Janelle Denison – A Wicked Seduction (страница 2)

Since that fateful day over two years ago, Jo hadn’t deluded herself with the belief that a gun would be her best source of defense. While she carried a weapon, she chose to protect herself with more controlled devices—a beanbag shotgun, a collapsible baton, and a black belt in martial arts. The combination served her well, and gave her a semblance of control over her actions.

Setting aside her holster, Jo picked up her drink and held it toward Melodie’s. “Here’s to another happy ending.” Their plastic glasses clicked dully, and they each took a sip of the champagne. Then they indulged in the juicy, sweet strawberries dipped in a rich layer of chocolate, murmuring their appreciation for the delicious confection.

“Melodie?” a deep, rich voice abruptly called from the outer office.

At Cole’s summons, Melodie popped up from her chair, abandoning her moment of relaxation. Jo nibbled on a piece of fruit and watched in amazement as the other woman circled her chair and was halfway to the door when Cole appeared, a file in hand. Melodie came to an abrupt stop before they collided and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Did you need me?” Her voice was undeniably breathless.

Cole didn’t notice, his demeanor strictly business. “Have you seen or heard from Noah?”

“He’s been out of the office for the past two days on surveillance for the Blythe divorce case,” Melodie answered in her ever-efficient manner. “He checked in this afternoon for messages, but said he probably wouldn’t be back in the office until Monday.”

“Damn,” Cole muttered beneath his breath, clearly annoyed at their brother’s lack of availability. Though Noah worked for the company, he was definitely his own man and did things his own way. He was a drifter of sorts, an ex-Marine who worked when he needed the money, and played when his finances made it possible.

Cole dragged a hand along the back of his neck, as if the brusque movement could release the tension radiating from his body. “By the way, did you get the final report and billing on the Cameron case typed up?”

“I put it on your desk about fifteen minutes ago. All it needs is your signature.”

He nodded succinctly, just as the office phone rang. Jo didn’t bother reaching for the receiver on her desk, too interested in seeing how this scenario played out.

Another loud jingle.

Cole lifted a dark brow expectantly at Melodie as if to say, “Aren’t you going to get that?” Too much a creature of habit, and too eager to please, Melodie automatically slipped around him and headed down the hall to answer the front-end phone.

Jo licked the sticky sweetness of candied strawberry from her fingers as her brother approached her desk. “Jeez, Cole, would it kill you to answer the phone?” When he gave her a blank look, she added drolly, “Melodie is off the clock, or are you paying her overtime?”

With a frown he glanced at his watch, obviously surprised to see it past quitting time. “I just assumed since she was still here that she was working.”

That was part of the problem. Cole took Melodie’s enthusiasm to do his bidding for granted. But, Jo decided, that wasn’t her dilemma to resolve. It was up to Melodie to change her abiding, predictable ways and set Cole straight—both on a business level and a personal one.

Cole’s blue-eyed gaze took in the fare she was enjoying and skimmed over the card that had been attached to the basket. He read the note, then smiled warmly at her from across the desk, looking like a younger version of their deceased father with his tousled sable hair, lean features, and head-turning good looks. “By the way, good job on the Faron case.”

“Thanks.” She accepted his compliment with pleasure and satisfaction.

When she’d quit the police force and decided she wanted to work for Cole, her brother had been reluctant to hire her, not that she could blame him. Her past actions gave him too much reason to discount her ability to defend herself, or others. But her suggestion to specialize in finding abducted and missing children was a relatively safe field that Cole eventually approved. It also added a different dimension to the agency, drew a whole new clientele, and helped her absolve the guilt she carried over a past case gone bad.

She drew a deep breath, pushed aside her thoughts, and waved a hand at the champagne and strawberries. “Care to join us for a drink to celebrate?”

He shook his head, his gaze dark and distracted. “Thanks, but I don’t have time. Since Noah has made himself conveniently unavailable, I need to call Vince back and…” Cole’s sentence ebbed into silence as he belatedly realized his error.

