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But even with Sarajane at the helm, the work was daunting and constant. It didn’t even let up long enough for him to duck out for some lunch. Instead, after his stomach had rumbled a number of times, he was given a sandwich from a local take-out place. The wrapper on the sandwich sported a logo: What’s For Lunch? He vaguely recognized it as belonging to a place he’d passed in his search for Advocate Aid’s office.
As with the coffee, Sarajane dropped the sandwich off at his desk. Jordan looked at her quizzically as the man sitting before him continued with his narrative about losing his job after not giving in to the sexual advances of his female boss. In response to his silent query, Sarajane merely shrugged.
“Don’t want you keeling over from hunger,” she told him as she walked away.
The next moment, he realized that the man had stopped talking and was eyeing his sandwich.
“You going to eat all of that?” the man asked him sheepishly, then added, “I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning.”
He supposed skipping lunch wouldn’t kill him. Jordan pushed the sandwich over to the man who accepted it with profuse thanks.
Jordan realized that his eyes had slipped shut. He stretched out his legs beneath his desk, trying to shake sleep from his body. It was, in his estimation, one of the longest days of his life, including the time when he was nine and had broken his leg. His parents had been vacationing in Europe and it had been his nanny, a no-nonsense young woman from Australia named Emily, who’d brought him into the hospital emergency room. Because Emily insisted, he’d been kept overnight for observation. The TV in his room was broken and he’d spent the duration of the evening staring at a spider weaving a web in the corner of the ceiling. Time had dragged by like a sloth climbing up a tree with glue on its feet.
What he’d gone through today made him long for the serenity of the hospital room.
The moment he saw Sarajane flip the lock on the outside door, pulling down the shade that indicated they were closed for the night, he could have cheered. It was past eight. Darkness had long since descended on the city.
All he wanted to do was go home and pour himself a tall drink and forget about this place. “Is that it?” he asked rhetorically. “We’re done?”
“For the day,” Sarajane replied crisply. About to walk right past him, she abruptly changed her mind and paused at his desk.
Jordan was in the process of shutting down his computer. Or trying to. The closing message seemed to have frozen on his screen and showed no signs of making good on its promise. He hit several keys that ordinarily sped up the process, but all he heard was clicking noises. The message continued to sit on the screen.
“What?” he bit off, feeling her eyes on him. All day long, he’d had the sense that he was being dissected and evaluated, part by part. Which was all right, except that he also sensed that in her estimation, he was coming up lacking. Which was not all right.
“Is there a problem?”
The cheerful note in her voice seemed out of place and irritated him more than he was willing to admit. Jordan reined himself in. “Can’t seem to shut down the damn computer.”
“Move aside,” she directed, using her small body to edge him out of the way.
“It’s all yours.” Annoyed, he took a few steps back.
Taking his place, Sarajane proceeded to hit the same keys he had. The machine continued to be just as unresponsive. He felt oddly vindicated and then was surprised as she suddenly dropped down on her knees. As he watched, mystified, Sarajane crawled under his desk. She hit the switch on the power strip that his computer and monitor were plugged into, first once, then again. The first time she drained all the power from his computer and monitor, the second hit brought the electricity flowing back to them. Since she hadn’t turned either the computer or monitor back on, they continued to remain dormant, ready to go through their paces another day.
The view from where he stood was nothing short of intriguing. The trials, literally and otherwise, of the day were mentally shelved as Jordan found himself staring at the woman’s rather tight posterior muscles and the way her skirt strained against them when she reached.
He wondered if she worked out or if nature had been incredibly kind and generous to her. He had a feeling it was probably a little bit of both.
Sarajane wiggled back out again. He stepped to the side and offered her his hand to help her up. She stared at it for a second, then chose to use his desk for leverage and rose to her feet.
He decided her action said more about her than about him. “Independent to a fault?” he guessed.
She supposed that was one way to put it. Sarajane dusted off her knees, plucking out a staple that had gotten caught in her skirt. “That way, I don’t get disappointed.”
He shook his head. “Cynical attitude for someone so young.”
She didn’t particularly like the patronizing way he’d said that. “Practical,” she countered, then blew out an annoyed breath.
He was astute enough to pick up on the warring vibrations she was giving off. “What?”
She was tempted to say, “Nothing,” but that wasn’t exactly truthful and the truth was very important to her. So she told him. “I was going to tell you that you did good.”
