Home Is Where the Heat Is (2 page)

She had no idea, of course. Since he’d become a supervisor in the IT department, he’d assigned himself to her tasks whenever she called the helpdesk. Chasing down this latest virus had brought him into work early this morning, otherwise some other lucky guy would’ve been here listening to her sweet voice beg for help. If he ever found the person responsible for creating it, he’d email the villain a nice bouquet of virtual flowers… with a nasty worm buried inside.

But first, he had to play the hero.

They’d met on the day Mr. Sheridan had interviewed her. She stepped on the elevator and smiled in his direction before turning to push the button for the lobby. He’d already pressed it, so the moment her fingerprint blended with his, they’d bonded forever.

If only….

He sighed and grabbed the mouse with a sweaty, shaking hand.

“What’s wrong?” Claire paced behind him, a whiff of apples and vanilla floated in her wake, creating a soft haze that buzzed his brain.

“Huh?” He looked up at the pure panic in her beautiful eyes and swore to come to her rescue. A click of the mouse revealed the document she needed. “Is this your motion?”

“Yes!” She clapped her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward as she stared at the screen. Her breasts rested snug and warm against his back, and her breath rasped in his ear. “Can you print it?”

“As you wish.” A silly response that carried a meaning known only to him… and anyone else who’d seen
The Princess Bride
. But judging from Claire’s confused look, they didn’t share the same taste in movies.

The printer hummed, and she scurried across the room to grab the paper it spat out. She gave it a quick scan, said “Thank you!” and ran back to throw her arms around his neck, knocking his glasses askew as she pressed her soft lips on his cheek. “You’re amazing!”

And the crowd goes wild!
Kurt adjusted his glasses and, as soon as she disappeared into Mr. Sheridan’s office, his pants. Lewd thoughts invaded his brain as the same fabric seat that had caressed her bottom touched his—soft and warm, just like he imagined her skin would feel.

The prosecutor burst through the door and shook Kurt’s hand. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

Claire scrambled behind Alex, gathering documents as she slung her briefcase over her shoulder. “You’re my hero.” She gave Kurt another kiss as her boss rushed out the door.

“No problem.” He made a mental note to email her a special virus, one that would keep him chained to her desk for the rest of their epic lives. She’d be his Princess Leia, and he’d be her Han Solo, fighting to protect her from the Galactic District Attorney’s office that kept them prisoner.

Get back to work, Dork.
He ran a quick virus scan as standard procedure but found nothing. Then he inserted a flash drive with a search-and-destroy file he’d written to locate the specific virus. The program conducted a thorough probe, taking its time detecting hostile files, and leaving him with nothing to do but obsess.

He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, kicking his feet up on her desk and knocking over an open bag of M&Ms. The pink and red candies lay scattered among several other packages of leftover Christmas treats, all untouched except for the nearly empty bag of dark chocolate Kisses. He grabbed the bag of M&Ms and read the label: dark chocolate with raspberry.
Ah… she craves dark chocolate.
Kurt filed that detail with the other bits of information he’d collected about Claire.

She owned a 2003 Honda Civic with a cracked windshield, but instead of fighting downtown traffic every day, she took the Light Rail to work. He wasn’t exactly sure where she lived, but at an office party, he’d heard her tell another paralegal she rented a house, not an apartment. She’d graduated from a high school he couldn’t remember the name of in a small town in northeastern Colorado, either Sterling or Sedgwick. He’d found that out when he came across her resume while repairing corrupted files for Human Resources.

Knowing all this stuff about her could qualify him as a stalker, but he’d never followed her home, never waited at the train station—he’d just hoped and dreamed that someday she might want to know where he grew up, that he loved black licorice, or how he’d waited alone in the ER while the doctors tried to save his dad. Could he tell anyone about that?

His cell phone rang and diverted him off that lonely trail. “Langston.” Answering with his last name made him feel professional.

The IT manager’s voice blasted in his ear. “Where are you?”

