“Okay. Bodyguard it is.” She met Sam’s gaze and felt a flush on her face that spread clear through her. The thought of him guarding her body sent a shiver down her spine.

“I know you’re not crazy about the situation. Neither am I. But we’re stuck with each other. The way I see it, things will go more smoothly if you follow some ground rules.”

“Let’s be clear.” Jamie stared up at him. “You can list ground rules from now until hell freezes over, but I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”

The stubbornness glittering in her eyes did amazing things to her particular shade of hazel. The obstinate expression canceled out the brown and gold and turned them to bright green. And beautiful. A man could lose himself in those angry eyes.

lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

If anyone had told him he’d wind up on the wrong side of the law, Sam Brimstone would’ve said they’d taken one too many shots to the head.

But here he was looking up at the beefy, balding judge who stared right back at him from the bench. “Samuel Owen Brimstone, the charge against you is one count of assault and battery. How do you plead?”

There was the sixty-four-million-dollar question. Once upon a time Sam had been a decorated detective with a big-city police department, working for law and order. Now the law in Charity City, Texas had its sights locked and loaded on him. That’s what he got for butting into something that was none of his business. He’d be back on the highway doing seventy-five miles an hour to nowhere if he hadn’t decked a bozo hustling a hardworking bar-and-grill waitress.

Where the gray area came in was that Sam knew he’d been spoiling for a fight, and the bozo had obliged by giving him motive and opportunity.

“Mr. Brimstone, the court doesn’t have all day. Did you, or did you not, start an altercation last night at the Lone Star Bar and Grill?”

“Depends on your definition of altercation.”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“Yes, what?” Sam asked.

“Yes you threw the first punch.”

“You can.”

“Can what?” the judge asked, barely controlling his exasperation.

Sam smiled. Small consolation that his initials spelled SOB and he was living up to them. A man had to take comfort wherever he could. “I threw the first punch, Your Honor.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“He had it coming.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“So you’re pleading guilty?”

Sam was guilty of more than assault and battery. It was the reason he’d left the LAPD. A woman had died because of him. The law didn’t hold him accountable, but his conscience was something else. So he’d take responsibility for hitting a guy who deserved it. Besides, he didn’t have any priors. Probably he’d get off with a warning and a lecture about anger management, then be on his way.

“Yes.” He noted the judge’s raised eyebrow and decided not to push it. “I’m pleading guilty.”

“Okay, son. I’m sentencing you to thirty days community service.”

“Thirty days!” What the hell was going on? He’d already spent the night in jail for doing the wrong thing, right reason. “That seems excessive,” he said, suddenly developing an anger-management problem. “I’m just passing through town. Anywhere else, these charges would be dismissed with time served.”

“This isn’t anywhere else. It’s Charity City.” He glared down from the bench. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, sir. I’m between jobs.”

“Is there a financial hardship putting yourself up in town? If so, the county would be happy to arrange accommodations,” the judge said pointedly.

“Thanks, anyway, but I’ve sampled cell block hospitality. I can afford a room.”

He was pretty well off, thanks to all work, no play, a side job doing private investigations and the hefty inheritance his bastard of a defense attorney father had left him, even though he didn’t want any part of dear old absentee Dad’s blood money. But the judge didn’t need to know any of that.

“Okay, son, it’s the opinion of this court that thirty days is a fair and equitable sentence.”

“I’ve seen armed robbers get less than thirty days,” Sam blurted out angrily.

“Keep talking and I can go forty-five.” Sam started to protest, and the judge’s eyes narrowed in warning. He closed his mouth and Judge Gibson continued. “Your thirty days will be auctioned off at the philanthropic public sale that we here in Charity City like to call Buy-a-Guy. Proceeds go to a foundation to fund the town’s charitable endeavors.”

“Let me get this straight,” Sam said. “I’m being sold for thirty days?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Last time I checked, buying and selling human beings was against the law.”

“It still is. This is community service.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Your pertinent information will be listed on the town Web site and anyone who’s in need of your particular skills will pay for them.”

“What if I don’t have any skills?”

The judge looked down at the paperwork in front of him. “Says here you’re LAPD. A detective. Retired. You any good?”

“At being retired?” Sam shrugged. There was that whole SOB thing again. “Haven’t been at it long enough to find out.”

“Smart-ass you’re good at,” the judge commented wryly. “What about police work?”

“I put away my share of bad guys.” Some he couldn’t keep behind bars.

“I know someone who could use a good detective.”

“So this is a setup.” Sam wasn’t asking. The crafty old judge had known his background and availability when he’d handed down the sentence.

“No. You broke the law. These are the consequences.”

“Harsh consequences given the circumstances.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have given up your right to an attorney. And remaining silent wouldn’t have done you any harm, either.”

This wasn’t the first time he should have kept his mouth shut. “I want to change my plea.”

“Can’t. It’s already entered into the record.”

Sam was seething. “I’m being scammed and we both know it.”

“You say scam, I say justice. Since I’m the one wearing the black robe, my say goes.” The judge glared as he pointed. “And before you open your mouth again, I’m warning you. One more outburst and you’ve got sixty days.”

Sam clenched his jaw.

The irony was he hadn’t intended to stop in this town, but the highway billboard had caught his attention. Charity City, The Town That Lives Up To Its Name. Then he’d remembered that his friend Hayden Blackthorn had moved here to open a branch office for his company, Blackthorn Investigations.

