His Touch. Mary Baxter Lynn
nice to see you again.”
“I hope you’ll still feel that way after I leave,” he countered with his usual bluntness.
She ignored that and asked him to sit down.
Lance Saxon was of average height, with a balding head and jowls that shook when he made any kind of sudden movement. The circumference of his middle was also noticeable, indicating that he lived the good life to the max.
He took a seat, but by the time she sat behind her desk, he was standing again, seeming to tower over her, his nostrils flaring.
Keeping her emotions in check, Jessica smiled, then asked, “So what’s on your mind?”
“Oh, I think you know. But for starters, I insist you reinstate the police chief.”
Thirty minutes later Lance Saxon strode out of her office, but not before stopping, turning and firing off one more verbal round. “Rest assured, you won’t get away with your actions, Mrs. Kincaid.”
Though her legs were less than steady, Jessica had forced herself to follow him to the door with another smile plastered on her face. Now that he was actually leaving her office, her hand circled the knob so hard she experienced a wince of pain.
That was when she saw him.
Standing in her outer office, staring at her. A moment of panic seized her and held her motionless. Had her nemesis managed to get… No. The pervert harassing her wouldn’t look like this man.
Was that her bodyguard?
Most likely, she assured herself, feeling her stomach unknot. As far as she knew, she didn’t have any more appointments until after lunch. Where was Tony? Not at his desk, unfortunately.
“You’re obviously Jessica Kincaid.”
His low, rather rough-sounding voice had a strange effect on her nerves. She stiffened. “And who might you be?”
“Brant Harding, your bodyguard.” His lips twitched, as if he would have loved to smile, only his lips wouldn’t cooperate.
Jessica swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the likes of this man. For some crazy reason, she felt an instant visceral response. The first thought that came to mind was the word dangerous; with his dark, brooding looks, he reminded her of a stalking panther.
No man had ever struck her with such animal force, leaving her more than a little disconcerted.
Wetting her lips, she said inanely, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“That’s obvious.”
She flushed, something she didn’t do often. “Won’t you come in?”
He strode into the room. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her, fighting off the insane feeling that she was sealing her doom.
Four
Jessica sensed Brant Harding was as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. It didn’t take any brain-power to figure that out. So why had he come? And why didn’t she just send him on his way? Good questions, but with no good answers.
“Shall we get down to business?”
Although his tone was not exactly brusque, it touched on it. “I have no problem with that,” she said, feeling her temper rise, which was totally out of character for her. It took a lot to rile her, but there was something about this man that set her on edge. As the seconds ticked on, that edge seemed to sharpen.
Why hadn’t she asked Veronica more about him when she’d had the chance? She kicked herself mentally for that oversight. At the time, however, she had assumed he was an older man, the Saxon type, perhaps, with a bald spot on the top of his head. Well, he certainly wasn’t old—early to mid-forties, she gauged. Nor did he have a bald spot.
Shifting her thoughts abruptly, Jessica turned and made her way into her office proper.
Brant didn’t sit down, but then, she didn’t invite him to, either. Briefly their eyes met before both looked away.
However, Jessica didn’t have to stare at him to know what he looked like. The image of his tall, well-honed body dressed in a pair of casual slacks, sports shirt and boots was imprinted on her mind. He seemed to dominate her office, and it wasn’t small, either. It was the man himself. He exuded that kind of power and authority.
No wonder he was a crackerjack agent. Still, that didn’t excuse his curt behavior. Without having to be told, she knew no one had been able to make him show up here—favor or no favor. She imagined Brant Harding did his own thing, in his own time.
Handsome? No. His features, which were etched with an almost bitter overtone, were too strong for that. Noticeable? Oh, yes. His thick dark hair was entwined with silver and appeared like it wanted to curl, which merely added to its richness. And his dark eyes were surrounded by thick sooty lashes, lashes that most women would kill for, herself included.
A living, breathing work of art was what he was.
Clearing her throat and hoping she’d successfully maintained her composure, Jessica jerked her mind back on track. Remembering her manners, she offered him a cup of coffee.
“No, thanks. But I would like to know who that guy was and what he meant by his parting shot.”
He was also a man who came straight to the point, Jessica noted. A man who apparently didn’t believe in wasting words.
“His name is Lance Saxon, and he’s a councilmember.”
“He’s obviously not happy with some of your latest decisions.”
“That’s an understatement. He’s by far my biggest critic.”
“Is it because of the police stink?”
“So you know about that.”
He shrugged his shoulders, which were the width of a fullback’s. “Thurmon told me you’d cleaned house.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. What I did was relieve the chief of his duties, along with two officers whom I put on suspension.”
Dark eyebrows quirked. “Sounds pretty drastic to me, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”
God, he was irritating. “Evidence was uncovered that the officers were on the take and the chief knew it but did nothing. In addition, there was strong evidence of police brutality, not just in one incident but several. The same officers were involved each time.”
Jessica paused and drew a clear breath. “Pending further investigation, I thought it best for the city that I take such a bold move.”
“So everything is well documented.”
“I have folders filled with complaints,” Jessica said.
“So you do indeed have your guns loaded.”
“That seems to surprise you,” she responded in a testy tone, having difficulty hiding her growing irritation. “Or maybe it’s that you don’t approve.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.
” Brant’s eyes narrowed. “It’s what the council thinks that matters.”
“If I were a m—” Jessica broke off, choking on the word man.
Brant finished the sentence for her. “If you were a man, you might have more support, right?”
“That’s right,” she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that sometimes caught her unawares. “I suppose you feel the same way.” Not that she gave a damn.
Again