Kurt turned the volume down. “In Sheridan’s office purging the virus from Claire’s computer.” His boss probably had no idea who Claire was, but Kurt just wanted to say her name out loud.

“It’s in HR now, so get over there as soon as you can.”

“Got it.” He hung up and checked the progress on Claire’s monitor. Another ten minutes until the scan finished. He collected the spilled candy and popped one in his mouth, cringing as the bittersweet chocolate melted on his tongue. “She loves this crap?”

Another obstacle to overcome. Another fact he’d do nothing with. But if he hacked the Secret Santa drawing this year, he might get to stuff her stocking.
The list is in HR. How convenient.

Chapter 2

Jury duty.
Well, fuck me with the scales of justice.
JT Luck took a seat in the jury box and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to appear as unappealing as possible. The judge instructed the thirty or so citizens to answer all questions directed at the panel, or at them individually, with complete honesty. As if he’d lie in court. The last time he’d done that his life had changed forever.

He leaned back and kicked his feet up on the wood paneling that framed the jury box. The entire courtroom glared at him. The hot little assistant in the red blouse sitting with the prosecutor leaned an elbow on the back of her chair, pulling that flaming silk tight across her ample breasts. Maybe his civic duty wouldn’t be so bad if he got to stare at her all day.

JT grinned at her and slid his feet to the floor. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, tapping cherry-red fingernails on the table. Her slim black skirt hugged her thighs as she crossed her legs at the knee. Polished black heels added a hint of sex appeal to her otherwise conservative dress.
She doesn’t look like a lawyer. She looks like a… rebel.

The lawyer next to her stood and approached the prospective jurors, drawing her attention. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” JT grumbled along with the rest of the candidates.

“I’m Alex Sheridan, prosecutor in this case. Thank you for taking time away from your busy lives to serve the State of Colorado. I’ll do my best to make this jury selection efficient and fair.” He stepped back, and the defense attorney got up and said something similar. JT grunted. Promises from lawyers meant nothing to him.

The prosecutor returned and asked general questions of the entire panel. ‘Have you ever been convicted of a felony?’
No. ‘
Do you know any of the parties involved in the case?’
No.
‘Have you served on a jury before?’
No.
‘Have you ever been involved in a court proceeding?’
Aw shit.
“Yes.”

Sheridan stopped in front of him. “Criminal or civil?”

“Civil.”

He nodded and moved on, but when the defense attorney got up, he fired straight at JT. “Mr. Luck, what kind of civil proceeding was it?”

Damn it.
So long ago he’d almost put it behind him, but when he’d gotten the jury summons in the mail a month ago, the memories flooded back. “Custody fight.” But it wasn’t much of one. His mother had practically handed JT and his sister over to their dad.
I don’t want them
, she’d said.

“Were you the parent or the child?”

“The child.” He sat back and crossed his arms, refusing to give the persistent ass any more information than he’d asked for.

The beautiful woman sitting with the prosecutor shifted in her chair, clunking her bracelet on the table as she leaned her head in her hand and gave JT a smile that reached out and touched him. Her eyes reflected the same pain that had knifed through him when the judge pronounced his family’s fate.
She’s been there.
He winked back at her, and the defense attorney pounced on him.

“Do you know Ms. O’Connor?”

Ms… single?
His gaze met hers, and her sleek brown hair caressed her shoulders as she swept it behind her ear. Everything about her body screamed ‘touch me!’

“No, but I’d like to.”

“Objection!” The shocked lawyer whirled toward the judge.

Her Honor raised an eyebrow. “To what? Answering with complete honesty as I instructed?”

The prosecutor snickered and Ms. Rebel bit her lip. Then she shuffled through a stack of papers and pulled one to the top.

“However,” the judge cleared her throat and shot a pointed stare at JT, “I must caution you that if you are selected, communication between jurors and attorneys or their teams is strictly forbidden.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He tangled his fingers in the chain around his neck, clutching the stone arrowhead dangling from it.
Dismiss me, dismiss me.
His lucky charm had gotten him out of unpleasant situations more than once.