That’s when Sam had decided to pull into the Lone Star Bar and Grill in order to look up his old friend. Charity might begin at home but he was a long way from there.

“I think your parents bought you a man last night.”

“No way, Abby.”

“Yes, way.”

Jamie Gibson had thought that eating lunch in her office would be less stressful than hassling a crowded restaurant. Now she wasn’t so sure. Abby Walsh had become her friend after she’d handled her divorce from a husband as flaky as a French pastry. The guy had gone to Hollywood to audition for a reality show and never came back. More proof, as if Jamie needed any, that men couldn’t be counted on.

“My parents bought a man?” She shifted the phone to her other ear as she unwrapped her sandwich. That revelation cranked up her stress level by a couple notches.

“Yeah. You weren’t at the auction last night to keep them in line,” Abby said.

“I had briefs to write.”

“Riddle me this—if you have to work overtime to write them, why are they called briefs?”

“Named by a man,” they both said together.

“I’d much rather have spent the evening with you and Molly,” Jamie added, taking a sip from her drink.

Her gaze slid to the framed picture on her desk of herself with her two friends—brown-haired, blue-eyed Abby Walsh and redheaded Molly Preston. She’d hated missing her evening with them. And apparently it wouldn’t have hurt to keep an eye on her folks. “What happened? They bought a man?”

“First things first. I got the ex-army ranger.”

Jamie frowned. “The one who donated the weekend campout you wanted?” She was dying to take a bite of her sandwich but didn’t want to chew in her friend’s ear.

“That’s the one. Kimmie is determined to get her Bluebonnets outdoor badges, and since I don’t know a tent pole from a fishing rod, Riley Dixon is our man. He donated the weekend for sale because the foundation gave him the start-up capital for his security business.”

“Good for him.” Jamie knew that Abby’s daughter would be thrilled with the campout. “Now what about my folks?” she prompted.

“Yeah. I’m getting to that. But first I have to tell you about Molly.”

“Okay. But can you move it along. You’re killing me here, and I’ve got to eat my lunch. This is like waiting for the other shoe to fall.”

“If you’ll stop interrupting, I’ll tell you everything.” She took a breath. “Molly made me bid on Des O’Donnell.”

“Didn’t Des take over the family construction company after his father passed away?”

“Yes. And he donated a home repair for auction because his company got the contract to do the new wing at the preschool where Molly teaches.”

“And she made you do the bidding?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah. I have no idea why she was being so secretive, but everyone thinks I bought two men. Mayor Wentworth had some fun with that.”

“I bet he did. So are you finished toying with me yet? What did my parents do?”

“One of the guys for sale was an ex-LAPD detective and they bought him.”

Jamie groaned, suddenly losing all interest in her food. “Probably not for a busboy at the restaurant.”

“I don’t think so. Your folks give new meaning to the words overprotective,” Abby agreed. “I’m sure they’d have followed you and Stu to New York if they could have found a way.”

Anger and pain sliced through Jamie along with memories of that time. Stu had urged her to go with him to the big city, and, starry-eyed and in love, she’d agreed. Her parents had been deeply disappointed that she’d be so far away, not to mention disapproving of the guy she’d be so far away with. They’d been right, as it turned out. Shortly after the move, Stu had walked out on her.

“I almost wish they had come with us,” Jamie said. “But I’m sure the phone company is grateful they stayed in Charity City and racked up a gazillion long-distance minutes.”

She worked at making light of it, but the pain of that time—not just Stu’s abandonment, but what happened after—she’d never get over it. And she couldn’t talk about it with the people who mattered most. All anyone knew was that he’d broken it off. Her parents worried about her too much, and she’d learned to keep things from them—ironically, to protect them. She’d never tell them what she’d gone through alone.

And now it was in the past. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and the loss she’d suffered had made her strong enough to face almost anything.

“Yeah,” Abby said. “Stu was a jerk.”

If you only knew how much, Jamie thought. “He probably still is. But I do wish my parents would learn to let go.”

“So, I guess you didn’t know about their Buy-a-Guy purchase?”

“You guess right.” She sighed and wrapped up the untouched sandwich. “When I got back to the office after court this morning, there was a message from my mom. That’s probably why she called.”

“There’s always a chance it has nothing to do with you.”

Jamie laughed. “Very funny. There’s a better chance that I could flap my arms and fly to the moon.”

“Yeah. Well. At least forewarned is forearmed.”

“Always looking for the silver lining, huh, Ab?”

“What can I say? I’m a glass-is-half-full kind of gal.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. Give Kimmie a kiss for me.”

“Will do. Take care. Good luck. Bye.”

After hanging up, Jamie looked at the message slip again. Forewarned is forearmed, she thought. She couldn’t return the call now because their restaurant was always busy at lunchtime, and besides, it was time for her to get back to work. But they would definitely talk after the dinner rush, and Jamie would make a case for discouraging the folks from whatever interfering they had planned.

“You always work this late?” The voice was gravel rough and breathtakingly masculine.

Heart pounding, Jamie swiveled her chair away from her computer monitor and faced the man in the doorway. She hadn’t been expecting anyone and the interruption startled her. He was big, probably just over six feet. His brown hair was cut short, and his eyes were the most unusual pale shade of blue. The black T-shirt he wore tucked into worn jeans was molded to an impressive set of muscles on his upper chest and arms. And he was magazine-cover handsome. Stu had been handsome, too. Probably still was, she thought irritably.

