“What brings you to my side of the tracks, Judge?”

“Uh, I…ah…” Jessica could not look at him and think straight.

“You must have a good reason for coming to a grimy police station weight room. I can’t recall seeing you on this side of the street before.”

She glanced at Doug, then quickly away. He was right. She rarely came to a station. Her job was at the courthouse. Though they were technically on the same side of the law, their jobs and their outlooks couldn’t be further from one another. Had she made a mistake in coming here?

“Listen, Judge, I had a lousy night, thanks to you. A cold shower didn’t do me a damn bit of good, but an hour in here was getting my head straight—until you showed up. I’m not in the mood for an argument, so if that’s why you’re here, you can just use those great legs of yours to take that sensational little tail of yours out of here.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of the most exciting romantic reading around, courtesy of Silhouette Intimate Moments. Starting things off with a bang, we have To Love a Thief by ultrapopular Merline Lovelace. This newest CODE NAME: DANGER title takes you back into the supersecret world of the Omega Agency for a dangerous liaison you won’t soon forget.

For military romance, Catherine Mann’s WINGMEN WARRIORS are the ones to turn to. These uniformed heroes and heroines are irresistible, and once you join Darcy Renshaw and Max Keagan for a few Private Maneuvers, you won’t even be trying to resist, anyway. Wendy Rosnau continues her unflashed miniseries THE BROTHERHOOD in Last Man Standing, while Sharon Mignerey’s couple find themselves In Too Deep. Finally, welcome two authors who are new to the line but not to readers. Kristen Robinette makes an unforgettable entrance with In the Arms of a Stranger, and Ana Leigh offers a matchup between The Law and Lady Justice.

I hope you enjoy all six of these terrific novels, and that you’ll come back next month for more of the most electrifying romantic reading around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

The Law and Lady Justice
Ana Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANA LEIGH

a Wisconsin native, has three children and five grandchildren. From the time of the publication of her first novel, in 1981, Ana successfully juggled her time between her chosen career and her hobby of writing until she officially retired in September of ’94 to devote more time to that “hobby.” In the past, she has been a theater cashier (who married the boss), the head of an accounting department, a corporate officer and the only female on the board of directors of an engineering firm.

This New York Times bestselling author received a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award nomination for Storyteller of the Year in 1991, the BOOKRAK 1995–1996 Best Selling Author Award, the Romantic Times 1995–1996 Career Achievement Award and the Romantic Times 1996–1997 Career Achievement Award for Historical Storyteller of the Year. Her novels have been distributed worldwide, including Africa, China and Russia.

This one’s for you, Don, in celebration of our big 50.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee

better after death.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

“Good afternoon, I’m Sherilyn Matthews, speaking to you from outside of the Milwaukee County courthouse where, in an interesting turn of events Judge Jessica Kirkland has released LeRoy Gilbert, suspected murderer of his girlfriend, stripper Cindy Fires.”

Jessica stood just inside the courthouse entrance, safely out of sight of the human vulture with huge hair, several loose strands whipping dangerously in the wind. The reporter proceeded to caw into her microphone, sensationalizing the latest disaster in Jessica’s courtroom.

“Many of you will recall how Judge Kirkland, less than a year ago, released another murder suspect. Elected to the bench on a record of championing victims’ rights as a prosecuting attorney, it would appear that Judge Kirkland has left those days behind her.”

Jessica took a step forward, causing the police guard at the door to frown and shake his head. She sighed, knowing he was right. She was a judge. She did not have to explain herself to anyone—least of all blondie of the big hair and bigger mouth.

Just as she turned to leave, she saw him. Lounging against the courthouse wall, listening to Sherilyn as if he had nothing better to do in the world than look too good in a rumpled suit and loosened tie. How many times had she seen him in her courtroom looking just like that?

Tall and dark, he appeared just a bit dangerous, despite the well-trimmed hair and ever-present suit. She knew he wore a Glock 23 automatic beneath his jacket, which added to that high-powered energy he emanated. Although they’d rarely spoken beyond heated arguments, she’d been close enough to him to know that beneath those mirrored sunglasses his eyes were blue, and he smelled like a titillating blend of summer sunshine and midnight memories.

An obvious break in Sherilyn’s cawing brought Jessica’s attention back to the reporter, whose smile reminded Jessica of a cat with canary feathers hanging out of its mouth. Sherilyn had seen something she wanted, and she actually licked her lips in delight. Her cameraman barely had time to blink as he hurried after her when she made a beeline for the man still lounging against the courthouse wall.

He didn’t retreat, remaining motionless as the reporter rushed at him, microphone waving like a talisman.

Shoving the microphone into her quarry’s face, Sherilyn kept on talking. “Detective McGuire, you were the arresting officer on this case. What are your feelings on the matter of Judge Kirkland and her unfortunate habit of releasing your suspects back into the population at large?”

Jessica bit her lip. There was little love lost between her and homicide detective Doug McGuire. Though she might privately think he had the best pair of buns that ever graced a witness chair, in public, well—

“I wish just once a judge would put aside concern for the rights of the guilty and consider the rights of the victim.”

Anger propelled Jessica forward, and she now stood in the open doorway of the courthouse, her gaze focused on the scene playing out only a few feet in front of her. When the guard approached, Jessica’s glare halted him.

Raising his hands in surrender, he shrugged. “It’s your funeral, Your Honor,” he mumbled as he retreated, which only added to her frustration. Why did everyone but the judge get to have his or her day in court? Why did everyone, including the guilty, get to have his or her say on television?

McGuire looked straight into the camera, expounding his viewpoint to southern Wisconsin as Sherilyn gazed at him like a teenage girl salivating over Ricky Martin.

“What do you mean, Detective?”

The reporter bobbed her head and her hair tilted at a precarious angle. Jessica hoped the mass would fall off and hit McGuire between those sensuous dark blue eyes of his; but luck wasn’t with her, and Sherilyn’s hair appeared to do nothing other than whiplash his face with a few wayward strands.

“I mean,” McGuire said, “this man got away with murder! I know it. You know it. The judge knows it. The guy’s lawyer probably knows it for sure. So why is that man back on the street?”

“Because there’s such a thing as an illegal search, Detective.”

Jessica’s outburst fell into a silence so loud she could hear a siren wailing down Interstate 43 behind them. She hadn’t realized she’d stepped out of the shadow of the courthouse and into the bright June sunshine. All eyes turned toward her—so did the camera. The microphone nearly hit Jessica in the teeth as Sherilyn dove in her direction.

“Judge Kirkland, would you care to elaborate?”

Jessica ignored Sherilyn, for the moment concentrating on McGuire. She continued to glare at McGuire as he stopped lounging and stood up straight, seeming to tower over her even though a distance of several feet separated them. Slowly he removed his glasses, giving her an uncommon view of his eyes. She wished he’d put the shades back on. For once his eyes didn’t spark with annoyance or anger, instead they looked—interested. That difference disconcerted her.

Jessica pulled her gaze away as Sherilyn waved the microphone dangerously close. “Would you care to elaborate, Your Honor?” the pushy reporter repeated.

“If I allowed the case in question to go to trial it would only be thrown out. The search of the suspect’s premises was illegal. That is the law, not my opinion. My hands are tied.”

“So were the victim’s.” McGuire had crept up on her, startling her.

The man moved too fast and too quietly for someone of his size. “Excuse me?” she said in her best judicial voice. She could not allow him to see how much his nearness rattled her. She was a tall woman, with confidence to spare, yet McGuire always made her feel tiny.

“You said your hands were tied, Your Honor. Well, so were the victim’s. Do you think she’d want her murderer to go free over a legal technicality?”

Her mind flooded with memories, and she blinked at their vividness. The sun seemed to beat hotter; the voices around her buzzed louder—her temples pounded. Sweat trickled between her breasts, down her back, and she felt the silk blouse beneath her jacket sticking to her skin. She stared into McGuire’s angry blue eyes, forced the past back where it belonged, and then she got mad, too.

She understood about victims…pain…and the need for justice in an unjust world. She’d spent the past fifteen years of her life working for what she believed in. She’d given up any hope of a husband, a family. Heck, she had no life at all, because she searched for one thing—justice.

How dare McGuire question that?

“I’m sure the victim doesn’t care about the law. But I have to. If I don’t follow the law, I’m no better than the ones I presume to judge. And neither are you, Detective. Do the job right next time, and we’ll have no further problems.”

“I did the job.” He stepped closer, crowding her. “I got the warrant.”

“With false information.” She took a step forward, determined not to be the one to back off.

“I didn’t know it was false at the time.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Well, this is very interesting,” Sherilyn interrupted, her microphone separating the two of them, who were nearly nose-to-nose. “If you two could answer a few questions for our listeners…”

Jessica flushed. She’d forgotten she was on television. McGuire made her forget a lot of things. She glared at him and turned toward the camera.

“I just want the people to know that something has to be done to stop criminals from being set free on technicalities before the case reaches the courtroom. If anyone has a solution, I’d be glad to hear it.”

She turned on her heel and marched back into the courthouse, ignoring the shouted questions and the scent of that man, which she knew would taunt her long into the evening ahead.

She spoke directly to me, begging for help. She has such a strong sense of justice and tries so hard, but the legal system—what can she do? It’s her job—no more, no less—even if doing that job allows the guilty to go free.

I have a solution. I’ll make her so happy. She won’t have to be sad any longer. Since she can’t do it, someone has to.

That someone will be me.

“Judge Kirkland, wait up.”