Jordan studied her for a moment. Several times during the course of the day, he’d heard her being incredibly sympathetic and considerate with the people who’d crossed their threshold. Yet her tone now indicated that kind words did not come easily to her.
“But?”
“No buts,” she told him. “You did good today. Better than I figured you would.”
“Thanks. I think.”
She began to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, Mary Allen is holding back.”
“Excuse me?” After seeing more than twenty people, plus the crowd scene that comprised the Tran family, he was getting the names and faces confused. He tried to remember which one had been Mary Allen.
“She’s holding back,” Sarajane repeated. “She’s not giving you the full story about the parental abduction charges.”
Now he remembered. Mary Allen was the young single mother trying to regain custody of her two daughters. She looked like a little girl herself, hardly old enough to have children, especially not children aged seven and six. Talking to her, and watching her flirt with him, he’d gotten a sense that something was missing from her story. But he hadn’t pressed her for it. By the time she had come to his desk, it was after four and all he could think about was getting out and going home to his wide-screen plasma TV and his comfortable sofa that didn’t tip dangerously when he leaned back.
Walking away from his desk, he saw that Sarajane was moving about the rear of the office, shutting down lights and checking to see that computers were off. “You know her?” he asked.
One of the phones had the receiver off. Sarajane replaced it. She shook her head in response to his question. “No.”
“Then how do you know that the woman was holding back?” He wasn’t challenging her, he was genuinely curious.
She looked up at him, silent for a moment, as if debating whether or not he merited an answer. “You get a sense of things after a while. I can always tell when people are lying.”
Jordan couldn’t help being amused. His firm paid professional profilers good money to make judgments like that about jurors who were being selected. He doubted if Sarajane Gerrity had had any professional training in that field. “Can you, now?”
Something in his voice caught her attention. She looked up at him sharply.
“Yes,” she replied firmly, silently daring him to argue with her. “I can.”
But if she meant to bait him, he wasn’t taking it. Instead, he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jordan watched as she returned to the small desk she presided over. Opening the lowest drawer, Sarajane took out her purse. Still moving, she extracted her wallet and took out a dollar bill and change.
He drew his own conclusions. Lengthening his stride, he caught up to her before she reached the back door. “Can I give you a lift?”
The other two people who had been in the office today had both left within five minutes of each other several minutes ago. He and this firecracker of a woman were alone now. It gave him a moment to study her, and think, again, that when her mouth wasn’t barking out orders, she really was a rather beautiful woman.
“Provided that my car is still in the lot,” he added, remembering his feeling about leaving the vehicle unattended.
She didn’t care for his presumption. “How do you know I didn’t drive here?”
He nodded at her hand. “You’ve got money in your hand and as far as I could see this morning, there was no valet parking.”
There was no way this was going to get personal between them. They were just going to work together for the next three weeks and it was clearly up to her to get the most out of him—professionally. She had no desire to add another layer to that.
“Thanks,” she said coolly, turning off the last light. She stood in the doorway, waiting for him to walk out. When he did, she locked the door and activated the security code. “But the bus drops me off almost at my door.”
“So could I.”
She was well versed in men like Jordan Hall. He wouldn’t drop her off at her door. He’d try to talk his way into her apartment. That was about the last thing in the world she wanted.
“Maybe some other time,” she replied. And with that, she pulled up the collar of her coat and walked deliberately away, heading for the bus stop on the next block—and away from him.
Jordan stood and watched her for a moment, then told himself that she had no need or desire for a guardian angel. And he had both when it came to that drink he’d promised himself.
With a shrug, he turned in the direction of the parking lot, hoping for a miracle. Trying to remember where his insurance papers were, just in case.
Chapter Four
When he thought about it later, Jordan wasn’t exactly sure why he took that route to go home. It certainly wasn’t the fastest way to get out of the area and back to his own home ground. Maybe, after a day spent trying to be generally selfless and sympathetic for no other reward than the expressions on the faces of the people he’d dealt with for the last twelve hours, he’d begun to be predisposed to selfless acts.
Besides, there had always been a little of the defender of the fairer sex in him. He’d cut his teeth on books dealing with tales of chivalry dating back to the Knights of the Round Table.
Or maybe he’d just seen too many superhero movies.
