense’s dismay. JT and the jury had heard this evidence yesterday, but the information Claire provided made it even more compelling.

This guy’s gonna hang.

“Your Honor,” Alex said, straightening his tie with a smug smile on his face, “the state rests its case.”

“Defense, are you ready to proceed?”

The panicked attorney stood. “Your honor, I request a short recess to confer with my client.”

“Ten minutes.” She rapped her gavel and the jury exited the courtroom.

Half an hour later, they resumed their seats, but the judge addressed them, not the defense. “The defendant has changed his plea to guilty. This trial is adjourned, and you are dismissed. Thank you for your service.”

Adjourned. Dismissed. Free! JT craned his neck and watched Claire exit the courtroom with her boss as he, along with the rest of the jury, was escorted out the back. He ignored his companions wanting to shake his hand, and scrambled down the stairs to the garage.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” He elbowed a couple of guys out of his way, and skidded to a halt as he spun into the blind corner.
She’s not here.

He watched the elevators empty, but didn’t see her. Then a familiar Honda with a cracked windshield rounded the corner to the exit.
She’s leaving?
He ran to his truck, but the lunch rush thwarted his pursuit. A driver honked at him as he stood in the middle of the garage and ran his hands through his hair.
Shit! How am I going to find her now?

***

Cheese and crackers, I need a drink.
Alex had given her the rest of the day off, but instead of going home, Claire headed straight for the Irish pub across the street from the office. She ordered a pint of Guinness draft, and the bartender pressed a shamrock in the foam with the tap. She picked up the frosty glass and drank deep. The room wobbled, and she seized the bar rail.
Yep, I’ll have to spend the rest of the day here. Not fit to drive.

She settled at an empty table near the bar, facing the door, before she realized she didn’t need to watch her back anymore and turned away. Sneaking around with JT had held a certain amount of naughty appeal—she almost missed it, but with the burden of keeping a career-threatening secret lifted from her shoulders, she should’ve felt lighter. She sighed and laid her head on her arms. He wouldn’t chase her this time. How could he?

Neither of them had had any idea they’d end up in a motel bed when he’d followed her last night, but she’d made it quite clear she wanted him that first night. The candles and closed curtains had turned her home into an intimate hideaway where—
He knows where I live. I need to go home!

A full-on beer buzz smacked her in the face as she jumped up, nearly toppling her off her heels. She grabbed the table and slowly sat back down.

Never drink on an empty stomach.
She signaled the waitress and ordered a burger and fries and a tall glass of water with lemon. The food wouldn’t help now, but she had to wait till the alcohol wore off anyway. Eating was the only activity in the place that didn’t require standing or coordinated movement.

She cradled her swimming head in her hands, and when a shadow fell across the table, she didn’t look up.
The kitchen is quick today.

“You can’t escape me, Rebel. Luck will always bring us back together.”

Claire’s heart leaped at his unmistakable husky voice. Her hands fell away from her eyes and she blinked up at JT. “How did you find me?”

“Happy accident, sweet thing.” He grinned. “I needed a drink and stumbled across this place. I’ve always had a taste for Irish ale.”

She straightened her hair and shook her head. “I never stood a chance.”

He pulled up a chair across from her and sat down. “Nope, you might as well give in now.” The waitress appeared and set the full plate between them. “Wow, that’s a big pickle.” JT practically licked his lips.

“Help yourself.” Maybe watching her food physically disappear would prove she hadn’t conjured up a wishful fantasy. He hadn’t touched her yet, possibly keeping his distance to avoid the appearance of impropriety. Of course, she could always vault the table and straddle his lap…

“Thank you.” He chomped on the pickle. “Mmm… good.”

“Now what?” The trial had ended without going to the jury, so there’d be no basis for an appeal for jury tampering if she got caught talking to him.
Are you sure?
She made a mental note to research that.

“I need a beer.” He waved at the waitress and ordered Guinness for both of them. He nodded toward her nearly empty glass and winked. “You like it stout.”

Was that an inappropriate suggestion, or had the beer gone straight to her head?
I’m feeling the buzz a bit lower, actually.
“This Irish girl likes a thick lager.”
Ugh. Do not flirt when you’re drunk.

JT laughed and slid a fresh frosty glass across the table. He raised his. “Here’s to getting lucky.”

She picked up her drink and clunked it against his, sloshing froth down her hand. “You haven’t answered my question.” She grabbed a napkin and mopped up.

His gaze drifted as if trying to recall. “What question?”

“What happens to us now?”