The low-pitched command resonated with a feral undertone that suggested menace, while at the same time plunked sensuously on her backbone with the potency of Pablo Casales strumming a Takamine guitar.

Jessica halted, took a deep breath, and turned. “What is it, Detective McGuire?”

He pulled up, enveloping her again with the force of his male energy. “Just what in holy hell do you have against me?”

She raised her head in the hope of getting the full stature out of her five feet nine inches. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You know damn well what I mean. Hours and hours of investigative paper and legwork goes up in smoke in the couple of minutes it takes for a judge like you to throw a case out of court. First you did it with Bellemy, now Gilbert.”

“Detective McGuire, you and your partner are quite aware that Sam Bellemy’s admission of guilt would never have stood up in court.”

“He confessed, didn’t he?”

“Before his lawyer arrived! Why didn’t you halt your questioning the moment he asked and wait until one was present? Instead, your partner made matters worse and beat the confession out of him.”

“He didn’t beat him. So he shoved him around a little bit. You can’t blame Vic. He has an eight-year-old daughter. Any parent on a jury would have done the same if they’d seen what that sick pervert did to that little girl.”

“I have no doubt you’re right, but, unfortunately, Mr. Bellemy was spared the jury process because of Detective Peterson’s actions—and yours for not restraining your partner.”

“I had all I could do to restrain myself. My mistake was stopping Vic from killing the bastard!”

“Oh right, Detective, that would make Peterson a condemned murderer and he’d be the one who would end up serving a life sentence.”

“Not if he came up before you, Your Honor. Seems like murderers get an easy walk in your court.”

Jessica watched him storm off with that panther stride of his.

When Jessica entered the office, her distress must have shown on her face. Liz Alexander glanced up with a sympathetic smile. “I watched it all in living color. I see he got to you again, honey,” she said, in reference to Nemesis-Detective Douglas I. McGuire.

Liz had been Jessica’s secretary when they worked together in the D.A.’s office, and had come with her when Jessica had been chosen to fill a sudden vacancy on the circuit court. She had toiled tirelessly to help get Jessica elected to that seat when the temporary term had expired. But Liz was more than a secretary to her. The fifty-year-old widow had become her confidant, her counselor, the sympathetic ear to her tribulations—the joyous smile to her accomplishments—a shopping companion, or the one to share a pizza and gabfest over a current novel or show. Mother or sister, whatever the moment called for, but above all—best friend.

Whether one liked or resented Jessica, everyone in the courthouse loved Liz: police officers, detectives, bailiffs, sheriffs, court reporters, clerks, maintenance crews—even the media. They gravitated toward Liz’s desk, and she mothered them all. The consensus among them that Liz could probably be a better counselor to the prisoners locked behind bars than the lawyers who defended them or the clergymen who attempted to offer them spiritual guidance.

Sighing deeply, Jessica shook her head. “That man drives me wild.”

“You and probably every other woman he knows. He’s one sexy hunk.”

“I meant he makes me so angry I want to scream.”

“Oh yeah, right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t believe you haven’t noticed he’s sexy.”

“Too much for his own good. That’s probably why he’s so arrogant. God’s gift to womanhood!” She headed for her chambers. “I pity his poor wife, if he’s married.”

“He isn’t,” Liz replied.

Jessica halted and turned around. “Really? How do you know?”

“His partner told me.”

“Ex-wife?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s got a live-in girlfriend.”

“Nope. No wife, ex-wife or live-in girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Jessica asked, hesitantly.

Liz rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Well, obviously, no woman can tolerate him. He’s arrogant, overbearing, short-tempered, foul-mouthed and…” She stopped and bit her lip to cut off her words.

“And what?” Liz asked.

Jessica expelled a deep breath. “The sexiest man I’ve ever met.” Both women giggled.

“I never heard you say that about Dennis Wolcott in the whole seven years you went with him.”

“We’re not exactly comparing apples to apples here, Miss Elizabeth.”

“In fact,” Liz tapped a fuchsia-tipped finger against her chin, “I don’t remember you even mentioning poor Mr. Pomp and Circumstance from the time you broke your engagement to him six months ago. I think I’ve just figured out what the problem is here.”

“And just what would that be?” Jessica asked.

Liz leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her still firm and very trim breasts, and poked her tongue in her cheek. “You’re horny, Judge Kirkland.”

Still steaming from his talk with the judge, Doug waited outside of the courthouse for Vic. Thankfully, Sherilyn the shark had left and had taken her microphone, camera and rawhide hair with her. Normally, he didn’t blame anyone for trying to make an honest buck—but making money off of other people’s misfortunes left him cold.

Too bad Sherilyn didn’t have the class of the judge—or her legs. Those legs of hers! His thoughts immediately conjured up one of his favorite images—Judge Jessica’s long legs. Keeping them hidden under that black robe was criminal.

A dark blue Crown Victoria pulled up. Doug walked over and opened the car door. Vic Peterson grinned at him from behind the wheel.

After removing his suit jacket, Doug climbed in, then tossed the jacket into the back seat. “What kept you?”

“I was watching the Judge Jessica Meets The Wolf Man show. It’s a sure bet for renewal in the fall.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?”

“You talking about the judge or the blonde?” Vic asked. When Doug threw him an exasperated look, Vic said, “You’ve really got a thing for her, don’t you? Since when are you the shy type? Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“I’m preserving my virginity for when Bev dumps you,” Doug said. “Besides, Judge Jessica can’t stand the sight of me, and she’s engaged to that prick lawyer Wolcott.”

“Boy, partner, you’re really slipping. Don’t you read the paper? They broke up six months ago.”

Doug’s pulses shot into overdrive. He grinned with pleasure. “No kidding?” Knowing Vic would spare no mercy if he suspected Doug was serious, he quickly tried to cover up. “I didn’t think you read anything but the sports section.”

“I don’t. Her secretary told me.”

Vic wheeled his way through the traffic to the House of Correction, where the criminals with minor offenses were incarcerated.

After signing in, and handing over a carton of cigarettes, they sat down in a small, private room. In a short time, they were joined by one of the convicts, his skinny five feet two inches decked in a bright orange jumpsuit of the Milwaukee County penal system.

“Hey, McGuire. Peterson.” He nodded his head, sparsely covered with strands of dank, dark hair. His wide grin revealed a mouth of nicotine-stained teeth in an advanced stage of decay.

“How ya doin’, Paulie?” Vic said.

“Good. Grub’s real good here,” he said.

“Must be. You’re sure eager to come back often enough,” Doug said. “What’re you in for this time?”

“Just passing some checks,” Paulie said. “I got a bum rap.”

“Right,” Doug said.

“You bring the smokes?” The little man nervously threaded his fingers through what was fast becoming a receding hairline.

“Yeah,” Vic said, “you ought to give ’em up. They’re gonna kill you.”

Paulie chuckled. “Naw. That’s why I smoke filter tips.”

“So, what have you got that’s so important?” Doug asked.

“I wuz talkin’ to this fella who wuz jest brought in today. He told me somethin’ you guys oughta know.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Doug said to the snitch.

“I figure it’s worth a sawbuck to ya.”

“We already brought you a carton of smokes. It cost a damn sight more than a sawbuck.”

“You sure they’re filter tips?”

“Get on with it, Paulie,” Doug said impatiently. “If you’ve got something good, we’ll throw in the ten dollars.”

“Okay, okay. This fella lives in the Third Ward and said the word on the street is that someone’s lookin’ to hire a hit man.”

Paulie paused to let his words sink in as Doug and Vic exchanged a long look.

“Who’s the target?”

“He didn’t know.”

“Who’s putting out the contract?”

“Didn’t know that, either. He only heard it involved a case McGuire and Peterson had handled.”

“Which case?”

“He didn’t know.”

“You’re saying he doesn’t know the case, the victim or who put out the contract,” Doug said. “You wouldn’t be holding out on us, would you, Paulie?”

“No, I swear, fellas, that’s all he told me. Ain’t I always been up front with ya?”

The guy was clueless. Doug headed for the door. “If you hear anything more, give us a call.”

“What about the sawbuck?”

“You’ll get it when you give us something more,” Vic said. “The name of the game is names, Paulie. We need names.”

On the way out, Doug stopped and added a ten-dollar bill to the carton of cigarettes.

Vic shook his head. “Under all that skepticism, you’re a real marshmallow, McGuire.”

Chapter 2

Vic maneuvered the Crown Victoria into their parking space and killed the engine. He glanced at his watch, then at Doug. “You going home?”

Doug had already gotten out of the car and retrieved his jacket, shrugging into the sleeves, despite the late-afternoon heat. The captain frowned on detectives walking around without jackets in public. No displaying your weapon in front of the citizenry—probably wasn’t a good idea for the criminals to see it, either. Like nobody knew they were wearing Glocks. Right!

“I think I’ll go in for a while.” Doug’s gaze met his partner’s across the top of the car, just in time to see the flash of concern in Vic’s eyes. “What?”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner? You’ve got to eat.”

“Thanks, but no. I was over twice last week.”

“Bev loves to have you—and the kids do, too. Andrea has a crush on you a mile wide. Right now it’s cute, although I will have to kill you in about eight years. Justin and Brandon would love to toss the ball around.”

Doug ignored the stab of envy for his friend. Vic and Bev had been married twenty years. They had two teenage sons and an eight-year-old daughter—who was going on twenty-five. Vic was lucky. He was one of the few cops who had a marriage that had survived. His children were healthy, happy and thriving, and the Peterson clan always welcomed Doug with open arms. But lately he’d started to feel just a bit sad when he was there, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

“I’ve got paperwork.” He slammed the car door. “See you in the morning.”