The prosecutor’s sexy companion shot JT a glance. Her lips pressed together in a stern line, but her eyes danced as if she’d discovered some delightful secret. He shifted to accommodate the uprising in his jeans. Maybe he couldn’t talk to her, but he’d damn sure take every opportunity to look at her amazing breasts and luscious ass.

One by one potential jurors left the courtroom while others filed into the jury box—but JT’s ass remained firmly planted in the number four seat.

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor addressed the judge. “The State accepts the jury panel as seated.”

Damn it.

The defense attorney agreed, and the judge swore JT and his eleven companions into service. She then called a brief recess, and he took the opportunity to send an email to his office manager. He’d be out the rest of the day, possibly all week.

Ms. Rebel frowned as she watched him settle in seat number four, perhaps disappointed that they were legally prohibited from seeing each other. His luck had failed this time, but maybe fate would turn his civic duty into something much more rewarding.

***

Juror number four’s gaze burned through Claire’s red blouse. It travelled from her head to her toes, leaving her skin tingling as if he’d caressed her naked body. She’d read his questionnaire: age, 33; sex, male—obviously—Bachelor’s degree, self-employed, and…
yes
! Single. But he’d been selected to serve, and the judge specially warned him away from her.

Oh well.

Claire wrote his name on her legal pad. Jared Tucker Luck. As soon as the trial ended and the jury was officially dismissed, she’d offer him personal legal services.
Now he’s the guy to end my dry spell.
She just had to keep her legs crossed a little while longer. His hair hung a bit shorter than Will’s but long enough to fall into his eyes and be swept behind his ears.
Rawr.

But the familiar pain that drew her to him, an irresistible force that held her in his magnetic grasp, ran deeper than the physical attraction.
He understands.

How could she know that? They hadn’t even spoken to each other and the law forbade them to do so, but somehow a wink and a smile expressed more than mere words ever could.

Her face flushed hot as Alex stood and delivered his opening statement. Claire had heard him practice it so many times that she knew every word, especially the circumstances of the victim’s disappearance. Her parents had recently separated, and they had a temporary custody agreement in place, but neither had remembered who was supposed to pick her up from school on that Thursday. Her father was busy packing up his things while her mother supervised, yelling at him the whole time. Michelle decided to walk to her father’s new house, and had disappeared en route. No one had ever seen her again.

Claire shuddered as Alex told the story, remembering how easily and how often her parents had forgotten about her.

She tuned him out and watched him pace in front of the jury box, letting her gaze rest on Mr. Luck as her boss walked by him. The yummy juror had shrugged off his beaten-up leather jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his blue plaid shirt. His faded jeans fit snug across muscular thighs, and she’d caught a glimpse of worn work books when he’d kicked his feet up on the jury box. No desk job for this civil servant.

His attentive gaze followed Alex, but when the prosecutor circled back, the wayward juror smiled in Claire’s direction. She might’ve missed it if she hadn’t been studying him so closely, but when he shook his bangs from his face, his blue eyes sparkled with blatant disregard for the judge’s warning.

She leaned back in her seat and fanned herself with the stack of questionnaires.
What happened to the air conditioning? Oh wait, it’s December.
She didn’t dare unbutton her blouse in court, so she gathered her hair at the back of her neck and draped it over one shoulder. Alex had warned her not to call attention to herself, and wearing red pushed the envelope. Tomorrow she’d wear her boring navy blazer, but tonight, she’d go shopping for some blue peep-toe heels.

Alex sat down beside her. “Pay attention to the jury,” he whispered. “I need you to observe and record their reactions to testimony.” He drew a simple diagram of the jury box and numbered each seat.

Claire took the pad he slid over. “Yes, sir,” she responded with more excitement than she intended to reveal.

Alex raised an eyebrow, then sat back and listened to the defense’s opening statement while she mentally counted each juror and circled number four. She wrote detailed notes for each juror as witnesses took the stand.

When the forensic expert got technical, Claire’s mind wandered down the hallway behind the courtrooms to a holding cell used for dangerous defendants.