Jo perked up at the mention of the bail bond agent who traded professional favors with Cole. On occasion, Vince found himself shorthanded and needed a bail enforcement agent to retrieve someone who’d jumped bail. Cole was a certified recovery agent, as were she and Noah.

“What does Vince need?” she asked.

A scowl creased Cole’s expression, which did nothing to dissuade Jo’s interest. It never did. Her brother had a habit of being overprotective when it came to her. It had been that way ever since their mother had divorced their father when she was five, and she’d ended up shuffled between two households. As the oldest, Cole had taken on more duties and responsibilities than any teenager should have had to endure.

“Spill it, Cole,” she said, pushing his hesitation.

His jaw unclenched, but his hold on the file folder in his hand tightened. “A guy skipped out on his bond, and I owe Vince a favor,” he said with un-characteristic nonchalance. “I traced the guy back to his Washington State residence, and I was going to ask Noah if he could recover the skip since I’m on the verge of cracking the Petrick case. But since Noah isn’t around, I’ll just call Vince and have him find someone else to do the job.”

Adrenaline shot through her veins. “I’ll do it.” Standing, she rounded the desk toward Cole.

“No.”

She stopped in front of him, bristling, though she and Cole conducted this same argument every time. Her brother preferred when she kept a low profile and stayed out of trouble. For the most part, she’d been a commendable employee and sister. But she resented that he wouldn’t let her do a job she was fully qualified to perform. She’d never been afraid of the chase and capture—not when she’d been a cop and not now—and she actually enjoyed an occasional run. It appeased the restlessness in her, which she’d been experiencing too much of lately. The bounty she made also helped to fund her low-income abduction cases, which was her main priority. And the well was quickly running dry to support those gratis projects she took on from time to time.

She folded her arms over her chest, refusing to back down, a stubborn trait she’d learned from the very guy standing in front of her. “You know, for someone who showed me the tricks of the trade, you certainly have a way of making me sound inept, despite my training.”

His gaze narrowed at her attempt to heap guilt onto his conscience. “I’m not trying to make you feel inept,” he countered. “Dammit, Joelle, you shouldn’t be out gallivanting after criminals. That’s why you quit the police force.”

That wasn’t why she’d resigned, and they both knew it. But it was a moot point she didn’t wish to argue. “I need the extra money to help supplement my lower-income cases.”

“I’ll help fund those cases. I’ve told you that.”

“No, thank you.” She appreciated her brother’s support, but as always she refused to accept his offer. While the agency made damn good money from locating missing persons and other investigative services, which in turn fattened her own paycheck, she didn’t feel right about draining his finances, or the company’s, to support her own personal cause.

Ignoring any further protests, she plucked the folder from his grasp and didn’t even flinch when he growled in response. Having been raised by Cole since the age of sixteen, she knew he was more bark and growl than bite.

He dropped into the chair Melodie had recently vacated, and Jo skimmed the contents of the file without his interference. She found all the pertinent information enclosed—a bail bond agreement, a certified copy of the bail, a booking slip, a picture of the fugitive and a copy of his Washington State driver’s license. Though the guy had committed his crimes in San Francisco, he apparently hadn’t bothered with a California renewal.

She took in his statistics. Dean Colter, age 32. Six feet tall and one hundred and ninety-five pounds. Judging by the date of birth on the document, he’d be celebrating his thirty-third birthday behind bars, since that date was next week Friday.

Her gaze traveled between the booking photo and the one on the license, comparing the two. The man had pitch-black hair, and though the license stated his eyes were green, she couldn’t confirm that with either photograph. While the driver’s license showed Dean Colter with a short, executive haircut and an easy grin, the booking picture captured a grown-out shaggy hairstyle and a cocky smirk. Obviously, the former photo had been taken before Dean’s penchant for a life of crime.