The Defender. Adrienne Giordano
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was still sprawled beside them. He faced Russ and Penny, and his blue eyes were loaded with fear that Russ had seen too many times. We’ve got to move.
Suddenly, the air went still and Russ lifted his head another inch. A slight wind rustled leaves and the bright blue of a May sky taunted him, because some psycho decided today would be the day to go stone-cold crazy on a bunch of civilians.
Under him, Penny moved. Now she wanted to move?
“Stay down.”
Keeping low, she reached for her father’s hand. “Daddy?”
“I’m okay,” he said.
She shifted again and Russ pressed his body weight into her. On the middle of the expansive and now-empty courthouse steps, right beside a wounded reporter, they were a beautifully open target.
He swung his head, searching for anything that would provide cover. Nothing. Not one damn thing. Run. They’d have to risk it and hope one of them didn’t get popped. Below them, the woman who’d been hit whimpered. He needed to get her out, too.
“Hang in there,” he yelled. “We’ll get you to a hospital.”
Having no idea how badly she was injured, he didn’t know if she could even understand him.
Sirens blared as Chicago P.D. cruisers stormed the area. “Parking garage!” he hollered at what looked like a detective jumping out of an unmarked car. “High floor. Right side.” He went back to Penny still under him. “Are you hit?”
She lifted her head. “I don’t think so. But something is poking my butt.”
A punch of relief ripped into him. Damn, she’d scared him by freezing up like that. He eased her head back to the ground, hoping she’d forget about the thing poking her.
An armored BearCat screamed to the curb and SWAT guys funneled out, loaded with combat gear, ready for battle. “Shooter in the garage!” Russ yelled.
* * *
SOMEONE SAVE US. Someone save us. Someone save us.
Penny’s pounding head would not let up. Over and over the screams and the crack of shots and the sirens replayed in her mind, the sounds pummeling her, making fear a ripe sting against her body. She closed her eyes. One second. To focus.
Now that she knew her father was alive, they’d figure out a way to safety. With an FBI agent on top of her, they’d manage a plan.
The pounding eased a fraction and she opened her eyes. Just below her, Dad stared at her, his face stacked with terror she didn’t know her warrior father could feel.
“Russell, we need to move.”
“No kidding, Penny. Give me a sec.”
She rolled her eyes. Alphas. Always needing to be in charge.
“What’s...what’s poking me? Could I have gotten hit?”
“The parking garage,” he hollered at the SWAT team.
He waved his right arm and the bit of movement increased the pressure on her butt. What the heck? “Russell, I think I’m hit.”
“I don’t think you’re hit.”
“Then what’s that damned poking?”
“Uh, sorry,” he said. “That’s, uh...ah, cripes...it’s...me. It happens sometimes. Adrenaline.”
What? She focused on Russ’s body, the weight of it, the location of their various body parts and— Oh, stop it.
Men.
“You have an erection?” she muttered, hoping her father wouldn’t hear. “Now?”
“Hey, it’s involuntary.”
Some nut was shooting at them and the FBI agent, the one who had just saved her life, had an erection. Unbelievable. “Well, get. It. Off.”
“Penny,” her father said, “quiet.”
She’d never understand men. Never. She didn’t understand a lot of things right now. All she and her father were doing was talking to reporters, trying to get a sound bite for their client, and suddenly everything exploded. Instead of herding her father to safety, she’d stood there, lost in the paralyzing fear of her thoughts, a wimpy girl, not knowing what to do. Pathetic. Truly pathetic.
And Russell Voight, a man who normally sparked all kinds of fantasies in her mind, on top of her with a giant—really giant—erection, wasn’t helping her current state of confusion.
“It’s okay,” Russ said to her father. “She’s scared. People babble.”
“I don’t babble.”
“Yeah, you do. On three, we’re all bolting to the building. Stay low. And get rid of those heels. You need to haul.”
She nodded, kicked off her spiked heels and touched her father’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“We’re good, then,” Russ said. “One, two, three.”
He jumped up and the sight of all that quick movement stunned her. He squeezed her hand with enough force that a knuckle popped, and then he dragged her to her feet and sprinted toward the building. Wait. Dad. Penny glanced behind her, spotted her father a foot behind and reached back for him.
“Go, Penny. I’m fine.”
The safety of the lobby was just ahead and Penny stared at the back of Russ’s head, focused on all that thick dark hair because the man had amazing hair and it was so much better than thinking about gunfire.
He swung open the lobby door and shoved her through. “Find an interior room and stay there. I’ll find you.”
“Russell!”
“Go. I’ll find you. I have to help out here.”
Chapter Two
Three hours later, after helping secure the crime scene, Russ rode the elevator to the tenth floor of the swanky downtown building where Hennings & Solomon was housed. Penny had already been questioned by investigators at the scene, but for some reason—who was he kidding? he knew the reason—he needed to put eyes on her. The woman’s aggressive defense-lawyer attitude and sharp tongue drove him insane, but deep down, when confronted with his baser needs, he had an itch for her.
So, yeah, apparently he was a sick, demented freak, because Penny Hennings was a viper. Five months ago, she’d murdered him on a cross-examination that left him exhausted, frustrated and with a battered ego. Thus, the Killer Cupcake moniker. Without a doubt, she was a looker. Blond hair, blue eyes and a face so perfect he wanted to run his fingers over it just to say he’d done it. Easy, boy. At first look, her petite size fooled people, but that mouth made up for anything she lacked in stature. Russ watched the numbers on the elevator blink off and he laughed.
Sick, demented man.
The elevator door slid open and he was greeted by a thickly carpeted waiting area, where the typical hot, young receptionist cooed into her headset, “Hennings and Solomon, how may I help you?”
You can get off the phone and point me to Penny. Russ waited. It was well after five, but the receptionist remained at her post fielding calls, probably press people wanting a statement about the shooting. Everyone wanted a statement.
Already tired of waiting, he badged the receptionist, who put her calls on hold to direct him to Penny. Nothing like an FBI badge to get someone’s attention.
Having never been at this office, Russ counted down the doors and glanced at nameplates as he strode by. Most of the doors were closed, but a few remained open. The occupants glanced up at him, noting his rumpled navy suit and the unbuttoned shirt collar. After the day he’d had, the FBI would have to deal with his loose