knew she’d been raised in the South. That bit had been in the dossier he’d been given on her.
He studied her a moment longer, cocking his head. “Why are you here, Jennifer?” He liked the way her name rolled off his tongue.
“I was looking for you.”
His brows rose. You found me.
She wet her lips and threw a quick, almost nervous glance back at his closed office door. Then she focused on him once more. “I need your help.”
Right. Because she hadn’t searched for him out of any great, unrequited love.
One night. That’s all it had been, for them both.
Besides, most people came to McGuire Securities because they needed help—help getting justice. Help with problems that the police hadn’t been able to solve.
He sat on the edge of his desk and motioned to the chair in front of him. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s going on?”
Instead of sitting, Jennifer started to pace.
He almost smiled.
“I need protection.”
The urge to smile vanished. “From what?”
“Not what—a person.” She stopped pacing. Swallowed. “Someone is stalking me. I need you to make sure that this person doesn’t get close to me, not again.”
Brodie sure as hell didn’t like the sound of this situation. “Again?” he prompted. Meaning this person had already gotten to her before?
Jennifer gave a quick nod. For an instant, her expression wavered, and he saw the fear in her eyes. So it’s not gone, after all. “Three months ago, a man—he attacked me in a New Orleans alley. He stabbed me.” Her hand slipped to her right side. Lingered. “I was able to get away from him then.”
As soon as she’d said the word attacked, Brodie had leaped off his desk.
Her breath sighed out. “But ever since that night, I’ve had the feeling that someone is watching me. Following me. And last week...my home in the French Quarter was torched.”
“You need the cops,” he said immediately, the words sharp. “This guy should be in jail.”
“He would be, if the cops could find him.” Jennifer shook her head and sent her dark hair sliding over her shoulders. “But they can’t, and I’m afraid that he’ll come for me again.” Her fingers slid away from her side. “I’m scared.” Her words shook.
He’d clenched his back teeth. With an effort, he managed to grit out, “Your father—”
“Didn’t you hear?” She glanced away from him to stare out the window at the city of Austin, Texas. “He died two years ago. A yachting accident.”
Hell. “I’m so sorry.” He’d lost his own parents in the years since he’d last seen Jennifer. Only their deaths hadn’t been an accident—his parents had been murdered.
Their murder was the whole reason that he and his brothers had opened McGuire Securities. The cops hadn’t been able to find the killers, but— We will. He and his brothers had a new lead on the cold case, and they were finally getting close to delivering justice to the men who’d ripped apart their family.
“My father’s company was nearing bankruptcy at the time of his death,” Jennifer said as she lifted her chin. “But I promise I have money to pay you. I just...I need your help. You’re the only person I can turn to now.”
Louisiana’s French Quarter and Austin weren’t exactly close on the map. “You drove all the way here, just to talk with me?”
Her lashes flickered a bit. “You saved my life before. I was hoping that you could do it again.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms. Because he wanted that so badly, Brodie didn’t move. “If you need my help, of course I’ll take your case.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Thank you.” Her relief was palpable.
Now he frowned at her. “Did you think I’d turn you away?”
“Three other private investigators have. I went to them right after the fire, but...they said there was nothing to link the two attacks. That it’s just random. Really random, terrible luck.” She eased closer to him. “But it’s not. I know when I’m being hunted.”
Brodie nodded. “I’m sure you do.” She wasn’t the first client he’d seen who’d been turned away by other PIs in the business. Her fear was real, and he’d spend some time investigating to find out just what was happening in her life.
“Thank you.”
Those words were too familiar. He’d never wanted her gratitude. On that hot, desperate night, he’d only wanted her. He should have known better than to touch her.
Desire had taken over. He’d never lost control—not before or since that night. Only with her. There was just something about Jennifer Wesley that pushed him to the edge, then over that edge.
He glanced toward the clock. It was nearing 7:00 p.m. already. “We can go over the case tonight. You can tell me everything right now.” He’d stay with her until midnight, if that was what it took. “Or we can start fresh first thing in the morning.” That would give him time to go ahead and start pulling strings with the New Orleans Police Department so he could get their case files on her attack and the arson at her home.
“Tomorrow...” She hesitated. “That’s fine.”
He frowned at her. “I can stay here all night if you want.”
She flashed him a weak smile. “Tomorrow is fine. I’m actually close to being dead on my feet right now.”
His gaze dropped to her feet. Sexy high heels. Delicate ankles. Bright red toenails.
“I drove straight from New Orleans today. After the last PI down there told me he wouldn’t take the case, I knew I had to come see you.”
How had she even known that he and his brothers had started a PI business? But that wasn’t the question he asked, not yet. Instead, Brodie murmured, “You could’ve called.”
Jennifer shook her head. “I thought you were less likely to turn me down in person. And...”
He waited.
“And I needed to get out of that town.” Her voice lowered. “I told you, I felt hunted.”
Stalked.
But she drew in a bracing breath. “I think starting fresh tomorrow sounds great. When do you want me here?”
He didn’t want her to leave him. Now that she was back, Brodie wanted to keep her close. “How about nine o’clock?”
“Perfect.” She turned away. “I’ll see you—”
“Do you want to get a bite to eat?”
Her shoulders stiffened, and then she glanced back at him.
Hell. He’d done it again. Why was self-control such an issue with her? “You said you drove straight through, so you must be hungry.” He hadn’t eaten since lunch, so he was near famished himself. “How about I take you out for dinner, for old times’ sake?”
Red filled her cheeks. “Our old times didn’t exactly involve dinner.”
No, they had involved danger and passion.
The danger was already happening again. As for the passion, well, a guy could dream. “Just dinner,” he told her softly. “We both need to eat.”
He shut off his computer and headed for the door. No, for Jennifer.
He’d thought about her plenty during the years.