THE DEFENDER (2 page)

Chapter Two

Three hours later, after helping secure the crime scene, Russ rode the elevator to the tenth floor of the swanky downtown building where Hennings & Solomon was housed. Penny had already been questioned by investigators at the scene, but for some reason—who was he kidding? he knew the reason—he needed to put eyes on her. The woman’s aggressive defense-lawyer attitude and sharp tongue drove him insane, but deep down, when confronted with his baser needs, he had an itch for her.

So, yeah, apparently he was a sick, demented freak, because Penny Hennings was a viper. Five months ago, she’d murdered him on a cross-examination that left him exhausted, frustrated and with a battered ego. Thus, the Killer Cupcake moniker. Without a doubt, she was a looker. Blond hair, blue eyes and a face so perfect he wanted to run his fingers over it just to say he’d done it.
Easy, boy.
At first look, her petite size fooled people, but that mouth made up for anything she lacked in stature. Russ watched the numbers on the elevator blink off and he laughed.

Sick, demented man.

The elevator door slid open and he was greeted by a thickly carpeted waiting area, where the typical hot, young receptionist cooed into her headset, “Hennings and Solomon, how may I help you?”

You can get off the phone and point me to Penny.
Russ waited. It was well after five, but the receptionist remained at her post fielding calls, probably press people wanting a statement about the shooting. Everyone wanted a statement.

Already tired of waiting, he badged the receptionist, who put her calls on hold to direct him to Penny. Nothing like an FBI badge to get someone’s attention.

Having never been at this office, Russ counted down the doors and glanced at nameplates as he strode by. Most of the doors were closed, but a few remained open. The occupants glanced up at him, noting his rumpled navy suit and the unbuttoned shirt collar. After the day he’d had, the FBI would have to deal with his loose tie.

Two open doors stood at the end of the long corridor. Penny’s, the receptionist had told him, would be the second one from the end, and as he drew closer, the long hallway suddenly echoed with the sound of her voice.

“No,” she said. “I’ll bring him in. I’m not letting you guys parade my client in front of a bunch of news cameras. He’s a businessman, for crying out loud. Get over it.”

Even after getting shot at, she continued to do her job. Viper status aside, he admired that.
Sick, demented man.
He wasn’t the only one, because the poor schmuck on the other end of Penny’s phone call obviously didn’t realize he wouldn’t win.

Russ paused outside the half-open door. Not to listen, but to get his head together and organize his thoughts and emotions. To shake off the exhaustion sitting on him like solid cement. What a damned day.

Penny had almost gotten blown away. If one of those rounds had connected, that pretty head of hers would have disintegrated.
Poof!

Gone.

Incinerating heat zinged up the back of his neck. He couldn’t be emotional about her. Not when it might give her, the lawyer defending a woman who could be a key witness in his multimillion-dollar fraud case, the upper hand.

“Fine,” Penny said. “Get back to me. I can have him down there tomorrow. No perp walk. He’ll just quietly turn himself in.”

A smack—the phone hitting the base—came from inside the office.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

He knocked lightly and pushed open the door. “Hey, I saved your life today. Don’t call me an idiot.”

Shockingly enough, those perfect bow lips eased into a smile. “Not you.
Idiot.
”

Russ grinned and stepped inside the office. She sat back, rested her head against the cushion. Her perfume, something light and fresh, not flowery or overpowering, hung in the air and he tried to place it.
No idea.
He liked it, though. Reminded him how much he loved a woman’s scent.

Her red suit jacket—that blazing target that almost got her killed—hung on the back of the chair and she’d pushed up the sleeves of her white blouse. A few strands of long blond hair had busted free of her hair clip and hung down the sides of her drawn face. The look suited her, gave her an edgy, just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance, and Russ decided thinking about Penny and a bed at the same time could get a man in trouble.

He dropped into the fancy leather guest chair in front of her desk. “You okay? Relatively speaking.”

“I’m not in the morgue, so I guess I’m okay.”

“Scary as hell.”

She rolled her lips together and breathed deep. “I froze. How ridiculous.”

After what she’d been through, she questioned her reaction? Killer Cupcake didn’t just shred witnesses—she shredded herself. “You were terrified. I’ve seen seasoned agents react like that. Don’t think too hard on it.”

“How’s the reporter?”

“Still in surgery.”

“That poor woman. And the shooter? Did they find him yet?”

Russ shook his head. “No. The crime-scene guys are on it. We’ll find him.”

“You think so?”

“I’d be a crummy FBI agent if I didn’t.”

She shrugged.

“How’s your dad?”

“Rattled, but fine. My brother came by and we double-teamed him. Forced him out the door.”

She stared straight ahead, blinked a couple of times—
uh-oh
—and slapped one hand across her eyes. Damn, he didn’t want to see Killer Cupcake cry. He resented the hell out of it that some psycho reduced this fiery woman to tears. “Penny—”

She held her other hand up and Russ stopped talking. Finally, she slid her hand away and focused on him with an intensity that had him shifting in his seat. He’d seen that look five months ago from the witness stand.

“I’m sorry, Russell. I almost got you killed today.”

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

“But—”

“Penny. Stop.”

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

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

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

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

“Congratulations. I was the victim.”

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

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

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

“Too bad. I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

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

“If you’re up for it.”

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

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

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

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

“She’ll give me everything?”

Penny nodded. “All she knows.”

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

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

“Not one bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, please!”

So damned hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Now, from his side of this deal, special agent Russell Voight could create all sorts of chaos for Penny’s client.

“I have a client to protect. As you know,
Russell,
Colin Heath is dangerous and Elizabeth has a son to raise.”

He gave her the hard stare. He probably didn’t like being called Russell. Too bad, because calling men by their given names with just a hint of sarcasm had been a trick Penny used to maximum effect. She called it the Mommy Game and she hadn’t met a man yet who could withstand it.

“Which is exactly why I won’t let you screw around. We’re either making a deal, Penny, or we’re not. No games. Are you in or out?”

Huh. Maybe the Mommy Game wasn’t so surefire with this particular man.

“Of course I’m in. You need to give me assurances, though. I won’t have the feds leaving my client—or her son—to face a murderer.”