“Just don’t stay here until all hours drinking coffee and skipping dinner.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I mean it, McGuire. You’re turning into an old man before my eyes.”

And since Vic was too close to the truth for comfort, Doug forced a grin and a lighthearted wave. “You should know, old man.”

He headed for the station without looking back. The buzz of voices, calm against angry, swirled about him as soon as he stepped inside; the scent of cigarettes and stale coffee hit him like a punch to his empty stomach and set it to churning. Flickering florescent lights over his desk made the entire office seem like a surreal episode of Star Trek. Sitting down at his desk, he stared at the scene before him. Cops, perps and a couple victims.

“Welcome to my life,” he muttered.

He’d asked for this; planned for it by taking Pre-Law courses and joining the force immediately after he finished college. For him solving puzzles was what was important. And there’d never been a puzzle he couldn’t solve—unless you counted women.

Women!

Doug sighed. He just couldn’t figure them out. Take Judge Jessica. Boy, would he like to take Judge Jessica!

Doug groaned at his wayward thoughts, and libido, forcing himself to pick up a pen and get to work. But within minutes his mind wandered once more. Name, address and crime just didn’t measure up to smooth skin, the scent of sin and a body he’d like to get to know from the tip of what he was certain would be great toes to the top of that too-smart head of hers. How long was that hair she pinned up so primly? And was that red-brown color for real?

“Hey, McGuire!”

“Huh?” Doug blinked at the desk sergeant. “What?”

“I was calling your place. Don’t you sign in anymore?”

“Sorry.” His mind was not where it should be today. “What do you want, O’Riley?”

“You know that creep Judge Kirkland let go today?”

Doug sighed, the image of Jessica’s hair trailing to her waist dissolving at the reminder of what had happened to the case of which he’d been so proud. “Gilbert? What about him?”

“They just pulled him out of the Milwaukee River at Michigan Avenue with a plastic bag over his head.”

Doug gaped. “What?”

The sergeant shook his head and gave Doug a strange look. “He’s dead, McGuire. Peterson’s on his way. Meet him there.”

Doug nodded and the sergeant retreated, still shaking his head. Doug sat at his desk and stared at the phone. Wouldn’t Judge Jessica just love to hear this? He couldn’t resist. He had to tell her, he thought, reaching for the phone.

Sounding rushed, Liz Alexander answered after several rings. “I’m sorry, Detective, you just caught me on my way out. Judge Kirkland isn’t here. She was so upset about what happened today that she left early. I suspect she wanted to take a walk before her dinner meeting so she could clear her head. She does that sometimes.”

“Dinner?”

“At Water Street Bistro. Do you know it?”

“Fancy. On the Riverwalk. Prime real estate.”

“That’s the one.” Doug could swear he heard a smile in Liz’s voice, although he couldn’t figure out what was so funny. “Would you like to leave a message?”

Doug grunted, annoyed that he’d given in to the impulse to call the judge. It had been childish. Even more childish was his irrational disappointment to find that the judge wasn’t waiting to talk to him.

“No. No message.”

“Detective?” Though Liz’s voice was unfailingly polite, he just knew she was smiling. He could see her grinning from ear to ear, and he gritted his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret. Doug McGuire might be a smartass, but his mother never raised her son to be rude to a lady.

“Yes, Liz.”

“Jessica should be at the Bistro by six-thirty. She has dinner there every Thursday night.”

“Thanks, Liz.” He hung up.

Water Street Bistro would be her style, he thought. Candles and silver, white tablecloths and wineglasses on every table. Hovering waiters, a wine steward and a maître d’. He could see her in a black dress, single strand of pearls around that throat he’d love to taste, sipping champagne with some dude in a black tuxedo.

Doug growled and stood up. He had work to do. Places to go. Dead bodies to see. And it would have to snow in hell before he’d step foot in the Water Street Bistro.

Jessica always kept a pair of walking shoes beneath her desk. Often before work, and sometimes during the day, she would put on the shoes and walk off her frustration. Without her robes she was just another career woman in a suit and tennies, hoofing it down Wells Street.

By the time she returned to her office, changed into her low-heeled taupe pumps and grabbed her briefcase and purse, she had no time to go home and change. So it was that she ended up at Water Street Bistro for her weekly dinner with her father wearing the same mint-green business suit she’d put on that morning before leaving her condominium on Lake Drive. She would have preferred just to go home, but her father would be crushed if she missed their dinner date. Every Thursday night the two of them got together and shared their lives. And she had to admit their dinners together always made her feel calmer and saner for a little while—just knowing that there was someone who loved you always, no matter what, could get a person through the toughest of times.

Since her mother’s death ten years past, her father had thrown himself into his work, starting restaurants then selling them once they became well established. His latest venture, Water Street Bistro, was more successful than any of the others, and thus far he had given no indication he would sell. She hoped this meant he was beginning to get over her mother’s death, as much as it was possible to get over the death of the woman he had adored.

Because of the importance of their weekly ritual, Jessica was surprised to arrive and find their usual table deserted.

“Your Honor.” Bruno, the maître d’ from Austria, bowed. “Your papa, he will be here soon. Please to sit down and order the wine.”

Though Bruno was ever so serious, Jessica often had a hard time not laughing when he spoke. He sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger, though Bruno was only five foot five and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Jessica nodded her thanks as Bruno pulled out her chair. “Where is my father, Bruno?”

“I do not know. He is everywhere. Here, there, gone and back. And after he sees you today on the television, ach! The man he is a crazy person.” Bruno threw up his hands. “He marched out of here and he does not come back.”

Jessica frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that. She took the wine list Bruno pressed upon her.

“Do not worry, he will be back soon, Your Honor. He would not miss this night with you for all the tea in his coffee cup.”

Jessica blinked. Bruno had a way with a cliché. Sometimes it took her several minutes, or days, to figure out what he meant. This one was easy. “All the tea in China, Bruno.”

Bruno lifted his nose. “That is what I said.”

With great dignity he left her alone and went to greet the gathering dinner crowd.

Jessica stared at the wine list, but she did not see the choices. Instead she frowned, reflecting. Though her father had never been late for one of their dinners before, she had noticed an increasing absentmindedness on his part. Now that she thought about it she could name several times she’d called the restaurant, or the house, when he should have been at one place or the other, only to have to leave messages on an answering machine. She was embarrassed to admit her job consumed her so completely she thought of little else, and had not put the disturbing incidents about her father together until now.

Could something be wrong with Daddy?

“Hey, baby girl, sorry I’m late.”

The object of her concern kissed her cheek before slipping into the chair opposite her. Jessica’s smile felt stiff as she took in his disheveled state and flushed face. Ben Kirkland never looked unkempt. That would be bad for business. Yet here he sat with the top buttons of his shirt askew, his tie loose, and his salt-and-pepper hair looking as if he’d just come through a wind tunnel.

Jessica glanced through the wall-to-wall picture window that overlooked the river below them. Bright and shiny sunlight reflected off the still water. Not a breeze stirred. Her smile turned upside down as she narrowed her eyes upon her father. “Where have you been, Dad?”

He paused in the midst of tightening his tie. Was she wrong, or did he look just a bit guilty? What on earth could her father be hiding from her?

He smoothed his hair and raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Am I under oath, Your Honor?”

“Of course not. It’s just…” Jessica sighed. She did have an abrupt manner when she questioned people. She couldn’t help it, that was her way, her job. “You’ve just been different lately, Dad. I wondered if anything was wrong.”

“Wrong?” He reached for the wine list, and crooked a finger at the wine steward who hovered nearby. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Jessica frowned. His voice was too high, his color too pink despite the healthy summer tan of his face, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Dad?”

Her voice wavered in the middle, sounding like a child frightened by the bogey man in the middle of the night. Her father, who had heard her cry out in the dark often enough and had always come to her rescue, glanced up in surprise. Their gazes met and he hesitated just long enough for her to wonder if he told her the truth with his brusque words. “I’m fine, baby. Leave it be.”

He turned away to greet his steward, ordering wine with practiced ease. When he returned his attention to her, he was once again the man she knew, the man she loved more than any other. “So tell me about today.”

The words were not a request but a demand. Jessica had known she would have to discuss her day, but she’d dreaded it. When things happened that she could not control, she wanted to crawl into the sand, bury her head and never pull it out.

“You heard what happened. Bruno told me you were upset.”

Her father snorted. “Bruno! He doesn’t understand our legal system. As he always says, ‘I came to America for freedom, but sometimes your freedom is just too free.’”

“He’s right.” Jessica paused as her father performed the wine ritual with his steward, then she nodded her thanks as the accepted selection was poured into her glass. She picked up the crystal and swirled the ruby liquid about, tilting the glass just enough to catch the setting sun and turn the wine the color of blood. Then she put the wine down, untasted. “I had no choice, Dad.”

“Of course you didn’t. No one knows better than I how hard it was for you to let that creep go.”

Their eyes met, and they shared a moment of silence for the tragedy in their past. Once there had been four Kirklands living happily in a house in a Milwaukee suburb. Jessica’s sister, Karen, had been two years her senior, and though they had fought like sisters, they had loved like sisters, too. When Karen went away to college at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, Jessica had visited her often, counting the days until she could join Karen and experience the swirl of life in Mad City, as it was known to Wisconsin Badgers.

“Jessica?” Her father’s voice brought her back to their table. He held his wineglass aloft, waiting for her to join him. She picked up her glass and tapped the rim to his. “Here’s to getting past the past and moving on,” he said.