“Office hours are over,” she said. “I can see if there’s an appointment available tomorrow…”

One very broad shoulder lifted lazily. “That’s not why I’m here.”

He stirred then, every movement graceful and sort of predatory as he strolled closer. Jamie stood, for all the good it would do her. If he meant her harm, the best she could do with her own five foot two, 105 pounds, would be to put up token resistance. Make too big a mess to cover up. Scratch him. Get DNA under her fingernails. And…and nothing. She’d been watching too much Law and Order on TV, she realized.

He kept moving until he got to her desk. “Name’s Sam Brimstone. So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Hmm. “You don’t approve of law offices?”

“It’s not the building. It’s the ethics.”

“You don’t like lawyers.”

“Chalk one up for the counselor.”

“If you feel that way, why are you here?” Her gaze narrowed. “Did my parents send you?”

“Yes. I guess you might say I’m your bodyguard.”

Oh, great. So much for intercepting her mother and talking her out of the plan. But one could never go wrong being polite.

She held out her hand. “Jamie Gibson. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” His large palm all but swallowed hers. “By the way—nice people your folks.”

“Yes, they are. But I don’t get it,” she said, then let out a long breath. “My parents are so overprotective they’d wrap me in plastic and put me on the shelf if they could. And you’re a total stranger. Why would they trust you?”

It was one thing to buy the time a man donated for auction, but making him her bodyguard was something else.

“They checked out my references.”

“And those are?”

“While I was with the LAPD, I moonlighted and did some work for Hayden Blackthorn.”

“Of Blackthorn Investigations?”

“You know him?”

She nodded. “This law office has used the agency’s services, and my parents have become good friends with him and his mother, Margaret, since they moved to Charity City a couple years ago.”

“Hayden and I knew each other pretty well. Apparently, he said some good stuff because Roy and Louise acted like I have wings and a halo.”

He was on a first-name basis with her parents? “So, is that why you moved here? To work for your friend?”

“Nope. I just dropped in to say hi.”

“Then I don’t get it. Why would you volunteer time for the auction?”

“Wasn’t exactly voluntary. More in the nature of community service. Judge Gibson—”

“Uncle Harry?”

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “I thought something was fishy.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, the punishment should fit the crime. I stopped in the bar for a beer. While trying to mind my own business, Bo Taggart decided to play fast and loose with one of the waitresses and I decked him.”

“In my humble opinion, Mr. Brimstone, you’ve already done the community a service. Why would my uncle be so tough?”

“Because I played into his hands by pleading guilty.”

Oh, great. A family conspiracy. “Surely your attorney advised against it,” she protested.

“Didn’t have one. Like I said, I don’t believe in them.”

Hmm. A cop who didn’t believe in attorneys. He probably had his reasons, but she didn’t want to know. The sooner they settled this misunderstanding, the better.

“And so here you are doing community service for…”

“Thirty days.”

Her eyes widened. “You must have really ticked him off.”

“And vice versa. When I called him, on the scam in progress, he threatened me with sixty days to deal with my anger-management issues.”

She couldn’t say that she wouldn’t feel the same under the circumstances. But maybe there was more Sam wasn’t saying. “My uncle is a good, fair judge. Why would he throw the book at you?”

“Because he could.”

“Define could.”

“I’m between jobs and it’s not a financial hardship to put myself up here in town for thirty days. And—”

“There’s more?”

“Oh, yeah. I used to be a detective. The town auction was coming up. And your family thinks you need a cop on your side.”

Jamie recalled Abby telling her about his police background. “Are you any good?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the double meaning hit her and a blush crept into her cheeks. “What I mean is—”

“I get your drift.” One corner of his mouth curved up before his frown returned. “Uncle Harry asked the same question. Some people thought I was a good detective, but they were wrong.”

“Why is that?” she asked, looking into blue eyes that had probably seen too much. No, no, no. Curse her soft-hearted streak. She refused to get sucked in, and held up her hand. “Forget it. I don’t need to know.”

What she needed was to get back to work. And to do that, she had to get Sam Brimstone out of her office. Buying her a man had crossed the line. Even by her parents’ standards.

“Look, Mr. Brimstone—”

“Sam.”

“Okay. Sam,” she repeated, annoyed at the husky tone that slid into her voice. “Here’s the thing, my parents arranged all this without my knowledge. They promised—”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She could see the questions in his eyes and wasn’t going there. “The point is if I’d known what they had in mind, I’d have stopped them.”

“They’ve got their reasons. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” he suggested.

She could at least do that. He would see why the bodyguard thing was over the top.

“I’ve had a series of hang-up phone calls in the middle of the night.”

“Heavy breathing?” he asked.

“No.”

Not until now. With him. A man who was the walking, talking definition of raw sexuality. And how inappropriate was she? This wasn’t a half hour episode of Sex and the City. This was real life. Her life. And she didn’t want a guy complicating things. Especially a stranger who was just passing through.

A man she’d known in law school and moved across the country to be with had dumped her and turned his back when she was losing their baby. The miscarriage was the worst thing she’d ever been through. If there was any up side—and that was a big if—she’d learned a valuable lesson. When the going gets tough, men just keep on going, and she didn’t care to count on another one. On top of that, her family had apparently conspired against Sam. Why would he be sympathetically disposed toward her?