Whatever the reason, Jordan decided, once he’d found that his car was still exactly where he had left it, with not so much as a single graffiti mark on it, that maybe he’d just drive by Sarajane’s bus stop to make sure that the whirling dervish was all right.
Not that he expected her not to be. Jordan had no doubts that anyone foolish enough to try to take advantage of the young woman would get far more than he bargained for. She might appear to be soft and frail, but he had a strong feeling that she knew how to take care of herself. Her mouth alone should have been registered as a lethal weapon with the local authorities. Once she started talking, an avalanche of words would quickly bury the person on the receiving end, and they wouldn’t stand a chance against her.
Jordan smiled to himself. Sarajane could probably have a great future in politics if she wanted to go that route.
Still, all arguments to the contrary, Jordan turned his vehicle left instead of right, just to assure himself that everything was okay.
The closest bus stop along the thoroughfare was located near the end of the next block. There was a streetlight situated several feet away from the rectangular sign proclaiming the area to be an official bus stop, but the bulb had gone out and apparently no one had gotten around to replacing it. Except for the light from the half moon, the area was deeply embedded in shadows. Looking, Jordan could barely make out two forms next to the bus-stop sign.
One, because of the diminutive height, had to be Sarajane. The other, taller, bulkier, obviously was a man waiting for the same bus. A man Jordan surmised Sarajane knew, given how close he was standing to her.
All right, he thought, she was okay and he was way overdue for that drink he’d been promising himself. Time to get home.
But when he reached the end of the block, intent on making a U-turn so he could take the shorter route back to his penthouse apartment, Jordan could have sworn he saw the man grab Sarajane by the arm.
And she didn’t like it, Jordan realized. She was struggling.
Without thinking, Jordan stepped on the accelerator. The light was still red when he went through it, cutting across two lanes to reach the right side of the street, and Sarajane. The sound of brakes screeching behind him, coupled with the blast of a horn, told him he had narrowly avoided colliding with another vehicle. He didn’t bother looking back. His entire attention was focused on the two figures at the bus stop.
Coming to an abrupt, skidding halt almost directly next to the pair, he knew he’d made the right call even before he got out of the car. Sarajane was definitely outraged, but there was no mistaking the trace of fear on her face.
He was out of his car like a shot, leaving the driver’s-side door hanging open. “Let her go,” Jordan ordered.
The man was even bigger up close. There were no whites to his eyes, only the disturbing reddish tint that came from hardened drinking. The smell of whiskey emanated from him and his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them at least once. The expression on his dark, stubbled face was malevolent, enraged by the intervention.
“Get your own ho,” the man jeered, his expression growing uglier and more threatening by the moment. He looked as if his hamlike hands could easily smash to bits anything and anyone who roused his displeasure. “This one’s mine.”
“Think again.” Pushing Sarajane behind him, Jordan put his body between her and her would-be attacker.
To her surprise, the man who had tried to drag her away from the bus stop released her hand. Breathing hard, she stared at Jordan’s back. “What are you doing here?” she cried.
“I would have thought that would be obvious,” he fired back, never taking his eyes off the brute before him. There was a quick movement. Jordan realized that the man had pulled out a knife. From the way he held it, the creep knew how to make it do his bidding.
“Back off,” the stranger snarled. He followed the command with a particularly coarse label he affixed to Jordan.
Jordan’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “My mother really wouldn’t like hearing you call me that,” Jordan said, his voice a steely calm that Sarajane found unsettling.
“You for real?” the other man jeered.
“My friends tell me so.”
The answer was given at the same time that Jordan moved with a speed that took the other man completely by surprise. One minute he was apparently in control, the next he was on the ground, with the heel of a finely crafted Italian-leather shoe against his neck, his arm being yanked up and behind him. From the way he screamed, the pain from the movement was excruciating. Another barrage of words flew out of his mouth, ignited by the heat of his fury.
“I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch!” the man raged, trying to get up. He screamed again as Jordan pulled harder.
“Get my cell phone out of my coat pocket and call 911,” Jordan ordered Sarajane. “I’d do it, but my hands are full at the moment.” He had both wound tightly around the mugger’s arm, pulling it up and back as hard as he could. It was dangerously close to being snapped out of its socket.
Stunned, feeling like someone trapped in the middle of an action movie, it took Sarajane a moment to come to. “I’ve got my own cell phone,” she told him.
She was arguing with him? Now? “I don’t care if you stand on top of the streetlamp and let loose with a Tarzan yell,” Jordan ground out, “just get the damn police over here.”
