His Touch. Mary Baxter Lynn

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      Four

      Jessica sensed Brant Harding was as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. It didn’t take any brain-power to figure that out. So why had he come? And why didn’t she just send him on his way? Good questions, but with no good answers.

      “Shall we get down to business?”

      Although his tone was not exactly brusque, it touched on it. “I have no problem with that,” she said, feeling her temper rise, which was totally out of character for her. It took a lot to rile her, but there was something about this man that set her on edge. As the seconds ticked on, that edge seemed to sharpen.

      Why hadn’t she asked Veronica more about him when she’d had the chance? She kicked herself mentally for that oversight. At the time, however, she had assumed he was an older man, the Saxon type, perhaps, with a bald spot on the top of his head. Well, he certainly wasn’t old—early to mid-forties, she gauged. Nor did he have a bald spot.

      Shifting her thoughts abruptly, Jessica turned and made her way into her office proper.

      Brant didn’t sit down, but then, she didn’t invite him to, either. Briefly their eyes met before both looked away.

      However, Jessica didn’t have to stare at him to know what he looked like. The image of his tall, well-honed body dressed in a pair of casual slacks, sports shirt and boots was imprinted on her mind. He seemed to dominate her office, and it wasn’t small, either. It was the man himself. He exuded that kind of power and authority.

      No wonder he was a crackerjack agent. Still, that didn’t excuse his curt behavior. Without having to be told, she knew no one had been able to make him show up here—favor or no favor. She imagined Brant Harding did his own thing, in his own time.

      Handsome? No. His features, which were etched with an almost bitter overtone, were too strong for that. Noticeable? Oh, yes. His thick dark hair was entwined with silver and appeared like it wanted to curl, which merely added to its richness. And his dark eyes were surrounded by thick sooty lashes, lashes that most women would kill for, herself included.

      A living, breathing work of art was what he was.

      Clearing her throat and hoping she’d successfully maintained her composure, Jessica jerked her mind back on track. Remembering her manners, she offered him a cup of coffee.

      “No, thanks. But I would like to know who that guy was and what he meant by his parting shot.”

      He was also a man who came straight to the point, Jessica noted. A man who apparently didn’t believe in wasting words.

      “His name is Lance Saxon, and he’s a councilmember.”

      “He’s obviously not happy with some of your latest decisions.”

      “That’s an understatement. He’s by far my biggest critic.”

      “Is it because of the police stink?”

      “So you know about that.”

      He shrugged his shoulders, which were the width of a fullback’s. “Thurmon told me you’d cleaned house.”

      “I wouldn’t go that far. What I did was relieve the chief of his duties, along with two officers whom I put on suspension.”

      Dark eyebrows quirked. “Sounds pretty drastic to me, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”

      God, he was irritating. “Evidence was uncovered that the officers were on the take and the chief knew it but did nothing. In addition, there was strong evidence of police brutality, not just in one incident but several. The same officers were involved each time.”

      Jessica paused and drew a clear breath. “Pending further investigation, I thought it best for the city that I take such a bold move.”

      “So everything is well documented.”

      “I have folders filled with complaints,” Jessica said.

      “So you do indeed have your guns loaded.”

      “That seems to surprise you,” she responded in a testy tone, having difficulty hiding her growing irritation. “Or maybe it’s that you don’t approve.”

      He lifted his eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

      “You’re right, it doesn’t.

      ” Brant’s eyes narrowed. “It’s what the council thinks that matters.”

      “If I were a m—” Jessica broke off, choking on the word man.

      Brant finished the sentence for her. “If you were a man, you might have more support, right?”

      “That’s right,” she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that sometimes caught her unawares. “I suppose you feel the same way.” Not that she gave a damn.

      Again he seemed a bit shocked СКАЧАТЬ