“Did he ever say anything?” Sam prompted.

“Hmm?” She blinked and tried to focus her thoughts. “Oh. No. He just calls between midnight and four in the morning. It was every night for a while.”

“You could have turned it off.”

“I finally did.” When exhaustion had set in. Unfortunately fatigue had loosened her tongue and she’d mentioned to her folks what was going on. “I still had my cell for emergencies, but then he started calling that number.”

“Your father said a photo of you is missing from his desk at the restaurant.”

She nodded. “Someone left the frame and just took the picture.”

“I see.” He rested a hip against the corner of her desk. “Did you report this to the police?”

“Yes. And they investigated. Followed every possible lead and came to a dead end. There wasn’t much to go on.” She sat in her chair, putting a little distance between them.

“I see,” he said again.

“Then the calls just abruptly stopped. I haven’t had one for several weeks now. My theory is that it was someone who was venting about something and the police involvement brought them to their senses. And now they’re over whatever was bugging them.”

“And your point is?”

She folded her hands on her desk. “I’m not an idiot. If I was the heroine in a bad B movie, I wouldn’t go outside to face the serial slasher without a well-equipped army. The police would be actively involved if there were a concrete threat. And let’s be clear, this harassment wasn’t even very original.”

“As harassment goes you’d prefer a horse’s head under your pillow?” he asked wryly.

“Very funny. You know what I mean. I’m no hero. If there was reason to be concerned, I’d have picked out my own bodyguard.”

One who looked nothing like Sam. A shorter guy with zero sex appeal and absolutely no animal magnetism.

“You’re a family law attorney, right?” he asked, lasering her with his blue-eyed gaze as he leaned forward and flattened his palms on her desk.

“Yes. Says so on the sign out front.”

“Then I’m sure you’re aware that domestic disturbance is the most volatile and deadly situation a cop faces.”

“Yes, but—”

“But, nothing. When families are involved, emotions run high.”

“And your point is?”

“Never underestimate anyone or anything. Ever.”

She stood, but still had to look up at him. “Good advice, Sam. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for stopping by. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience my family caused you.”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re throwing me out?”

“Not literally.”

She couldn’t manage to stop herself from assessing the muscles straining the sleeves of his T-shirt. If they were arm wrestling, he’d take her easily. But this was her office, her turf—and she called the shots. She was giving him leave to leave.

It was a preemptive strike. He was good-looking enough to make her knees weak and had enough character to get between Bo Taggart and the woman he was attempting to grope. There could be a lot to like about this man, and thirty days joined at the hip could do her a lot of emotional damage. Assuming he stuck around that long.

She wasn’t willing to chance it.

She put her hand out. “Goodbye, Sam.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Not so fast, Counselor.”

“Excuse me?” Jamie’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “‘Not so fast’? This is my office and I can do things at any speed I choose. And I choose for you to hit the road. Don’t let the door hit you in the fanny on the way out.”

“I’d like nothing better than to shake your hand, say, It’s been nice but I’ve got places to go and people to see, you should have a good life.”

“But?”

“But I can’t. And there are two very good reasons.” Sam watched her gaze narrow.

“Such as?”

“Number one—no matter how unfair it is, I’m under a court-mandated sentence to perform community service.”

“And number two?” she asked.

“Your parents believe there’s a threat to your safety.”

“My parents believe I’m at risk unless I’m with them or at home with padlocks on the doors and windows.”

Funny, he thought. Her parents had told him she’d be stubborn. And she was. But they’d neglected to mention that she was beautiful. And she definitely was.

Brunette curls brushed her shoulders and framed her oval face dominated by big hazel eyes with thick, dark lashes. She wasn’t very tall, maybe five-one or-two and slender, which tapped into the protective streak he tried to ignore. He’d protect her, but it wouldn’t get personal. And he didn’t even want to get started on the slight indentation in her chin that might be a shadow but begged for a more-thorough investigation. Exploration of that particular area, or any area for that matter, wasn’t going to happen.

He stared down at her. “If I learned anything as a cop, it’s not to take any threat too lightly.” The lesson had been costly. His best friend’s sister had paid with her life. If he made the mistake again, what happened to her would all have been a waste, and he could never find a way to live with that.

“Look, Sam, you’re right about my parents. They’re lovely, caring people. But if you’re their daughter, those qualities are a double-edged sword.”

“Oh?”

Here it comes, he thought. Lawyer spin. He folded his arms over his chest and rested a hip against her desk, settling in for the long haul. At least the view was good, he thought, letting his gaze trace the defined curves and fullness of her mouth.

She cleared her throat. “When I was a kid, I practically had to get a dispensation from the pope to go out on a date, and even then, until I was over eighteen, my father either came along or shadowed us in his car.”

“You don’t say.”

“Then I insisted on going away to college, thinking I’d leave and find some independence.”

“And you didn’t?”

“A little. But they rented an apartment near campus and one or both of them were there a lot of the time. If they didn’t have a restaurant to run, they’d probably have gone to class with me.” She sighed. “I adore my mother and father, but their meddling reached the saturation point. And I’m sure they’d have followed me to New York if they could have found a way.”

“New York?” He noticed something about her. A subtle change.

“After law school, I went to work for a firm in New York.” She shrugged. “It looks good on a résumé.”

