What looks like a couple of clerks speed past us. “If it’s safer to wait, shouldn’t you stop them from going through as well?”
“They’re not you, and I’m not with them. In here, that’s all on the sheriffs unless shit goes down.”
“You’re taking this very seriously,” she says.
It’s not a dig, and I don’t take it that way. But I can hear the surprise in her voice. “What did you expect?”
Her attention falls to the floor. “Maybe more of what you were like in the stairwell.”
“That was different. There was no one there. Just you and me.”
Her cheeks flush. “I know,” she says, quietly.
She fumbles with her purse strap, even though there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it. Her entire face is now bright pink. The hell?
Instead of staring at her like I want to, I do my job and scan our surroundings, taking in everyone who could be a threat. No one’s making eye contact. No one’s walking around in sunglasses. And more important, no one’s reaching for a gun to blow Tess’s head off. In truth, it’s too early for anyone to make a move—if they make one at all given her small role. Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep my eyes open…and off the pretty girl I’m supposed to be watching.
The deputies move the last of the prisoners forward and secure them behind the heavy metal gate leading back to the jail. I nod to Tess, giving her the okay to proceed.
From this point on I don’t know where I’m going, so I allow her to take the lead and shadow her closely, searching for anything that doesn’t seem right or doesn’t belong. I do have a damsel in distress, after all—and whether I want this lame assignment or not, I’m going to do the job right.
Hmmm. And now that I know whose body I’m guarding, and how nice that body’s ass bounces and twitches, maybe this gig won’t be so bad after all.
So long as I can keep my hands off that ass and everything bouncing along with it.
Tess
Curran stays close to me, watching everything with subtle scrutiny. I do my best to keep on task and hurry to the next floor, where courtrooms thirteen and fourteen are situated. My knee continues to throb, a reminder of how easily Curran can rattle me. “Crazy sex”—that’s what he called our night together. Yes, I thought so, too. But to hear him say it…well, let’s just say my knee wasn’t the only thing that throbbed.
Ahead of us, another sheriff’s officer stands guard between the hall to Judge Bronson’s private chambers and the small door leading directly to the raised platform where he presides.
Curran’s broad shoulders tighten when he catches sight of the guard. He seems to know everyone in uniform, just like they appear to know him. But for some reason, his presence causes everyone to tense, which surprises me. Curran was always “that guy” everyone wanted to be around. “The party doesn’t start until O’Brien’s in the house,” his frat buddies used to say.
Yet judging by everyone’s reaction, that party is long over.
Both men lock eyes and nod stiffly, neither particularly cordial. While the sheriff’s deputies take their positions seriously, they’re generally very pleasant—friendly, even—especially to staff they recognize. That hasn’t been the case today, especially in Curran’s presence.
I stop near the double doors leading into courtroom thirteen. “Is something wrong?” I ask him quietly.
“Nope,” he responds, continuing to take in the area. “Come on. Let’s get what you need and then back to the office.”
I don’t know Curran. Not really. And while he keeps his face neutral, I can’t help thinking he’s lying to me. I don’t press and proceed forward, hurrying when I catch sight of the wall clock.