Jessica took a sip, then set the glass down with deliberation. “I wish I could, Dad. But every time I have to let someone go whom I know is guilty, I remember Karen and…” She stopped and took a deep, ragged breath.

Her father’s hand covered hers where it rested on the table. “And you feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest and stomped on.” She nodded. “What happened to Karen was unspeakable, honey.”

Jessica stared at his large, blunt, sun-browned hand covering her smaller, thinner, paler one. “Mom never got over it.”

“I doubt we will, either. At least until we can have some closure.”

She looked into his eyes and recognized the never-ending pain. “I thought that if I put away the guilty, I’d feel better.”

“Don’t you?”

“Sometimes. But every time I have to let one go, I remember that one, and not all the guilty ones I’ve sentenced.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because no matter how many I sentence, I’ll never know if he’s the one who murdered my sister.”

Her father winced.

“I’m sorry.” Jessica turned her hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth. Maybe we don’t talk about Karen enough.”

“I doubt that. You know sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like? I know she had lighter hair compared to mine, and she wanted to be a veterinarian. Sometimes, I can almost hear her laugh, but I can’t remember her face.”

“Look at her picture. I always do.”

“Her picture isn’t her, Dad.”

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll never forget Karen, never forgive what happened to her, but both of us need to get past it and move on with our lives. Especially you, Jess.”

Jessica straightened, pulling on her hand, but he wouldn’t let go. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to do something other than worry about the bad guys all the time.”

“I thought you were proud of my career.”

“I am. I’m bursting my buttons whenever I can work into the conversation that my daughter is a judge. But you’re starting to worry me.” Jessica scowled and took a gulp of her wine with her free hand. “Don’t glare at me like that, young lady. You need to get a life.”

“Pardon me?”

“Find a man. Have some fun. Live a little.”

“You were the one who broke out the champagne when Dennis moved out.”

“Dennis Wolcott was a wimp. Face it, girl, you need a man.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Dad!” But his gaze, no longer on her, was fixed on someone near the door. “Dad?”

“Here comes one now,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a welcoming smile.

Jessica glanced over her shoulder to find Doug McGuire bearing down on them. Bruno chased after him, flapping his hands like an agitated bird.

McGuire stopped at their table, his dark-blue gaze touching on the wine, then lighting on their joined hands. He frowned and lifted an icy stare to Jessica.

“What do you want, Detective McGuire?” She removed her hand from her father’s, then picked up her wine when her hand suddenly felt too empty and vulnerable. McGuire always made her feel—nervous.

“We need to talk.”

Jessica raised her eyebrows and lifted her glass. She sipped, ever so slowly, watching McGuire heat toward slow burn. Damn it was fun! “I think we talked enough today, Detective, don’t you?”

Her father turned a laugh into a cough. Her gaze flicked toward him, and she remembered what he’d said just before McGuire descended. She needed a man. Well, McGuire might be a man, but he was not for her. She had to get rid of him before Daddy started matchmaking. And from the look of his grin and the sparkle in his eyes, she didn’t have much time.

“I’m having dinner, Detective. You can make an appointment with Liz.”

“No chance. The boyfriend will just have to eat alone tonight. I need you to come with me.”

She narrowed her eyes, then carefully set down her wine before she made a scene by throwing it into McGuire’s face. Then she sat back and looked him up and down. “This sounds interesting.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting the rich, red flavor of the Merlot her father had chosen. “What do you have in mind, Detective?”

His gaze, which had fixed on her lips, snapped to her eyes. The heat there made her want to pull at the suddenly tight neck of her blouse. “Lose the date,” McGuire ordered.

Her father snorted again. She cast him an annoyed glare and stood up. Shouldering past McGuire, she bent and kissed her father’s cheek. “Excuse me, but the detective is quite insistent.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.”

Her father grinned at her obvious ploy and winked. “Good night, Jess.”

Jessica turned and nearly bumped into a scowling McGuire. She moved past him and out the door.

Once outside, out of the range of too many listeners, she turned and demanded, “What’s so important you dragged me away before I had a chance to eat?”

“So I’ll buy you dinner.” He took her arm and started to hustle her along at a rapid pace.

“Where are we going?”

“Where we can talk. I think we need a level playing field and that fancy jacket-and-tie joint ain’t it. I know a good place to eat just a couple blocks from here. Do you mind walking?”

“Not at all, it’s a beautiful night for a stroll. So why are we running a marathon?”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, slowing his steps. “Your boyfriend’s sure the understanding type.”

She feathered a smile. “He’s very secure, because he knows how I feel about him.”

“He called you Jess. I like that. Heard you broke your engagement to Wolcott. You went with that guy a long time, didn’t you?”

“Yes, seven years.”

“Sure didn’t take you long to find a replacement.”

“Is that what you wanted to discuss, McGuire?” she asked with a rise of anger. “As much as I value your opinion, it’s a poor substitute for a gourmet meal. This could have waited until morning.”

“Just wanted you to know that you got your wish.”

“My wish? I don’t recall wishing for anything, except maybe your transfer to Anchorage.”

“Very funny. Figured you’d be interested to hear that we pulled your friend Gilbert out of the river a short time ago. Very wet—and very dead. Congratulations, Judge, justice has been served.”

Shocked, she stopped abruptly. Then had to hurry to catch up with him.

Chapter 3

By the time Jessica got over the initial shock of Gilbert’s murder, they’d reached the restaurant. But it wasn’t a restaurant. From the outside, the place looked like a sleazy, rundown, enter-at-your-own-risk dive. Big bold, black letters painted on the window identified it as The Precinct, and a smaller line below read Bar and Grill.

A cloud of gray cigarette smoke greeted them at the door along with Patsy Cline wailing “Crazy.”

I must be, too, to allow myself to get maneuvered into this!

The moment she entered, Jessica recognized a dozen or more faces in a glance—she’d seen them in court time enough. Good Lord, he had brought her to a cop bar!

Doug would have to have been blind not to notice that Jessica drew the curious glances of most of the men in the room.

“Hey, Your Honor, you slumming?” one of the men standing at the bar asked good-naturedly.

“Well, Detective Slocum, what a pleasure to see you outside of court. You look much taller now that I’m not peering down at you from behind my bench.”

“And if I might say, you look mighty good out from under that black robe.”

“Say it! Say it!” she teased. “It’s music to my ears, Detective.”

“How ya doin’, Judge?” another asked.

“Just fine, Tony,” she said, slapping him on the shoulder in passing.

When she spied a heavyset man at the end of the bar, McGuire followed her over to him.

“Detective Bronowski! How are you? I miss seeing you in court.”

“Heck, Judge, call me Ski. We ain’t in court now.”

“What have you been doing since you retired?” she asked.

“Jerry and I bought this place,” Ski said.

“So you and Jerry are still partners. Good for you.”

Bronowski nodded to Doug, then said, “If McGuire gives you any heat, just let me know. Jerry and I can handle him for you.”

That’s a laugh! If anyone needed help, it was him, Doug thought. She was the one giving off the heat. He got hot every time he looked at her—and it sure wasn’t from anything she said. He took her arm and steered her over to a corner table that offered a modicum of privacy.

“So this is where the long arm of the law comes to unwind,” she said, once they were seated.

“One of them. There’s a couple more in the city— Fuzzy’s and Coach’s on the south side. A couple sports bars on the north side. Mostly the guys like to hang out in the sports bars.”

One of the men playing Sheepshead at a nearby table yelled, “Hey, McGuire, when are you and the judge gonna put on gloves and sell tickets?”

“We’ve been considering it as a fund-raiser toward promoting your early retirement, Novack.”

“I hear they pulled Gilbert out of the river tonight.” Doug nodded, wishing the loudmouth would shut up and concentrate on his card game instead of them. Novack looked at Jessica. “Too bad, Your Honor. That walk you gave Gilbert got him a short swim instead. You the one that whacked him, McGuire?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Novack, you gonna deal or shoot bull all night?” one of the men in the game asked. To Doug’s relief, Novack shut up.

“Don’t think you’ll find too many Gilbert mourners in this crowd,” he said.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you…I’m not sorry he’s dead. As a judge, I abhor violence, but the citizen in me is glad to know there’s one less murderer out there tonight.”

“I tried to get that scumball behind bars where he belonged.” When she glanced around, he asked, “Who are you looking for?”

“Your friend Sherilyn and her Mr. Microphone.”

Doug chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a real piece of work, and the lady sure has got it in for you.”

“I think she’s one of those insecure women who look upon every other woman as her natural enemy.” She made an appealing sound that might have been a giggle. “I suppose it didn’t help when I beat out her boyfriend in the election.”

Doug’s approving gaze lingered on her face as he wondered how she’d look with that auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders. “She’s not even in your class, Judge Jess.”

The waitress approached with pad in hand. “How’re you doin’, Doug?”

“Real good, Kate. How’s Danny?”

She drew a deep sigh. “About the same. He has some good days and some bad ones. He told me he saw you on television today arguing with some dumb female judge who let your collar go.”

Doug threw Jessica a quick glance, but she showed no reaction. “Be sure and give Danny my best.”

Kate nodded. “So what’ll it be tonight?”

“A couple of beers, burgers with the works and some fries.”

“You got it, honey.” Kate came back instantly, put down a pitcher of beer and two glasses, and then took off again.

“Sorry about Kate’s remark,” he said, filling her glass.

“Think nothing of it. I’m getting used to those kind of comments.”