Uh-huh. As a detective, he’d done more interviews than the Human Resources Department at a Fortune 500 company. He’d found body language as revealing as dialogue. And when Jamie mentioned moving to the Big Apple, a look in her eyes, tightening around her mouth, told him there was more to it than beefing up her work history. It was personal. And he wanted to know about the guy, but he let it go. For now.

Besides, she was preaching to the choir on this overprotective thing. As far as the Gibson family looking out for her, he was an innocent bystander who’d got sucked in. Well, maybe not lily-white innocent, but almost. He didn’t even care that the money paid for his community service was going for a good cause. He intended to do his time and get the hell out of town. No harm, no foul.

“Are you finished?” he asked. “With lawyers, sometimes it’s kind of hard to tell.”

“I could be.”

“How will I know?”

She picked up a pen and tapped it on the pile of papers in front of her. “Are you convinced my folks are overreacting and that I have no need for a bodyguard?”

“I’m convinced that your family went to considerable trouble and expense to make sure nothing happens to you for the next thirty days.”

“Okay, so you get it—”

He held up his hand and straightened to his full height. “I also know for a fact that I assured Roy and Louise that on my watch, I will do everything humanly possible to find out who’s harassing you.”

She stared at him for several moments. “Was I talking to myself? We don’t know there is anyone harassing me. So any investigation would be a waste of time.”

“But it’s the court’s time, purchased by your parents.”

“Without my knowledge or consent.”

She stood and stared him down—eye to eye. Well, not technically. He towered over her, but the glare she was giving him canceled out any height advantage.

“So, what we have here is a standoff,” she said.

“Stalemate. Deadlock, draw, impasse,” he agreed. “I’d say something’s gotta give.”

“I’m not going to blink.”

“Me, neither.”

She put her hands on her hips. “When this happens in court, we go to mediation.”

“I’m not going in front of Uncle Harry again, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Her mouth twitched as she fought a smile. “I was thinking we should go in front of my folks at the restaurant.”

“And do what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Get them to give you absolution. Release you from this obligation.”

It would be a waste of time. Jamie got her stubborn gene from one or both of them. He knew that because he’d tried to tell Roy and Louise he wasn’t the right man for this job. They refused to believe him after Hayden Blackthorn’s glowing reference. But he was getting nowhere here. So…

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” she agreed.

He waited for her to gather up her jacket, purse and briefcase before they left and locked her door. At the end of the hall a man stood in an office doorway.

“Jamie, are you leaving?”

“Hi, Al. Yeah. Something’s come up.”

Al considered Sam. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Sam Brimstone,” Sam said, holding out his hand.

“Al Moore.”

The guy had up-and-comer written all over him. Young, good-looking, a firm aggressive handshake. And Sam didn’t like him.

“Al’s an attorney here at the firm,” Jamie explained.

“I thought we were firm friends, too.”

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head at his pun. “You’re always there for me.”

“Good to know.” He looked at Sam. “People make the job, and friendships are what make the long hours tolerable.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” she agreed.

Al grinned, the effects of his white strips so bright, Sam was tempted to whip out his shades. And again he picked up a whole lot of unspoken communication from body language and what Slick didn’t say. This guy wanted Jamie, and there was nothing friendly about it. Lust—pure and simple. It glowed in his eyes, and the tension was there in every muscle in his twenty-four-hour-fitness toned body.

Sam really didn’t like this guy.

It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. He barely knew Jamie, certainly not well enough to be jealous of her coworker. And he didn’t want to know her better because a detective should never get personal with a person involved in a case.

She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Well, we have to be going.”

Al slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored slacks. “So where are the two of you headed?”

“Dinner,” Sam said, putting his palm at the small of her back, the gesture intimate, but only to urge her forward.

The guy’s smile disappeared faster than you could say “teeth bleach,” and Sam felt a surge of satisfaction that told him he really had to work on that SOB thing. And he would. Real soon, he thought, escorting Jamie to the elevator.

Jamie drove to the restaurant with Sam on her tail in his sleek, black Mustang. They went into The Homestead through a back entrance, and she knew Sam was following her, this time on foot. Even if she hadn’t heard the heavy sound of his boots behind her, she could just feel him. His presence raised the hair on the back of her neck and tingles everywhere else. Back in her office, she’d sworn he was staring at her mouth. But she was probably wrong. He’d stopped in town to say hello to a friend, and her family had turned his life upside down. Why in the world would he be thinking about kissing her?

She turned a corner and poked her head into the room her folks used as an office. As usual, paperwork was scattered around the computer on each of the two desks facing each other from opposite walls. Two desks, two computers, and neither of her parents was anywhere in sight.

“They must be out front working,” she said.

“Do they always leave the back door unlocked?”

His body was so close behind her she could almost feel his chest against her back and the vibrations of his deep voice. There was no mistaking the disapproval in his tone.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Anyone could have walked in and helped themselves to anything in here, including the picture of you that your parents told me was stolen.”

“Even if it was locked, this place is so busy at lunch and dinnertime that it would be easy to slip back here unnoticed.”

“I need to have a talk with them about security.”

Before she could respond, there were footsteps in the hall. Sam moved farther into the room and stood beside her, just before her parents appeared in the doorway.

“Jamie.” Her mother held out her arms, and Jamie went into them.

“Hi, Mom.” She gave her father a quick, hard hug. “Dad. You already know Sam.”

“Louise. Roy,” he said.

