that got Jenna’s attention. She’d worked with Brent briefly. He’d been assigned to protect Penny from a psycho who’d tried to blackmail her into throwing a case. Each time Jenna had locked eyes with the studly marshal, her blood had gone more than a little warm. He had a way about him. Tough, in charge and majorly hot.
“Really?” Penny said as if the idea of her father and Brent running in the same social circles was ridiculous. “You ran into Brent? Was he working?”
“No. He was a guest at Judge Kline’s birthday party. Apparently he was one of the marshals assigned to her after her family was murdered.”
“Huh. I had no idea. That man is full of surprises.”
“We got to talking about his mother.”
For whatever reason, Penny’s eyebrows hitched. “Really.”
Jenna cocked her head. “That’s the second time you’ve said ‘really.’ What about his mother?”
Still focused on her father, Penny ignored the question. “He doesn’t usually talk about her. I don’t know the whole story. He mentioned it to Russ, and Russ told me.”
Russ—Penny’s FBI agent boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé, if Penny had anything to do with it—was a great source of information, and Jenna had learned to use him sparingly, but thoroughly. “What about Brent’s mother?”
Mr. Hennings turned to Jenna. “She was murdered twenty-three years ago.”
Frigid stabs shot up Jenna’s neck. If her boss wanted shock factor, he’d succeeded. “Wow.”
Penny glanced across the table. Momentarily stymied, Jenna gave her the help-me look. “The case is still open,” Penny said.
Her father turned back to Jenna. “You’ve indicated you’d like more challenging work.”
Despite her temporary paralysis, Jenna sensed an opportunity coming her way. “Yes, sir.”
“You know what they say about being careful what you wish for.”
“Sir?”
“Brent’s mother’s case, it’s cold. My wife has gotten it into her head that we should have our investigators work it.”
Jenna sucked in air. A cold case. Simply amazing. For months she’d been craving something more than paper trails and fraud cases. Something she could tear apart and hone her skills on. But this? Could she handle a murder? If it were here in the city, she might be able to pull it off. Her list of contacts was growing, and her retired detective father still had people who owed him favors.
“Hang on,” Penny said.
Yes, hang on. “Did the murder happen here?”
Penny threw up her hand. “Hang. On. Dad, I’ll do anything for Brent, but we’re attorneys. This case has no defendant. Therefore, no client. How do we do this if there’s no client?”
“It’s pro bono.”
Penny dropped her head an inch. “I’m... Wait... I’m confused. Again, no client. How are we working pro bono if there’s no client?”
“We’re helping a friend. I’m not sure how we’ll do the paperwork. There may not be any paperwork. I really don’t know. All I know is that your mother had that look about her.”
Penny sat back and sighed. “I know that look.”
Jenna raised her hand. “Where did the murder happen?”
“Carlisle, Illinois,” Mr. Hennings said. “About sixty miles south of here.”
Oh, no. She had zero contacts that far away. Even Russ probably wouldn’t be able to help her. Although, maybe he knew someone who knew someone. Heck, maybe she knew someone who knew someone.
“You’re hesitating. I assumed you’d be interested.”
“I am. Interested.”
I think. Breaking a cold case would send her value on the professional front soaring. A cold case would prove she had skills beyond her looks.
Still with her hands folded, Jenna took a minute to absorb it all. Twenty-three-year-old murder. Sixty miles away. No contacts. Juggling it with other cases. Piece of cake. Hysteria cramped her throat. I can do this. She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and channeled Jenna-the-lioness, the Jenna everyone around the office knew.
“I can handle it, sir. Thank you.”
“Good. Penny is your point person on this.” He turned to Penny. “You’re the logical choice. I can’t give it to one of the associates. Technically, this case doesn’t exist. Plus, he’s your friend.”
Jenna flipped her thumbs up. This was a chance to have a profound impact on someone’s life. “Works for me. Let’s solve a cold case.”
* * *
“GOOD MORNING, MARSHAL THOMPSON,” Penny Hennings said in the snarky voice that had earned her the Killer Cupcake moniker from law enforcement guys who’d been on the rough end of one of her cross-examinations.
Brent stepped into the Hennings & Solomon conference room—a place he’d been countless times before—and smiled. “Good morning, Ms. Hennings,” he shot back in a damned good imitation.
Penny popped out of her chair, cornered the huge table and charged him.
He held his arms out and folded her into them. “You’re like a teeny-tiny bird,” he cracked.
She gave him a squeeze, then shoved him back. “Well, I was going to be nice, but now I’m not.” He unleashed a teasing smile and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t think that smile will work on me,” she said with sisterly affection. “I’m a lawyer. I’m immune.”
“Yes,” came a female voice from the end of the table. “But I may not be.”
He’d know that voice anywhere. Jenna. Five months ago he’d been standing in the hallway right outside this room and spotted her amazing body gliding toward him in a way that would make any red-blooded male drop to his knees. He’d seen her dozens of times since then, and she’d invaded his mind on a regular basis. She was one of those women lucky enough to have her weight evenly distributed, but with a little extra magically landing in all the right places. With her long legs—perfect for a guy who clocked in just shy of six-four—and a body that was more lush than slim, Jenna Hayward gave him an itch he seriously wanted to scratch.
Right now, though, he needed fresh eyes on his mother’s case, and his mother always took precedence.
He held his breath, readying himself for the sight of Jenna to knock him daffy. By now he knew to prepare for it. That first day? He’d been toast. He released his breath, turned and there she was, sitting with her shoulders back and one hand resting on the tabletop. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders and draped over her red blouse. The blouse with one more button undone than was technically appropriate. He studied that extra button and imagined...
Don’t.