He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “The State of Colorado decided they no longer need my services, so you’re free to do to me as you please.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have our first date across the street from the district attorney’s office.”

“First date? By my count this is the third date. You know what that means.” He wiggled his eyebrows and leered at her.

A hot tingle flared between her legs. “First
legal
date. And it’s not too smart to do
that
in the DA’s line of sight either.” Maybe they could go back to that mountain town motel room… if she could remember how to find it.

He laughed, and she kicked him under the table. “Ow,” he said. “You want me to be serious now?”

“Yes.” With the unclear legal ramifications of
ex-parte
communication after trial, she had to consider what activities might still be risky. And she’d decided not to see him again. What had happened to that? One good beer and a charming line washed away her resolve.

His blue eyes sparkled. “Let’s go out—in public.”

Warning bells sounded in her head. “We should probably wait a couple of days so people don’t recognize us.”

“Does it look like I’m wearing a big juror sign?” He reached across the table and took her hand. “We’re not in the courtroom anymore. Take off your legal assistant suit and relax.”

His touch ignited her sense memory, and images of his hands on her bare skin made it impossible to recoil. “You’re still wearing your district court ID.”

“Huh?” He grasped the lanyard around his neck. “Well, fuck me with a juror sign.” He yanked it off and stuffed it in his pocket.

Claire sputtered in her beer. “That might be uncomfortable.”

He grinned and scooted his chair closer to her. “Got a better idea?”

She sat back and unbuttoned her blazer to let in some cool air while she imagined taking him to the office Christmas party—and trying to explain how they’d met.
The judge ordered him not to come near me, but he cornered me in the parking garage.
Sounded like grounds for a restraining order. “Are you sure about this?”

“Pretty sure. I know of lots more pleasant ways to get laid.” He leaned close and kissed her ear, while slipping a hand over her knee to tug at her skirt.

She slapped her palm over her eyes.

“Oh, sorry.” He sat up, folded his hands on the table, and attempted to flatten his eternal grin. “Serious.”

Claire sighed and sipped her water, hoping to clear her head. If she rushed back to the law library now, she might be able to find a ruling to put her mind at ease.

“Are you gonna eat that burger?” He pulled her plate toward him.

The straw popped from her lips. “What?”

“Seriously.” His lips twitched and that irrepressible smile took over his face.

“Yes, I am.” She grabbed the plate. “Get your own.”

He turned to flag down a waitress while Claire glanced toward the door and saw Kurt walk in.

“Fudge!” She slipped off the chair and tried to run, but JT grabbed her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The computer guy is here.” Her arm slipped from her blazer as she spun, searching for another exit. If Kurt saw them together, he’d tell Alex. Alex would be forced to tell the judge, and the judge would…
oh my God!

JT snatched her dangling sleeve and watched Kurt approach the bar. “That guy? Does he know you?”

Her heart pounded and her skin prickled. “Oh yes.”

“You’re overreacting again. The trial is over.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Claire shuddered and lowered her voice. “A couple of months after I started working for the D.A.’s office, another paralegal, my friend Darla, got caught having a drink with a juror after trial. During the investigation, the judge found out Darla’d had dinner with him while he was serving on a jury for a trial she was assisting with—
just like us
. The verdict was thrown out, and she got fined and fired. She’s working as a cashier at Walmart now.”

“I see. I thought this was another one of your worst-case scenarios.”

“Maybe a little bit, but even though we’ve been adjourned, there’d be questions about where and when we met. That’s the real problem.”

“Gotcha.” JT glanced over her shoulder at the perceived threat, then drew Claire close. “What’s his name?”

She dug her heels into the floor, but her feet slipped and she spilled into him. “Kurt Langston.”

JT whistled between his teeth and waved the intruder over. “Hey Kurt!”

Is he crazy?
“What are you doing?” Ducking under the table looked like a perfectly acceptable option.

He winked and rubbed her rigid arm. “Making my case.”

***

Kurt turned and glanced at the guy waving at him.
Who the hell is that? And how does he know my name?
A pretty young woman in a conservative suit and flashy jewelry fell into him, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Claire?”

She gritted her teeth. “Hi Kurt.”

The guy tugged on her arm, but she pulled back. Kurt’s heroic tendencies leaped into action, and he strode over to their table to rescue her. “Hi. How are you?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. “I’m good.”

“Have a seat.” The guy nudged a chair toward him and extended his hand. “JT Luck. Nice to meet you. Claire tells me you two work together.”

He shook JT’s hand. “Thank you. I’m Kurt Langston.” Kurt offered the chair to Claire and sat in the one closest to her. “I kinda work for her.”