They shook hands, Sam towering over the other man, Jamie noticed. Roy and Louise Gibson were like a matched set, one complementing the other—both small and round and solid and comfortable. Her mother’s short brown hair was shot with red highlights to cover the gray. What hair her father had left encircling his head was gray. He always said he’d earned every single one worrying about his only daughter. They were both dressed for the evening crowd—her father in a navy suit and red tie, her mother in a long-sleeved black knit dress and matching low-heeled shoes.

“I see you and Sam have met,” her father said.

Jamie huffed out a breath, then leaned against her mother’s littered desk, folding her arms over her chest.

Before she could say anything, her mother asked, “So, why are you upset?”

“Let me count the ways,” she mumbled.

“What?” Her mother’s expression grew wary.

Jamie shot Sam a look that said this was all his fault, then cocked a thumb in his direction. “You guys have some explaining to do.”

Her mother sighed. “We have a nice quiet table in a cozy corner. How about we sit down, have something to eat. Maybe a nice glass of wine. We can talk.”

“I don’t want food. I don’t want wine. I want some answers.” She glanced at them both. “So?”

Louise shrugged, clearly unapologetic. “So, we bought him at the auction.”

“What were you thinking?” Jamie asked.

Roy moved beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “He’s a detective from Los Angeles.”

“Used to be,” Sam clarified.

In the doorway, he casually rested a shoulder against the door frame, as if he was holding it up. As wide as his shoulders were, he almost could. A man in the prime of his life, yet he’d left LAPD. Why? Jamie wondered.

“Whatever,” her father said. “L.A.’s loss is our gain. For thirty days we don’t have to worry about our little girl.”

Jamie struggled to keep the irritation from her voice. “You don’t have to worry about me at all. And I’m not a little girl.”

She made the mistake of looking at Sam as she said that. Something sparked in his eyes, a very male response that confirmed he agreed she was all grown-up. It was almost enough to distract her, but not quite.

“You’ll always be little to us,” her mother was saying. “We’re your parents. We changed your diapers—”

“Okay.” Jamie held up a hand. On the upside, at least all the naked baby pictures were at their house. “No one’s arguing about the family connection. But you guys have got to stop treating me like a china doll.”

“We’re just concerned. Maybe he can figure out who’s harassing you and make them stop,” Roy said. “He finds perps. It’s what he does.”

“Used to,” Sam said again.

“Dad, you’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” Jamie sighed. Maybe she should approach this from a different direction. “So why didn’t you guys tell me what you’d done?”

The folks exchanged a guilty look. “Didn’t your receptionist tell you I called?” her mother asked.

“Yes. But—”

“You could have called back.”

“You could have tried my cell. Since when do you go through the switchboard?”

“I think maybe cell phone reception isn’t so good in your office.”

“Since when?” Jamie demanded.

“I tried,” her mother said. “Apparently you were busy today.”

“I’m busy every day and I always get your calls. You guys aren’t very good fibbers. You’re so busted.”

“Okay.” Louise met her gaze. “We went ahead and bid on him at the auction, but we knew you’d say no.”

“And just turned him loose on me without warning?” she scolded, then met Sam’s gaze. He’d been a victim in all this, too. Although the humor glittering in his eyes didn’t make him look very victimlike.

“We didn’t want to hear how you don’t need anything and can take care of yourself.” Louise looked at Sam. “She’s our miracle child. We tried for years and couldn’t get pregnant—”

“Mom—”

“He should know how we feel,” she defended. “Just when we gave up trying—to have a baby,” she clarified. “We didn’t give up sex.”

“Too much information, Mom.”

Just shoot me now, Jamie thought, her cheeks warm with humiliation. Then she made the mistake of looking at Sam again. Amusement cranked up several notches in his eyes. At least someone was having a good time here.

“That’s when it happened,” her mother continued. “We were pregnant. Then she was born. Our little girl. Our very own miracle.”

“Look, guys, I don’t need a bodyguard. Everything is normal—”

“Did you tell Sam about the hang ups in the middle of the night?” Louise asked.

“Yes. And for the record, I’m sorry I ever mentioned it to you guys,” Jamie mumbled.

“If that were the only thing,” Roy said, “we’d chalk it up to kids. But someone took her picture. I don’t like it.”

“Any idea who’d do that?” Sam asked.

Roy shrugged and shook his head. “Lunch and dinner are usually pretty busy at The Homestead. Anyone in town could have slipped in and out of this office without being seen.”

“Or through the back door,” Sam said.

“What?” Her father tensed.

“We walked right in the back,” Sam explained.

Her parents looked at each other. “It’s supposed to be locked all the time,” Roy said.

“Maybe we’ve been a little careless about that,” Louise admitted. “We’ll be better. But your father is right. We don’t like it. And just because you’re not a little girl, that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to look out for you.”

Jamie sighed. “Look, you guys, I’m fine. You don’t have to be concerned about me.”

“It’s what fathers do, sweetheart.” Her dad gave her shoulder a squeeze. “They watch over their children and make sure they’re all right. Always.”

Jamie happened to be looking at Sam and saw the “yeah, right” expression on his face. What did that mean?

“I know you can’t help being protective, Dad, but I don’t need Sam hanging around. The police checked everything out and there’s no problem anymore.”

“It’s out of our hands,” Louise interjected. “The auction is his community service.”

“Thanks to Uncle Harry,” Sam said dryly.

Jamie didn’t want to debate that issue. “I’m sure there’s another way for Sam to do his community service.”