“You can’t blame people for resenting how these criminals get off, can you? But don’t be misled by Kate’s remark. She’s one of the great women of the world. Do you remember reading a few years back about this hopped up junkie who shot his girlfriend, set the house on fire, and before shooting himself put a bullet into the young police officer who came into the burning building to rescue an infant in a crib?”

“Oh, yes. That was so tragic. If I remember, they all died.”

“Not quite. The baby died…the woman died…the perp died, but the police officer wasn’t that lucky. He sustained first-degree burns over his face and hands, and the bullet severed his spinal cord. The doctors say with continued therapy he might be able to sit up in a wheelchair in another year. In the meantime, they’ve been working on plastic surgery to cover up the burns on his face. He was pretty maimed. That young police officer is Danny Harrigan— Kate’s twenty-one-year-old son. Her husband, Jimmy, had been shot and killed five years before that incident, when he stopped a car on a routine traffic violation.”

“That’s terrible! I’m so sorry, Doug.”

“Yeah, we’re all sorry. And poor Kate. Bad enough she lost a husband—and son—but she has to work her butt off to pay for the medical bills that the insurance doesn’t cover. Any woman dumb enough to fall in love with a cop ought to go to a shrink first before marrying one.”

“It sounds to me like you really mean anyone who chooses to become a police officer ought to pay a visit to that shrink. Why did you go into law enforcement, Doug?” she asked.

“I can tell you it wasn’t for truth, justice and the American Way. I like solving puzzles. Every crime leaves some kind of clues. The challenge is to recognize them. They’re like pieces of a picture puzzle. You keep moving them around until they all fit, and the whole picture is laid out before you.”

“I would have thought the FBI would hold more of an appeal to you.”

“They did try to recruit me when I finished college, but I come from a long line of cops, so I opted to join the Milwaukee Police Department. I put in the required five years in uniform—which had seemed like fifty at the time—counting the days until I could take the promotional exam for detective.”

“Is your father on the force?”

“Not here. He’s the police chief of a small town in Northern Illinois. What about you, Your Honor?”

“Jessica or Jess. We’re not in court now.”

“Okay, Jess. How come a beautiful young woman with brains and beauty to boot chose to become a felony judge?”

“I know you won’t believe me, but I became a judge in order to see justice done.”

“Yeah, but whose side are you on?”

“Doug, I don’t take pleasure out of seeing criminals get off scot-free, but until the arresting officers play by the letter of the law, it will continue to happen. Not only in my court, but also in courts all around the country. There are too many defense lawyers out there today who know every loophole in the book. Why blame the judges for upholding the same laws you’ve sworn to protect?”

Fortunately, Kate arrived with their food, thus preventing what might have become another argument.

Jessica looked at the hamburger heaped with onions, pickles, cheese, mushrooms and catsup dripping down the sides. “I should have brought my calculator.”

“Dinner’s on me,” he said.

“You’re darn right it is, McGuire. You pulled me away from a perfectly good meal. I just need a calculator to add up all the fat grams we’re about to eat. Looks like cholesterol heaven.”

Doug took a chomp of the sandwich and wondered why a woman with a body like hers would worry about a few extra calories. He wasn’t supposed to think about the body beneath that proper suit, but sitting across a table from her sharing a meal—instead of a murder case—made him more aware of the woman instead of the judge.

When they finished eating, they paired off in a shuffle-board game against an engaged couple on the force. Then they sat down and finished off the pitcher of beer—and discovered that they both liked old movies, old torch songs, Ella Fitzgerald singing jazz and Sinatra singing anything.

He also discovered she had a sense of humor, was easy to talk to and fun to be with. So what was missing? Why hadn’t some lucky guy nailed her with a marriage license? There’d had to be a better reason other than she couldn’t cook. The puzzle solver in him wondered about the missing piece. “You ever been married, Jess?”

She shook her head. “Dennis Wolcott and I were engaged, but we never got around to setting a date. As it turned out, it was just as well we didn’t—we weren’t in love. At least what I consider being in love. I’d never settle for anything less than what my parents had together. What about you? Have you ever been in love, Doug?”

“A babe in Sheboygan got a gold watch out of me once. The next day she returned it to the jeweler for diamond earrings. I figured we weren’t on the same wavelength, so I lost her phone number.”

“Just because the babe exchanged the gift you gave her.”

“I figure if someone you love gives you a gift, it ought to mean more to you than a damn pair of earrings!” She was tapping into feelings he couldn’t explain. Feelings he didn’t want to deal with—much less talk about.

She must have sensed that, because she grinned at him. “Maybe she just couldn’t tell time.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “But I can, and it’s getting pretty late.”

It was midnight by the time they returned to the parking lot of the Water Street Bistro to get their cars.

Jessica began to pull the pins out of her hair. “You’ll have to excuse me but I have to let my hair down. These pins are beginning to drive me crazy.” She raised her hands like claws. “I have a driving urgency to get my hands into it!”

They had another thing in common.

His stomach flopped over when she shook her hair out and the length dropped past her shoulders. “You ought to wear it like that more often,” he said, spellbound.

“I’m afraid that would make me look more woman than judge.”

“Is that so bad?” He couldn’t take his eyes off her face.

“I’m afraid you’re prejudiced, Detective McGuire.”

Detective McGuire. A few minutes ago, he’d been Doug and she’d been Jess. Come midnight, the ball had ended and Cinderella turned back into a felony judge of the Milwaukee County Circuit Court.

Except for that hair—that gorgeous long hair hanging past her shoulders.

After unlocking her car, she turned back with a smile. “Thank you, Detective Doug. I must admit I had a good time.” She stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yeah, right,” he said, with a twisted smile. There was no way he was going to settle for a peck on the cheek like the old codger. She must have guessed his intent, and she stepped back abruptly, but not in time to avoid his arm that snagged her waist and pulled her against him. He swallowed her gasp as their mouths found a fit. Her lips were soft but tasted delicious—and he began to gorge on them, and on the smell of her…the feel of her in his arms. For the briefest of seconds she stiffened to resist, then she settled into the kiss, and slipped her arms around his neck. Her auburn hair drew his hand like a magnet, and he dug his fingers into the thickness. It felt like sliding between silk sheets.

They both gave as much as they took—jockeying for dominance—challenging, dueling and savoring, until they broke apart breathless. She looked him straight in the eye, her chest heaving, and her eyes twin pools of seduction beckoning him to jump in. His loins were on fire, and he was so hard he couldn’t move. Even his hands itched so badly to touch her that he had to clench them into fists. He wanted a lot more than a kiss, and wondered what she’d say if he suggested going home with her. Then he thought the better of it—she wasn’t the kind that hopped into the sack with a guy after one kiss. And one kiss was all he dared—another one, and he’d be pulling her into the back seat of the car. The sooner he put cold metal between them, the better. So he opened her car door and stepped aside for her to enter.

Her fingers trembled when she inserted the key into the ignition. He hoped the Park Avenue wouldn’t start—a sign that they’d stay together and let nature take its course—but the damn engine turned over and purred.

She smiled up at him and for several seconds his gaze held hers as curiosity darkened her brown eyes.

Say it, McGuire! Even if you choke on it, get it out now before you have any more time to think about it. “Good night, Judge Jess.” He slammed the car door.

As she drove away, he stood and watched until the tail-lights disappeared around the corner. Then he headed back to the precinct.

His lips were hard, urgent, against hers. How could he make her insane for more with just the touch of his mouth? Then he touched her with those big, hard hands, and her body came alive as it had never been alive before. She wanted to touch him, too, but for some reason she couldn’t reach him. She moaned his name and opened her eyes.

“Doug?”

The word echoed in an empty room. Moonlight silvered the Belgian lace curtains that shrouded her windows. Jessica lay alone in her bed, sheets tangled about her legs, hot despite the coolness of the night. She rolled onto her side and looked at the clock—3:30. Gee, a whole hour later than she’d awoken after the last erotic dream of—

“McGuire,” she muttered.

Why on earth had she let the man kiss her? Now she couldn’t stop thinking about their first embrace.

If they hadn’t been in full view of everyone on the street, she’d probably have yanked his clothes off right there. Heck, why not be honest? She hadn’t been thinking about the public eye, or anything else while he kissed her. Her dreams proved that. All she’d wanted then—all she wanted now—was all of Doug McGuire.

Liz’s words of that afternoon came back to her. Was her dissatisfaction with her life a result of too much work and too little sex? Would a torrid affair with the delectable detective make everything better? She would certainly sleep better tonight if she wasn’t sleeping alone.

By the time the sun peeked over Lake Michigan, Jessica had given up trying to sleep. She took her coffee onto her terrace and had a stern little talk with herself.

You’re an adult. He’s an adult—or so he professes—though you wouldn’t know it from his behavior. Her words sounded peevish, even to herself, but she was so tired. Her skin felt twitchy, as if it didn’t belong on her body. A scalding hot shower had done nothing to relieve the feeling. Too much coffee, too early in the morning was making her head buzz.

I want him, and from that kiss last night I’d say he wants me. What could be simpler? That sounded better. Definitely more mature. If she could manage to sound like that when talking with McGuire there would be no problem. Of course talking wasn’t the problem—wanting to put her hands all over him was the problem.

Jessica dumped the last of her coffee into the sink and glanced at her watch. Just enough time to stop at the police station on her way to the courthouse and have a heart-to-heart with Detective McGuire.

Though her reception at the front desk was far from welcoming, Jessica had little trouble being directed to her quarry. She walked through the station, head held high despite the stares and whispers. She had not gone into the law to be popular—she’d gone into it to make a difference. Although on some days—like yesterday—she thought she was losing the battle, but most days she figured she’d win her part of the war.