Sarajane realized that her hands were shaking as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. The fact that she’d been so badly affected by this lowlife bothered her a great deal. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.
Hearing nothing, Jordan glanced in her direction. She looked white, even in the sparse moonlight. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” she said with more bravado than she felt. “I’m fine.”
She’d lived in areas like this all of her life and never once had she ever come close to being assaulted or robbed. For the most part, she hardly ever gave her own safety a thought. It just wasn’t one of the things she worried about.
But this put everything in a different light. This made her acutely aware of her own vulnerability, placing it smack on her doorstep. She didn’t like it.
Taking another breath, she pressed the three keys that universally connected people to help. Someone answered on the fourth ring.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
Sarajane turned away from the scene and Jordan. It was the only way she could get herself to speak.
“Hey, man,” the assailant growled, “let me go. No need to call in the cops. This was a joke, just a joke.”
“Then you’d better do something about your sense of humor,” Jordan told him coldly.
The man tried to squirm, but with Jordan’s heel in his neck, there was nowhere he could go. “You want money? I’ll give you money.”
“Save it,” Jordan snapped. “You’re going to need it for your lawyer.” He glanced toward Sarajane to see how she was doing and yelled to her, “And we’re not taking on his case.”
Having given the pertinent information to the dispatch operator on the other end of the line, Sarajane ended her call. She turned around again as she returned her phone to her pocket. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the man squirming on the ground.
“No way in hell,” she affirmed.
The assailant tried to get up again and failed. “She was asking for it,” he spat out. And then he screamed again as Jordan yanked his arm up higher.
Sarajane jumped at the bloodcurdling sound. She looked at Jordan, but his expression was mild, as if he’d done nothing more than just stretched his own muscles.
She couldn’t draw her eyes away from Jordan. There was obviously more to the man than she thought.
“I’m taking you home, so don’t bother giving me any excuses or arguments,” Jordan informed her.
“I won’t be giving any,” she told him.
It was more than an hour later. The police had responded fairly quickly, arriving on the scene within ten minutes of her call. They took both her and Jordan’s statements, then cuffed the would-be assailant, depositing him in the back of the squad car amid a hail of profanities. One of the arresting officers had told Sarajane that she would have to come down to the precinct to formally press charges tomorrow.
She’d nodded, promising to be there first thing in the morning.
Jordan took her gently by the arm and brought her over to his vehicle, now parked several feet away from the bus stop; one of the officers had asked him to move it.
He looked at her carefully, wondering if he should insist that they go to the emergency room of the closest hospital. “You sure you’re all right?”
She wished he wasn’t being so nice. If he’d lectured her, she could have rallied, could have had something to fight. But he had come to her rescue and was being her knight in shining armor. How was she supposed to rail against that? He didn’t play fair.
Sarajane shrugged. “My faith in humanity’s a little shaken up right now, but yes, I’m all right.”
He opened the passenger door for her. “He didn’t hurt you?”
She didn’t sit down right away, afraid that her knees would start to buckle if she tried to get into the vehicle. She paused to pull herself together. “Maybe just my pride.”
He didn’t follow. “Your pride?”
Sarajane nodded. Her thoughts began to explore what might have happened if Jordan hadn’t shown up when he did. But it was too painful to think about and she pulled back. Damn it, she was supposed to be independent and self-sufficient. “I should have been able to handle the situation.”
She was being too hard on herself, and she definitely expected too much from herself. “From what I saw, it wasn’t a debate. If it had been, you would have cut him to ribbons. But you’re what—?” He looked at her. “Five foot nothing? That guy looked like he was at least twice your size.”
She raised her chin defensively. “He was bigger than you and you handled him,” she protested, then stopped abruptly. It had all happened so fast, she wasn’t certain exactly what she had seen. “How did you handle him, anyway? I mean…”
Her voice had trailed off. She’d obviously realized that she was insulting him, Jordan thought, but he took no offense. The other man had been an animal and probably outweighed him by fifty pounds, if not more.
“Easy. I was one of those ninety-eight-pound weaklings as a kid.” He continued to hold the door open for her. She took her cue and got in. Her knees were weak, but mercifully didn’t collapse out from beneath her. He raised his voice as he rounded the hood to get to his side of the vehicle. “My father got me a personal trainer to build up my confidence and my body.”
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