“It’s a done deal,” Louise said. “We paid the auction people already.”

“That’s right,” Jamie said, snapping her fingers. “You bought and paid for him. How about he does his time working for you here at the restaurant? Maybe he can dust that empty frame for fingerprints and figure out who stole the photo.”

“No way.” Louise shook her head.

“Or he can beef up the security,” she suggested.

“We bought him for you, sweetheart,” her father said.

“What if I don’t want him?”

“Way to make a guy feel warm and fuzzy,” Sam said, one side of his mouth quirking up.

“She’s not always so ungrateful,” Louise apologized. “Usually she’s gracious and considerate.”

“Usually I don’t have bodyguards showing up unannounced in my office,” she said defensively. “Really, Mom, Dad—”

Suddenly Roy put a hand to his chest and began to massage the muscle.

“Dad? Are you okay?”

“Just a little pressure. It happens.”

Sure it does, she thought. Her father was like the Rock of Gibraltar.

“He’s not getting any younger,” Louise said, looking worried. “And life is full of stress. Sometimes it’s worse than others and you learn to deal with it. We found a way to help you and at the same time do some good for the town—”

“The town that lives up to its name,” Sam cut in.

Jamie didn’t miss the sarcasm. “Listen, you guys, just—”

“No,” Roy said in his I’m-the-dad-and-this-is-the-last-straw voice. “You’re young, Jamie. Your mother and I know what’s best. We have more life experience. You moved away once, against our better judgment, I might add. We never liked Stu, but you wouldn’t listen. And we weren’t there to watch over you. And all you said when you moved home was that things didn’t work out with him. So now you’re back and we could watch out for you except you bought a house outside of town and you’re all alone there.” He took a breath as he continued to absently rub his chest. “Either you take Sam for the time we bought, or you move home and save your mother and me the stress of worrying that you’re all right.”

Her father was giving ultimatums. He did that when he got really upset, and Jamie felt a twinge of guilt. She had moved away to be with a guy she’d believed loved her and she’d done it in spite of her parents’ disapproval. Turns out they’d been right about him. But she’d survived and picked up some of her own life experience.

She loved her folks, overprotective and all. She wouldn’t hurt them for the world, but she simply couldn’t move back home and start fighting for her independence all over again. She’d told Sam she wouldn’t blink, but apparently she’d spoken too soon. Something had to give and apparently it was her.

“Okay. Bodyguard it is.”

She met Sam’s gaze and felt a flush on her face that spread clear through her. The thought of him guarding her body sent a shiver down her spine that was…excitement? Anticipation? Thrill? After the life experience she’d gained, she hoped and prayed it wasn’t any of the above. Otherwise the next thirty days were going to be hell.

Sam’s headlights caught Jamie’s tailgate full on, and for the second time that day he was following her and wondering what little Miss Litigation was doing driving a truck. She looked like a teenager who took daddy’s wheels out for a joyride. Except, from what he’d seen, her father would have been copiloting that joyride. Sam had no frame of reference for her situation with her parents. Fatherly interaction had been noticeably absent in his formative years. The old man hadn’t given a damn until he was dying.

As Sam continued to tail her along the dark, desolate road, he was beginning to think she was leading him on a wild-goose chase. Finally she made a right turn onto another dark, desolate road. About two miles farther, and he saw her brake lights as she pulled up in front of a house sitting all by itself on a dark, desolate piece of land.

“About damn time,” he mumbled.

Then her truck door opened and out swung her legs, shapely calves and slender ankles. Between her interior lights and his headlights, he couldn’t miss them—or the short skirt that rode up and revealed a hint of thigh as she slid out. Damn it. He could have gone thirty days without knowing this sassy, curly haired brunette had great legs. It was a visual he’d add to his list of things to forget.

“This is it,” she said. “Home sweet home.”

Her impractical high heels clicked as she walked up the four steps leading to her front door. She fitted her key into the lock and opened up the place. One glance over his shoulder at the dark and desolation made him realize what a sitting duck she was. He shook his head in disgust as he put his hand at the small of her trim back and urged her inside. Before you could say Buy-a-Guy, he’d closed and locked the door.

She set her purse and briefcase down as he looked around her living room and winced. If he’d never laid eyes on the owner, all the pink in this room would have screamed, Woman On Deck. No self-respecting guy would have a floral-covered sofa—leather and lots of it for him. But it wasn’t all floral all the time. The two chairs were done in a geometrical pattern with the same colors of pink, beige and green. The room wasn’t large, but there were enough wall hangings to choke a horse. And everything was neat as a pin. Windows had crisscrossed lace covering them so it would be very easy for someone to see in.

The entryway turned right, into the family room, so he followed it and flipped on lights as he went. The floor was beige tile, and a rose-patterned area rug sat in the center of the room. A green sofa and a chair were tucked away in the nook across from the TV, and a pass-through bar separated this area from the kitchen.

He went in there and glanced around, then opened the shutters above the sink to look out back. This whole place was vulnerable, but one look confirmed his worst fears. It was pitch-black outside and felt like there was nothing between her and the Canadian border.

“Do you have a security system?” he asked.

“No. It’s not necessary. This is Charity City.”

“I don’t care if it’s Sesame Street. You can’t trust anyone. You live in the middle of nowhere, and the next neighbor is two miles down the road. Your attitude is dangerous.”