The desk sergeant had directed her to the lower level, third door on the right. Taking a deep breath in the hallway, she steeled herself against her usual libidinous reaction to McGuire. She was here to… Jessica dropped her hand from the door. To what? Offer herself on a platter? She gritted her teeth. With McGuire it wouldn’t do to seem so eager. He was a competitive man. She was a competitive woman. He wanted her, but she didn’t think he liked her very much. So then, why had he kissed her that way? There had been more than desire in that kiss—and she wanted to know why.

Jessica shoved open Door Number Three and nearly swallowed her tongue at the unexpected sight that greeted her.

McGuire, wearing baggy gray sweatpants and nothing else. She’d have thought he had a good butt, she hadn’t gotten a look at his chest. She stood in the doorway and watched the man work.

He was doing bicep curls if she remembered correctly from the single time she’d allowed herself to be tortured in a weight room. The muscles in his upper arms flexed and released, rippling beneath bronzed, smooth skin. Her gaze traveled over the light dusting of hair covering equally defined pectoral muscles and a flat, ridged stomach. The sweatpants rode low on his hips, a drawstring hanging down the front, enticing her gaze to the easily distinguishable bulge despite the looseness of his clothing.

“See anything you like, Your Honor?”

She swallowed and met his eyes. Amusement filled his gaze and she flushed, mortified to be caught ogling him as if she wanted to slip a dollar bill beneath his waistband.

Realizing she stood in an open doorway, Jessica shut the door and leaned back for support. McGuire turned around to replace the free weights in their stand, giving her an excellent view of the backside she liked so much, with the added bonus of naked and rippling shoulder muscles. Her skin began to hum again, and her palms itched to touch that back.

She wished for a moment she hadn’t worn her suit jacket. They kept this place far too hot for a workout room. Sweat prickled her brow.

McGuire turned and began to walk toward her with the loose-limbed, confident grace that was so much a part of him. Suddenly the door at her back no longer supported but confined her. He stopped—too close—invading her space as he always did.

She could smell him, and amazingly the scent excited her: heat, and salt—and man. Mesmerized, she watched a drop of sweat slide down his neck, and she imagined how it would feel to catch the droplet on her tongue, put her lips to that chest and learn the ridges and valleys of his body with her mouth.

“Judge?”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re going to keep looking at me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens.”

She straightened, the ridges of her spine grinding against the door. “Like what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t, huh? Fine, we can play it your way.” For some unknown reason he seemed annoyed with her already. He stalked away, grabbing a water bottle from a nearby bench and taking a long drink.

Jessica lost her train of thought as she watched his throat contract and release. Water ran out of his mouth and down his neck, streaking across glistening muscles. Her head began to buzz, and she put her fingers to her eyes, rubbing against the dry, gritty sensation caused by too little sleep and too much McGuire in the night.

“What brings you to my side of the tracks?”

“Uh, I…ah…” Jessica dropped her hand and pushed away from the door. She could not look at him and think straight. Instead she fiddled with her purse, moving items around as if she were in desperate need of finding some hidden treasure within.

“You must have a good reason for coming to a grimy police station weight room. I can’t recall seeing you on this side of the street before.”

She glanced at him, then quickly away. He was right. She rarely came to a station. Her job was at the courthouse. Though they were on the same side of the law, technically, their jobs and their outlooks couldn’t be further from one another. Had she made a mistake in coming here?

“Listen, Judge, I had a lousy night thanks to you. A cold shower didn’t do me a damn bit of good, but an hour in here was getting my head straight—until you showed up. I’m not in the mood for an argument, so if that’s why you’re here, you can just use those great legs of yours to take that sensational little tail of yours out of here.”

Jessica was too interested in the fact that he’d been up all night and needed to take a cold shower because of her to get insulted over his chauvinistic assessment of her body. She abandoned her purse to look his way, startled to find him too close once again.

Their eyes met, held. Her lips parted and she whispered, “Why did you kiss me last night, Doug?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth and he inched closer. Excitement flooded her as he aligned his body to hers; his thin sweatpants did little to contain his arousal. Her body responded to the evidence of his interest, pressing into him even as he pressed against her. He reached past and flicked the lock on the door, his knuckles brushing her hip as he withdrew. A shudder rumbled over her. Raising his arms, he placed a hand on either side of her head, and leaned closer, looming over her, but his size did not threaten, it soothed her. No one would ever hurt her if he were around.

“Kissing you seemed like a good idea at the time,” he growled. “And you know what?” She shook her head, unable to trust her voice anymore. “It seems like a better idea now.”

His mouth took hers. He tasted of the sea—salt and fury. Was he angry at himself, at her or at what they felt despite the futility? Suddenly the why didn’t matter, she had to kiss him back—to touch his skin or go mad.

Opening her mouth, she met his intensity with all the pent-up desire and need of a lifetime. She splayed her hands on his chest, fingers tangling in the hair, palms smoothing the taut muscles.

He moaned into her mouth, nipped her lip, then his hands were in her hair, yanking the pins free with a desperation that matched her own. The bun she’d so carefully constructed sprang free, and her hair spilled over his hands, over her shoulders. Grasping great handfuls, he tilted her head and plundered her mouth more deeply. This man would never do anything halfway. When he kissed he did so with all of himself.

Her hands flitted over his belly, and the muscles fluttered like butterfly wings against her fingertips. When she ran a finger inside the waistband of his sweatpants, he took a deep, rasping breath, and before she could delve inside he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm to his arousal.

A pounding on the door at her back vibrated through Jessica, causing her to freeze as if ice water had been dumped over them both. McGuire tore his mouth from hers. “Get lost,” he shouted, his voice harsh and loud in the silent room. “I’m busy.”

Whoever it was moved away, grumbling. Doug lowered his forehead to hers. “You make me lose my mind, Jess.”

He let go of her hand, which still cupped him in her palm, and she jerked her fingers away, the loss of his heat and hardness making her ache despite the knowledge she should not be touching him that way.

What had come over her? She had thought their conduct had been irresponsible last night. How was this for crazy?

He raised his head and looked down at her. She didn’t remember touching his hair, but the usually well-combed strands were rumpled, and a wayward lock drifted across his forehead. His mouth was wet from hers, the day’s growth of beard and dark circles beneath his eyes giving him a haunted look she knew too well. The same look had stared back at her from the mirror that morning.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

He frowned but did as she asked. Her hair swirled about her face as she bent to pick up the pins on the floor. He knelt to help and their hands brushed. They both pulled back as if scalded, and Jessica held her breath until he moved away, trying to ignore the intense flare of need his mere touch sent up her arm.

She stood and turned away, then began to repin her hair. Her trembling hands caused the task to take longer than usual. What if someone had come in and seen them? What if someone saw her now? Hair unbound, makeup kissed off her mouth, her jacket askew and her blouse completely untucked.

“So, what are we going to do about this?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and turned. “This?”

His lips tightened and his blue eyes went icy. “You know what I mean, Jess. You annoy the hell out of me.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I know. Still I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you. What are we going to do about that?”

Well, there she had it, an answer to the question that had haunted her all night. He wanted her. She wanted him. What could be simpler?

But she could see that any kind of relationship with McGuire wouldn’t be simple. How could a man like him be anything but complicated? Once she took this step there would be no going back. This man could not be as easily dismissed as Dennis Wolcott. He could never be forgotten. And she had a feeling that someone was going to get hurt. That someone would probably be her.

“Jess?” he pressed.

Fear made her stiffen her spine, pick up the things she’d dropped and walk to the door. She’d been naive enough to believe they could have a casual affair, but now she knew better. She could never keep it casual—and McGuire would want nothing more. “We’re not going to do anything, McGuire. Not ever again.”

She left him behind and went to work.

The descent of the sun finally signaled the end of a very bad day. Jessica watched the sun go to sleep in the west then turned to stare at her living room. The sight only made her feel lonelier than she’d ever felt in her life.

As she had no court appearance scheduled that day, she’d finally relented to Liz’s insistence and gone home early. A nap had taken care of her headache, but the dreams set her more on edge. She could push McGuire out of her mind while she was awake, but when she was asleep he returned to torment her.

So she decided a special “just for Jessica” night was in order. A split of champagne and a romance novel read in a tub full of bubbles. The electric lights were doused, giving way to the swaying flames of every candle in her apartment. After donning her favorite white silk lounging gown and negligee, she feasted on her last box of Godiva chocolates to the soothing sounds of a New Age CD recording of falling water and gentle winds.

She still felt lousy.

She jumped at a sudden pounding on the door. Since her building was secure, unauthorized people could not enter unless cleared and admitted by the doorman. Perhaps her father had gotten her message and come over instead of calling as she’d asked. Jessica hurried over and opened the door.

The sight of Doug McGuire lifted her depression. Why fight fate? With a resigned smile, she threw caution to the wind.

“What kept you?” she asked.

Chapter 4

His gaze wandered over her silk-clad body. Approval—and something else—lit his eyes. Jessica went hot all over.

He stepped inside, crowding her. The slam of the door as he kicked it shut behind them barely registered, because her mind went from thought to sensation when his hand snaked around her waist, yanked her against him, and his lips took hers.

The scrape of his teeth along her lip matched the scrape of his belt along her belly, his clothes coarse against skin softened and scented from the bath, sensitive from his recent touch. His hands were hard—rough at her waist—and the calluses on his palms snagged the silk, pulling so the material slid against her hips. She shivered, despite the heat in the room.

