days.”
Her eyes widened. “You must have really ticked him off.”
“And vice versa. When I called him, on the scam in progress, he threatened me with sixty days to deal with my anger-management issues.”
She couldn’t say that she wouldn’t feel the same under the circumstances. But maybe there was more Sam wasn’t saying. “My uncle is a good, fair judge. Why would he throw the book at you?”
“Because he could.”
“Define could.”
“I’m between jobs and it’s not a financial hardship to put myself up here in town for thirty days. And—”
“There’s more?”
“Oh, yeah. I used to be a detective. The town auction was coming up. And your family thinks you need a cop on your side.”
Jamie recalled Abby telling her about his police background. “Are you any good?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the double meaning hit her and a blush crept into her cheeks. “What I mean is—”
“I get your drift.” One corner of his mouth curved up before his frown returned. “Uncle Harry asked the same question. Some people thought I was a good detective, but they were wrong.”
“Why is that?” she asked, looking into blue eyes that had probably seen too much. No, no, no. Curse her soft-hearted streak. She refused to get sucked in, and held up her hand. “Forget it. I don’t need to know.”
What she needed was to get back to work. And to do that, she had to get Sam Brimstone out of her office. Buying her a man had crossed the line. Even by her parents’ standards.
“Look, Mr. Brimstone—”
“Sam.”
“Okay. Sam,” she repeated, annoyed at the husky tone that slid into her voice. “Here’s the thing, my parents arranged all this without my knowledge. They promised—”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She could see the questions in his eyes and wasn’t going there. “The point is if I’d known what they had in mind, I’d have stopped them.”
“They’ve got their reasons. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” he suggested.
She could at least do that. He would see why the bodyguard thing was over the top.
“I’ve had a series of hang-up phone calls in the middle of the night.”
“Heavy breathing?” he asked.
“No.”
Not until now. With him. A man who was the walking, talking definition of raw sexuality. And how inappropriate was she? This wasn’t a half hour episode of Sex and the City. This was real life. Her life. And she didn’t want a guy complicating things. Especially a stranger who was just passing through.
A man she’d known in law school and moved across the country to be with had dumped her and turned his back when she was losing their baby. The miscarriage was the worst thing she’d ever been through. If there was any up side—and that was a big if—she’d learned a valuable lesson. When the going gets tough, men just keep on going, and she didn’t care to count on another one. On top of that, her family had apparently conspired against Sam. Why would he be sympathetically disposed toward her?
“Did he ever say anything?” Sam prompted.
“Hmm?” She blinked and tried to focus her thoughts. “Oh. No. He just calls between midnight and four in the morning. It was every night for a while.”
“You could have turned it off.”
“I finally did.” When exhaustion had set in. Unfortunately fatigue had loosened her tongue and she’d mentioned to her folks what was going on. “I still had my cell for emergencies, but then he started calling that number.”
“Your father said a photo of you is missing from his desk at the restaurant.”
She nodded. “Someone left the frame and just took the picture.”
“I see.” He rested a hip against the corner of her desk. “Did you report this to the police?”
“Yes. And they investigated. Followed every possible lead and came to a dead end. There wasn’t much to go on.” She sat in her chair, putting a little distance between them.
“I see,” he said again.
“Then the calls just abruptly stopped. I haven’t had one for several weeks now. My theory is that it was someone who was venting about something and the police involvement brought them to their senses. And now they’re over whatever was bugging them.”
“And your point is?”
She folded her hands on her desk. “I’m not an idiot. If I was the heroine in a bad B movie, I wouldn’t go outside to face the serial slasher without a well-equipped army. The police would be actively involved if there were a concrete threat. And let’s be clear, this harassment wasn’t even very original.”
“As harassment goes you’d prefer a horse’s head under your pillow?” he asked wryly.
“Very funny. You know what I mean. I’m no hero. If there was reason to be concerned, I’d have picked out my own bodyguard.”
One who looked nothing like Sam. A shorter guy with zero sex appeal and absolutely no animal magnetism.
“You’re a family law attorney, right?” he asked, lasering her with his blue-eyed gaze as he leaned forward and flattened his palms on her desk.
“Yes. Says so on the sign out front.”
“Then I’m sure you’re aware that domestic disturbance is the most volatile and deadly situation a cop faces.”
“Yes, but—”
“But, nothing. When families are involved, emotions run high.”
“And your point is?”
“Never underestimate anyone or anything. Ever.”
She stood, but still had to look up at him. “Good advice, Sam. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for stopping by. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience my family caused you.”
His gaze narrowed. “You’re throwing me out?”
“Not literally.”
She couldn’t manage to stop herself from assessing the muscles straining the sleeves of his T-shirt. If they were arm wrestling, he’d take her easily. But this was her office, her turf—and she called the shots. She was giving him leave to leave.
It was a preemptive strike. He was good-looking enough to make her knees weak and had enough character to get between Bo Taggart and the woman he was