She tipped her head to the side and looked up at him. “If I promise to be as cynical as you, will you go?”

“In thirty days,” he agreed.

He walked back through the family room and heard her heels click, and then the sound was muffled as she crossed the rug behind him. Moving down the hall, he flipped light switches and glanced into bedrooms. The one with the computer, desk and bookshelf-lined walls was clearly a home office. A second had a twin bed with a fluffy comforter and treadmill opposite a thirteen-inch TV mounted on the wall—apparently a combination guest/exercise room. He wondered if Al Moore had ever been a guest and if so what kind of exercise they’d done. The thought didn’t sweeten his disposition.

The last bedroom in the back of the house was obviously the master. A king-size four-poster bed with enough pillows for the Fifth Infantry dominated the center of the room. A floral-covered chair and ottoman sat in a corner with a dressing area and bathroom beyond. Pictures hung all over the walls, and more knickknacks filled space not occupied by photographs. He picked up the one of a familiar, smiling older couple. When he’d left Roy and Louise a little while ago their smiles had been full of relief and satisfaction that their plan had come together.

Those two had life experience, all right, and they’d just used it to work their miracle baby big-time. He replaced the framed photo on the dresser.

“So, that was the folks in action?” he commented.

“Welcome to my world.”

“I particularly liked the pain-in-the-chest ploy.”

But it was the zinger about her not learning from her mistake that had tipped the scales in their favor. Jamie had done something the folks disapproved of and it had come back to bite her in the fanny. His gaze automatically dropped to that portion of her anatomy. And a nice little fanny it was, he realized. Curves in all the right places.

“What I don’t get is the part where they were afraid to tell you the truth.”

“Afraid?” She folded her arms over her chest. “They’re not afraid of anything.”

“They’re afraid for you.”

“Okay, one for your side. But that’s it.”

“And the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he muttered. Hence her dangerous attitude. Some things she needed to be afraid of, and it was his job to show her.

“Are there any other outside entrances?” he asked.

“Why?”

So, she wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. That made two of them. But here they were. He gave her a look that had worked on some of the most hardened perps, but she didn’t seem intimidated. He could respect that.

“Look, Counselor, just so we’re clear, I can find out for myself. It would just save time if you’d cooperate.”

“Okay. Let’s be clear. I didn’t ask for a bodyguard, but I agreed under pressure. That doesn’t mean I’m onboard with this whole thing or that you can roll right over me in my own house. And while we’re being clear, here’s something else. I really don’t know who you are.”

That made two of them. He didn’t know who he was anymore. And for the next month he wasn’t free to find out. She took off her jacket and threw it on the bed, then turned her back and left the room. He hadn’t realized she could move so fast in those high heels. They were at the front door before he caught up with her.

“Okay. I get it,” he said. “You’re not crazy about the situation. News flash, neither am I. But we’re stuck with each other. The way I see it, things will go more smoothly if you follow some ground rules for the next thirty days.”

“Twenty-nine,” she snapped.

“I haven’t been on the job a full day yet.”

Although he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to split hairs about that. The sooner he could get out of this town, the better.

“I don’t particularly like your alpha-male, I’m-in-charge attitude.”

“Meaning?”

“You can list ground rules from now until hell freezes over, but I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”

He decided not to argue that because she would find he was in charge. “I’m driving you to and from work. You clear your schedule with me and I always know where you are. Is that clear?”

“I understand the words, if that’s what you mean.”

“If you go to the ladies’ room to put on lipstick, I want to know about it.”

The stubbornness glittering in her eyes did amazing things to her particular shade of hazel. The obstinate expression canceled out the brown and gold and turned them to bright green. And beautiful. A man could lose himself in those angry eyes. He needed to avoid ticking her off, but somehow he didn’t think she was the “go quietly” type.

She stared up at him. “Those rules strike me as overkill given that the calls have stopped.”

“Your folks should get their money’s worth.”

“Unfortunately for you, they turned you loose on me and here are my rules. Assuming you actually stick around, you’re not to interfere at work. No meddling in my personal life—”

“I’ll need to check out your boyfriend—”

“I don’t have one,” she said, her chin lifting a fraction.

What about Al, he wanted to ask. Instead he said, “Something wrong with the guys in Charity City?”

But he could answer his own question. Because his fist had a close encounter with Bo Taggart’s nose, he was stuck with Jamie. In his opinion, there was definitely something wrong with the Charity City men.

“I’m sure there are some perfectly nice men in this town, but since I’m not interested in a relationship, I wouldn’t know from firsthand experience.” Her mouth pulled tight for a moment. “And remarks like that are exactly what I mean about not interfering. You need to be inconspicuous. No editorializing. Seen and not heard.”

“Like a kid?”

“Hardly. You’re no child. The deep voice and five-o’clock shadow are big clues.” She huffed out a breath. “But I’m serious. If you insist on being underfoot, you can’t disrupt my place of employment.”

“No problem. At the office you’re surrounded by the other lawyers—circling.” Including Al. Jeez, he really didn’t like that guy. And her frown told him she hadn’t missed his deliberate, pointed pause. It was a not-so-subtle reference to the sharks that he believed attorneys to be. “You won’t even know I’m there.” When she rolled her eyes, he decided to let it slide. They were going to butt heads until this was over, and convincing her he could blend into her world wasn’t a hill he wanted to die on today. “But your personal life is not hands off. In fact, no part of your life can be off-limits.”

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