you do, if you’ve finally accepted that you’re stuck here. I can promise you that a knight in shining armor is not going to sweep in and save you from protective custody.”
“A girl can dream,” she said on a sigh as she unzipped the case. Her makeup kit and hairbrush were on top. She picked them up and started toward the bathroom, then turned back and looked at Harte.
“So, are you taking the first shift?”
“No. I’m waiting to hear from Captain Mahoney, letting me know who he’s sending over. I’ll stay here until they get here.”
Dani straightened and propped her hands on her hips. “I don’t like this. You are way too serious. Shouldn’t I be somewhere farther away? Like maybe Seattle? If you’re that worried about them figuring out where I am.” She expected him to say no, that he was just taking precautions, but he didn’t.
That worried her.
“It’s possible they were just trying to scare you, but from the looks of your front steps, I’d say if you hadn’t managed to jump onto the porch, you might be in the hospital, or—”
“Do not say smudge on the sidewalk again. I get the picture. So when—?” she had started to ask when his cell phone interrupted her.
He held up a finger as he fished it out of his jacket pocket and answered it. “Delancey,” he said shortly, turning toward the picture window as he listened. “Hello? Hello?” He walked closer to the window. “Mr. Akers, I can hardly hear you. Hold on.” He looked at the phone’s display and muttered, “What’s with the bad reception? It was fine the other day.” He stepped into the living room.
Vincent Akers was the district attorney. Dani could hear Harte trying to talk with him. After a moment, she heard him utter a mild curse, and then he appeared in the bedroom doorway. “The cell service here sucks,” he said irritably, pocketing his phone. “Your day-shift officer just pulled up. I’ll get you two introduced and then I need to take off.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with the D.A., I think.”
“Should you call back on the B-and-B’s phone and check?”
“Nah, by that time I could be halfway to his office.”
“Speaking of offices, when can I get some things from mine?” she asked. “My desk is full of stuff I have to read and reports and briefs I need to write.”
“I told you, the public defender’s office will assign your cases to someone else. You need to worry about staying safe.”
“That’s all well and good, but even if somebody picks up my caseload, I still have paperwork to complete. I brought my laptop. I need that stuff.”
“Okay. I’ll ask the officer to take you to pick them up. One hour, no more. And that’s the last time you leave this B-and-B until I say so. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Prosecutor, sir,” she said, not even trying to hide the irritation in her voice. She heard the tinkle of the bell over the front door and sturdy footsteps approaching.
Harte turned and took a step backward. “I’m Harte Delancey.”
“Field, sir,” the officer said, coming into view at the bedroom door. “Ronald Field, reporting for protection duty.” He stood straight and solemn, his right hand resting on the butt of his gun.
He was a medium-height officer with medium-brown hair and a medium build. He was pleasant-looking, but he didn’t look as if he could do any better job of protecting her than she could herself. He wasn’t in uniform, but even so, he looked spit-and-polished, from his crisply ironed shirt all the way down to his mirror-shined shoes.
As a public defender, she was no stranger to the police. But the sight of Officer Field standing in the doorway of the frilly Victorian room looking so earnest and official, despite his street clothes, and knowing he was there to spend eight or ten or however many hours every day guarding her, sent a frisson of fear down her spine.
“This is Danielle Canto,” Harte said, gesturing toward her.
“Yes, sir.” Field regarded Dani with a slight nod. “Ma’am. I know you, at least in the hall. I’ve been the arresting officer on a couple of cases you’ve defended.”
“Oh, of course,” Dani said, although she didn’t recognize him. She felt her cheeks begin to warm in embarrassment. “Nice to see you, Officer.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She smiled. “Please call me Dani.” She held out her hand and Field took it. He was nice, only a few years older than she.
She listened as Harte laid out the ground rules to Field about taking Dani to the courthouse to retrieve her papers—nowhere but her office, only as many papers as fit in one box or briefcase, straight back to the B & B.
“Take a different route each way and make sure you’re not followed,” he said. Then with a quick glance at her, he added, “And she’s not to leave the house again.”
She met Field’s gaze over Harte’s shoulder and rolled her eyes. Field’s expression didn’t change from quiet respect.
“Okay, then,” Harte said. “Dani, be a good girl and don’t give Officer Field a hard time, okay?”
She raised her eyebrows, wishing her superpower was shooting daggers from her eyes. “Watch it, Mr. Prosecutor. I could file harassment charges against you for calling me girl.”
“You could,” he said, amusement tingeing his voice. “Anybody can file suit, but it would be dismissed as frivolous.”
“I could make it stick,” she retorted.
Harte’s face grew solemn. “Seriously, don’t give him any trouble. This is for your own safety.”
Suddenly, the back of her throat quivered and she felt a twinge of fight-or-flight adrenaline course through her veins. “I understand,” she said evenly, silently willing him to go away and stop trying to scare her. Because it was working. The image of the mangled porch stairs rose in her mind’s eye. If the car had done that kind of damage to four-by-fours, what would it have done to her legs—or her body?
Chapter Four
“I’ll call you,” Harte said. “Check to see how you’re doing. And tomorrow, I’ll start prepping you for your testimony.”
Dani nodded.
Harte headed out the door, pulling a key ring with two keys on it from his pocket. “Officer? Walk me out, will you?” he said as he passed Field. “These are duplicate keys to the front and back doors. I’m giving you one and keeping one myself. You and the second-shift officer will exchange keys. One of you will be here with Ms. Canto at all times.”
“Yes, sir,” Field said, turning on his polished heel to follow him.
Imperious. That was it. She’d been searching for just the right word to describe Harte Delancey. And imperious was perfect. He was arrogant too, and she didn’t like him at all. Forget how very nice he’d looked this morning in old worn jeans and a faded T-shirt with his hair tousled from sleeping in his car and his jaw shadowed by morning stubble. Forget how easy it was to imagine that he would look just like that after they spent the night …
You are so not going there, she admonished herself, even as she pushed the curtains aside with two fingers and watched him fold his long, lean body into his car and drive away.
She wondered why an attorney in New Orleans drove a Jeep. But it did suit him, like the jeans and T-shirt and, she had to admit, the stubble.
“Ms. Canto?”
She jumped and let the curtains drop into place. “What? Oh yes, Officer Field.” She hadn’t heard him come back inside.
“Do