Their tongues teased, met, mated. She yanked on his jacket, wanting to touch skin and not clothes. Why did he have on a jacket in the middle of summer anyway?

As she slid her hands down his arms, her wrist scraped his service revolver. He swallowed her gasp with another openmouthed kiss, and she forgot the gun as her body exploded with sensation. Pulling her clinging fingers from his arms, he placed them at her sides with a little shake that cautioned “don’t touch.” Her fingertips slid on silk—his mouth along the satin of her lips.

They no longer touched anywhere but lip to lip, tongue to tongue, and that only made her wild for more.

Then he pulled away. Moaning, she leaned toward him. “Hush, baby,” he muttered, his voice harsh and heavy against the flute and water medley that filled the room. “Hold on.”

She opened heavy eyes to find him reaching up to place the gun and badge on top of her bookcase. He hadn’t removed his hands to make her crazy, but only to take off his holster.

A man with a very big gun shouldn’t excite a thoroughly modern woman like herself. But she was. When he turned to her again, she pressed him back against the door and kissed him as her fingers made short work of tie and shirt—his the flowing negligee.

Candlelight flickered across his chest turning the dark whirls of hair to gold. A sigh shuddered through them both when she began to trace the defined muscles of his chest, her fingers splaying across his skin and tangling in the hair, familiarizing herself with his body in a way she’d only dreamed of before.

He pulled his mouth from hers and buried his face in her loose hair. Drawing a deep breath, he rubbed his cheek along the length. “You smell like flowers,” he whispered.

“Uh-huh,” she agreed. Her lips walked a path over his shadowed jaw and neck, then traced his collarbone with her tongue. “You taste like a man.”

He shuddered. “That’s it.” He picked her up suddenly and so high that she had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck. He went still and closed his eyes, sucking in a breath between his teeth when her thighs slid along his belly and her legs hugged his waist. The muscles of his stomach hardened against the delicate, rarely touched flesh of her inner thighs.

Her gaze was drawn to his face. Eyes closed, jaw clenched, he looked softer somehow than she’d ever seen him. Must be the candlelight, she thought. Without meaning to she loosed one hand from behind his neck and cupped the sharp plane of his cheek.

She expected him to jerk away, or at least open those smoldering eyes. Instead he sighed, his face relaxed, and he rubbed his cheek against her palm, as he’d rubbed his face in her hair. Her heart did a funny little jig and she swallowed, hard.

Opening his eyes, he pulled her tighter against his hardened, muscled torso and moved forward. Under an exquisite shiver of anticipation she threw her head back, and his lips closed over the peak of one breast, taking silk and nipple within his fevered mouth. Shifting restlessly against him, she gasped when the hair on his stomach rasped across her throbbing center.

Then she was falling and although the sensation should have been frightening, instead it was the most exciting thing she’d ever experienced. He might be stronger than her, and bigger than her, and more dangerous than he looked, but he would never hurt her—and no one else would, either, while he was around.

Her back hit the couch, and he towered over her, staring down with dark and secretive eyes. Her breasts throbbed as his gaze wandered over them, then continued along her body. What must she look like with her hair tumbled all about her shoulders, laying there in the candlelight with her nightgown bunched at the small of her back, the skirt rucked to her waist, and the bodice wet and clinging against the nipple that his mouth had taken. She did the only thing her instincts allowed—she reached out for him.

His eyes met hers and slowly his fingers went to his belt. For a moment she considered helping him, hurrying him. But the way his gaze seared into hers, she knew he wanted her to watch. So she lowered her seeking hands and bunched them into fists to make them behave.

The belt gaped open, followed by the button at the top of his trousers. Mesmerized, she watched the shadows that danced upon the two fingers that grasped the zipper. Strained by the bulge beneath, the teeth resisted the movement, and slowed the zipper’s descent as he pulled it down until his erection was freed.

Her fingers clenched again wanting to reach inside those pants and press an itching palm to the heat and fullness. He would be smooth and hard and perfect. Fingernails dug into her palms.

Looping his thumbs in the waistband he drew his pants down, leaving his boxers in place.

Annoyance rumbled deep in her throat and his lips turned up. Kicking off his shoes and pants, he straightened and she started to rise, determined to rid him of those damned blue shorts, which kept her from seeing what she wanted to see—and touching what she wanted to touch.

“Uh-uh,” he warned. “Lay back, Jess.”

And because she knew that the longer she waited, the better this would be, she did, even though her body screamed to touch him, taste him, take him now.

He knelt at her side and his hand skimmed her thigh. A finger traced the surface, teasing, promising, then his thumb rubbed her center, and she arched into the sensation. The movement made her breasts strain against the revealing bodice of her nightgown, and all he needed to do was hook a free finger between them and tug. They sprang free, the slide of the silk along the sensitive peaks making her body hum onto a higher plane so that when his mouth touched them, flesh to flesh, for the first time she nearly climaxed right then.

She was on the edge—had been since that kiss in the weight room yesterday—and his control was beginning to annoy her. Reaching between them, she cupped him in her palm, sliding her finger up his length as he’d slid his thumb along hers. When he cursed and jerked away, she smiled. Not so in control after all.

He caught her smile and raised a brow, then with deliberate movements, put his hand on her nightgown where it pooled beneath her breasts. His fingers curled against her stomach and the shriek of rending cloth split the air as he tore it down the front.

“One hundred twenty dollars and ninety-nine cents,” she muttered.

“And worth every penny.” The flames of the candles seemed dim when compared to the heat that lit his eyes as his gaze wandered over her body.

She had never lain naked and allowed a man to just look at her. She’d never realized how arousing a mere look could be. When he gently shoved the remnants of the torn gown off her shoulders the contrast of his violence, followed by such incredible gentleness, the hardness of those hands and the softness of that mouth made her mind go fuzzy again.

“Touch me,” he said against her lips.

At last she removed the staid blue cotton and ran her fingers, then her mouth, all over him. Time lost meaning and, needing more room to explore each other, somehow along the way they left the couch and tumbled across the carpet. They each came nearly to the peak, and then came down, only to come nearer and nearer each time as they touched and kissed, murmured and gasped, tasted and suckled.

For a moment he left her, searching for his trousers, fumbling around a bit with an urgency that endeared him, even though the clinical rasp of the foil packet made her wince. But when he returned, slipping inside her, making her feel and not think, she only wanted to complete what they had begun in the way they had begun it—fast, hard, now.

Heat and lust and incomprehensible need overtook her and she convulsed with a suddenness that shocked her. Feeling him pulse deep inside made her own release lengthen and when the storm was over, a strange tenderness overtook her that she did not understand. The hand she smoothed over the nape of his neck shook, and she bit her lip, hoping he would not notice.

She tensed when he stirred, half-afraid he would make some sarcastic comment and ruin what for her had been a wonderful, terrifying experience.

He raised his head and stared at her for a long moment. The candles flickered in his eyes, making her wonder if she saw confusion there, too, or nothing but the dancing flames. Then he bent foreward and kissed her temple in a tender gesture that did not seem like McGuire at all.

“Hi,” he said. She smiled. “You want to adjourn to the bedroom?”

Silly and schoolgirlish as it was, she blushed. She was lying naked on the floor of her apartment, having just had mad passionate sex all over the room with the man who she could still feel against her; yet she blushed when he asked if she’d like to go another round on the bed.

“Uh…sure,” she said, then gritted her teeth at her lack of social grace. Was there an etiquette to this? She hadn’t a clue. Her experiences in the land of slap and tickle did not include how to get from the floor to the bed with grace and class. Probably because once you’d done it on the floor you’d pretty much killed any hope of being classy again.

McGuire didn’t seem embarrassed though. He probably did this all the time. That thought made Jessica narrow her eyes at his back as he stood. Then he turned and reached for her, lifting her to her feet with ease, and pulling her against him for a long, mind-numbing kiss. After that, when he led her down the hall, she went, and she didn’t think anymore.

At least not until she drifted toward sleep in his arms, the scent of him—of them—all around her and wondered just what in the name of common sense she had done.

The sound of a cell phone going off in the distance dragged her from a deep and satisfying sleep. Blinking she looked around the bedroom. The grayish cast revealed they’d slept the rest of the night, which hadn’t been much after they’d played a repeat performance—make that a double feature—on Jessica’s bed.

Doug got up cursing and walked down the hall toward the living room. She heard him thrashing around, bumping into furniture and continuing to curse, presumably trying to find his pants—and his phone. Then the ringing stopped and a few seconds later she heard the low, somehow comforting murmur of him talking on the phone.

She drifted in a pleasant half awake, half asleep state until he touched her shoulder. Jessica opened her eyes to find him fully dressed, gun and all, staring down at her with a bemused smile as the light of the rising sun tinted the window behind him an orange, yellow and pink.

“Hi.” Jessica shoved her hair out of her face, grimacing as she felt the tangles a night rolling around had caused.

Doug sat down on the bed and she rolled against him, the bump of their hips making her body kick into lust overdrive. She put her hand on his thigh to steady herself, and his leg clenched.

“I have to go.”

She frowned at the distance in his voice and his eyes. “I understand.”

“Call you later?”

Jessica nodded. Every woman’s nightmare—I’ll call. Yeah right!

“Sure,” she answered and took her hand from his leg. He kissed her, but she could tell his mind was already somewhere else. The next time she saw Doug McGuire, it would be in a courtroom.

