Flirting with Disaster

She’d always told everyone that her father had never contacted her after he’d run. That he’d never been in touch. She’d sworn that was the truth to every federal officer who’d questioned her and every shady Chicago cop who’d shown up at her place with a creepy smile and assurances that they were there to help. But it hadn’t been the truth.

From the moment he’d disappeared, he’d sent letters. A week of peace would go by. Maybe two. And then she’d get another letter disguised as junk mail in case anyone was watching the mailbox.

He’d pretend to be apologizing or explaining or just sending his love, but he’d always asked for money. Always. She’d sent a little, but after the fourth or fifth letter that she’d refused to reply to, he’d become less apologetic and more aggressive. How can you do this? I’m sorry about everything, but I’m still your father. I need help. You owe me that.

She hadn’t owed him anything. After twenty-two years of being his daughter, she hadn’t even known who he was. She’d thought he was a hero, but he’d killed at least one fellow officer, stolen money from countless others, and he’d brought dangerous people into Isabelle’s life. Isabelle had hated him.

But none of this had to do with today. He wasn’t back. He hadn’t found her. And her immediate terror was pissing her off.

She sorted through the rest of her mail to be sure it was all junk, then tossed it in the trash. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a scared girl. She’d left all that behind. She’d walked away from it. She’d made a damn decision, and she’d pulled it off.

“Screw it all,” she muttered. Then she slipped her shades back on and stepped back out into the day. She forced herself to walk toward the courthouse instead of avoiding it. She put the swing back in her step, and she didn’t shy away from the news trucks as she made her way through the crowd.

And she was glad she didn’t, because that was the moment she spotted Tom.

In action, he was just as hot as she thought he’d be. His dark gray suit showed off strong shoulders and a slim waist. He wore shades against the bright sun, too, and some sort of earpiece. Leaning in to speak to a man dressed in similar fashion, Tom looked like Secret Service or FBI or something way more urbane than a US marshal.

Damn it. He was sexy.

She saw the moment he noticed her, despite the dark shades hiding his eyes. His head cocked. One expressive eyebrow rose. His lips stopped moving. But for only a moment. He resumed talking, but his head followed Isabelle’s movement down the sidewalk. She raised her chin. Better to think about him watching her than to consider the chaos surrounding both of them.

She’d recognized his attractiveness even when she’d been suspicious of him, but after talking with Lauren about him last night, her awareness had sharpened. She liked the way he looked and moved. She liked his voice. She even liked the way he smelled. His profession was a drawback, but it had somehow ceased to be a deal breaker. In fact, maybe it was a turn-on. The danger. Tempting fate. It was stupid, but she suddenly felt alive.

Hell, she’d been complaining for months that she wanted a hot fantasy man to show up on her doorstep and show her a good time. This man had literally shown up on her doorstep, and she’d be an idiot not to at least entertain the idea. Or so Lauren had told her.

Her mouth refused to hold back a smile when Isabelle remembered Lauren’s assessment of his ass. Something about it being truly bitable.

Isabelle tipped her head toward him just as he turned to gesture toward the courthouse. His suit jacket tightened against his backside with the movement.

She let her smile widen. His ass did look bitable. It was taut and just round enough to make her want to squeeze it. God, she did love a nice male ass. And it had been so long since she’d dug her nails into one.

She walked on, grinning at the sidewalk in front of her and hoping he had a good view of her own ass from where he was working.

“Isabelle,” he called.

Telling herself not to look too pleased, she turned to see him walking toward her.

“I figured you were too busy to talk,” she said.

“I am, but there’s been a delay in the defense counsel getting here, so we’re in a holding pattern. A cattle truck jackknifed on the highway.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like a setup to me.”

He smiled, and the way the shades hid his eyes made him look dangerous. “Believe me, if it was the prosecutor’s car, I’d be on my way out there with lights flashing. But the defense is on their own.”

“Cruel. And the cows?”

“I gather they’re fine. Regardless, we don’t have the manpower to offer them protection.”

His head rose, and he seemed to give a quick scan to the area before smiling down at her again, his attention tipping a little lower this time. This was a different Tom. He was...almost flirty. And totally confident. “I hope you locked up before you left last night.”

Ah. So he’d noticed she was wearing the same thing. Good. Let him wonder if she’d gone home with someone. Let him wonder what she was like in bed. “I locked the door. I’ll let you know if there’s any trouble when I get home.”

“All right.”

“I’d better let you get back to work,” she said, stepping away with a little wave. “Nice suit, by the way.”

He looked down, brows twitching up in surprise. “Thanks.”

She couldn’t resist drawing it out a little more. She’d fought off her panic, and now she felt powerful. Maybe a little reckless. “Are you going to stop by tonight and check on me?”

He’d been sweeping the area again, but his face tipped back to her. “If you’d like me to.”

She shrugged. “You’re probably busy,” she said casually before walking on. “Good luck with this circus.”

He didn’t reply, but she could feel his gaze on her as she left. Isabelle barely even noticed the loud drone of the crowd around her as she moved through them. She was too busy swinging her ass.

* * *

“K-9 SAYS THE parking lot is clean.”

Tom wiped the frown from his face and immediately spun to follow Mary as she moved through the crowd. She parted groups of people with just a look.

“They’re stationed at the door?” he asked.

She nodded. The K-9 unit had cleared the judge’s home first as a precaution, and they’d been working over the entire courthouse since six this morning, the two dogs taking turns so they weren’t overwhelmed.

“Forensics?” Tom asked.

“Fingerprints confirm it’s him.”

Saul Stevenson hadn’t bothered disguising his handwriting or keeping his prints off the paper last time, either. He wanted them to know who he was.

Mary glanced over her shoulder as they neared the building. “Postmark is Helena, three days ago.”

They both flashed their badges at the security team, despite that they knew every member. It was important that no one get lax.

Tom had gone over the schedule for the day four times already. He trusted his team, and he’d briefed local law enforcement himself. There wasn’t much to do now except watch and wait. The threat was likely just a scare tactic. If Saul Stevenson meant to actually plant a bomb, he’d be stupid to give them a heads-up. Then again, maybe he was stupid.

But it was more likely that the bomb threat was a diversion, meant to draw attention away from his true intentions. “Hannity is sweeping rooftops now?” he asked Mary as they entered the meeting room.

“He’s almost done.”

“A sniper shot would be a hell of a lot simpler for him to pull off than a bomb.”

“Maybe he wants the drama of an explosion, though.”

Tom nodded, but the buzz of his phone in his pocket cut off his next words. His thoughts immediately flashed on Isabelle, her smile teasing and her clothes advertising that she hadn’t bothered going home last night. Not to her place, anyway. She’d slept somewhere else.