A night spent on the couch, and the floor, and the bed—and hadn’t there been a wall in there somewhere—made Jessica fall back asleep, even when she should have gotten up as soon as the door closed behind Doug McGuire.

Instead, the phone shrilling in her ear brought her awake with a gasp to bright sunlight across the bed. Her pounding heart leaped at the sight of her clock reading 8:15 a.m.

Using some of the colorful curses she’d heard McGuire use that morning, she found the phone amidst a tower of law books on her nightstand.

“So how was your night with the real man?” Her father’s voice boomed in her ear.

“What?”

For a moment she thought her father knew everything, and even though he was her best friend, and she was an adult, well, everything that had happened here last night was for no one’s ears but her own. Not even Liz’s this time.

“What happened with that cop who dragged you away the other night?”

“Nothing, Dad,” she lied as her gaze took in the state of her room. She was certain her living room looked even worse than her bedroom. Thank God her father hadn’t come over, as she had wished last night.

“Nothing! I’m disappointed. A man like that…a woman like you? In my day—”

“Dad! I’m sorry but I’m late. Where have you been anyway? All I get is your machine these days.”

“Just busy, sweet cheeks. You know how it is.”

The teasing lilt to his voice disappeared, and Jessica frowned. Was he working too hard? Should she push him about selling Water Street Bistro and moving on to something new? It wasn’t like him to keep a place so long, to be late for dinner, or to—

“That’s why I called this morning. I can’t go with you to the Bar Association Ball.”

—not take your loving daughter to important dates like the Bar Association Ball, Jessica thought, but said, instead, “What? Dad, you can’t back out on me now. The blasted thing is tonight.”

“I know. And I’m really, really sorry, honey, but this is unavoidable.”

“What is?”

Jessica frowned when her question was followed by a long silence. Finally, she asked, “Dad?”

“Why don’t you ask Detective McGuire?”

“To the ball? Oh, that would really work. I can see McGuire at a formal event for lawyers. He hates lawyers.”

“I don’t think so. I read a lot into his body language the other night.”

“I think you need glasses.”

“What’s the harm in asking him? It would be worth it just to see Wolcott’s face when you show up with a real man.”

“Dad!”

Her father started laughing, sounding more like himself at least, and Jessica smiled. “See you Thursday,” he said and hung up.

As she lowered the phone to her lap, she realized he had never explained what was so unavoidable.

Doug hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Another dead end. Ninety percent of murder investigations were spent on the telephone following up worthless leads.

Earlier that morning, he and Vic had checked Gilbert’s old rooming house and the landlord had told them Gilbert hadn’t even shown up to claim his belongings. They got the same story at his favorite bar. Nothing. No one. So they’d returned to the station to start making calls. He glanced over at Vic, who’d been working the phone, too, in time to see him slam it down and shake his head.

“No luck,” he said.

“So what else is new?” Doug grumbled.

In most cases, the murdered victims are killed by someone they know—a family member or a friend. It appeared that LeRoy Gilbert had neither.

As if Vic had read his mind, he said, “Guess when Gilbert killed his girlfriend he knocked off the only friend he had. You have any luck?”

“Nothing. Nobody claimed they saw him.”

“I’m having the same luck finding anyone connected to Cindy Fires. The girls she worked with all claim she never spoke of any family—but they’re threatening to start a defense fund for whoever did whack Gilbert. What about the autopsy report?”

“Couple days, but the M.E. said there’s no sign of a head contusion or any skin abrasions. And no neck bruises to indicate he was strangled.”

“Well, it’s for sure Gilbert didn’t tie that plastic bag around his head himself.”

“Maybe he wanted to keep his hair dry when he went swimming.”

“This job’s making you jaded, partner,” Vic said.

Yawning, Doug shoved back his chair. After the last few hours spent on the phone, he had begun to feel the effects of last night’s missed sleep. He walked over and refilled his cup. He sipped the hot brew as he stared out the window and thought about Jess.

Lord, what a night! In the twenty years he’d been having sex, he’d never gotten into it like he had with her. The two of them couldn’t get enough of each other.

Jess. His body responded to just the thought of her name. He’d never known a woman like her. She gave as much as she took. The thought of her flooded every one of his senses: the image of that long hair of hers fanned against the pillow as she reached for him, her eyes full with passion. He could still taste her, hear her throaty groans of pleasure and feel the satin and heat of her. And he could smell that hundred-dollar perfume she wore.

Sweat tickled his palms. He wanted more of her. God, he was screwing himself up royally. He had no business messing with a woman like her—she was no one-nighter. What had he gotten himself into?

Spinning on his heel, he tossed the paper cup into the waste can. “Let’s get out of here, Vic.”

“You forget we’re due in Judge Kirkland’s court in a couple of hours?”

Doug stifled a groan. He had forgotten. Just what he needed—to face her in court after last night. The way things were going, he’d get hard on the witness stand. He had to stop thinking about her.

“We’ve got time to go back to that dive where Gilbert hung out. Someone had to have seen him the day he died.”

“Yeah,” Vic said, slipping on his jacket. “The killer.”

Jessica saw Doug the moment he and Peterson entered the courtroom and sat down. She had to concentrate hard to keep her mind on what the assistant D.A. was saying, and fight the temptation to glance Doug’s way. He was watching her; she could feel the intensity of his blue-eyed stare. She had always felt it, from the first time he’d ever entered her court, and after last night, she wondered what was going through his mind.

“Objection, Your Honor!”

The sudden outburst jolted her back to the business at hand. She had lost her concentration. Flushed with embarrassment, she said, “Excuse me. Mr. Haley, will you read back the question?”

The young court reporter, Stanley Haley, looked up surprised, as did the testifying witness, and both the prosecuting and defense attorneys. Jessica never asked for a read-back.

“Mr. Haley?” she reiterated.

“Objection sustained,” she declared, after Stanley had read back the transcript. “You’re leading the witness, Counselor.”

The attorney continued, and Jessica leaned back with a silent sigh of relief that she hadn’t made a bigger mistake. She was reacting like an awestruck Doug McGuire groupie! She dared not even glance his way now. If she saw that knowing grin of his, she’d crawl beneath her bench and die.

Finally, the witness was excused and the prosecuting attorney called the first of the arresting officers—Detective Douglas McGuire—to the stand. Now free to assess him boldly, her steady gaze never wavered from his tall figure as he took the oath and sat down. He looked as good to her now as he had last night…and the day before…and the week before that.

As usual, his testimony was methodical and concise. He always came to court with every fact clear in his mind. That was one of the first things she’d noticed about him—that and those sensuous blue eyes…the broad shoulders…the tight buns. Damn! Her mind was wandering down dangerous channels again!

The evidence of the case was clear: the weapon had been found in the suspect’s house with his prints on it. The suspect had been found with powder residue on his hand and the victim’s blood on his shoes. And then there was the little matter of an eyewitness.

This time McGuire and Peterson had played by the rules and followed the proper procedure to the letter of the law. This murderer was not going to evade sentencing through a technicality. Justice would be served.

As McGuire was excused, he stepped down and paused in front of the bench. “You figure out yet how to let this perp go, Judge?” he said in a soft murmur.

The pound of her gavel reverberated throughout the courtroom. All heads turned in her direction as she bolted to her feet. “There’ll be a fifteen minute recess. My chambers, Detective McGuire,” she ordered curtly and stormed out of the room.

She was too angry to sit down. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared out the window until the door opened behind her and clicked shut. She turned and faced him. He was lounging against the door.

“I have no control over what you say outside the courtroom, Detective McGuire, but the next time you make a remark like that in my court, I’ll hold you in contempt and fine you accordingly. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor. It was intended for your ears only.”

“That’s no excuse. I won’t tolerate it—no matter what’s between us.”

“Well, are you?”

“Am I what?” she snapped.

“Going to figure out a way to let this bastard—who shot his wife in cold blood—walk?”

“Not unless the defense comes up with some illegal police misconduct by the investigating officers.”

He raised his hand in the three-fingered Boy Scout salute. “On my honor, I promise to do—”

“Don’t tell me you were a Boy Scout, McGuire?”

“God and country, ma’am.”

Anger forgotten, Jessica laughed. The man was irresistible when he wanted to be. Maybe she should reconsider her father’s advice. “Doug, do you own a tux?”

What was she thinking? She regretted the impetuous words the instant she said them. It was insanity to encourage any further relationship with him. Darn you, Dad! Why did you put such a crazy notion into my head?

He blinked at her sudden change of subject, then frowned. “God forbid! Why?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Why’d you ask, Jess?”

She might have known that she couldn’t pass an ambiguous reply past Bulldog McGuire. He was too good a detective for that.

“It was stupid of me to ask. You wouldn’t enjoy yourself anyway.”

This time he didn’t blink. “Doing what?”

“I need an escort tonight for the Bar Association Ball at the Pfister.”

“What about the old guy?”

For a second she had to think to whom he was referring. “Oh, you mean my…ah, he’s busy.”

“I see. Well, since I filled in for him last night, I guess I could do it again.”

“What do you mean by that crack? McGuire? You’re the most irritating man I’ve ever met.”

He grinned. “What time should I pick you up?”

“Cocktails are at seven.” Lest he read too much into the invitation, she quickly added, “But I’ll meet you there.”

He put his hand on the doorknob. “Okay. See you there, then.”

“Don’t forget. Black tie.”

“Right. Ah, Judge, if I have to wear black tie, let’s keep it between us.”

“You mean literally, Detective?”

Arching a brow at the sexual innuendo, he flashed a grin that almost knocked the legs out from under her. Then winking, he departed.

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