Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,14

write.”

“I told you, the public defender’s office will assign your cases to someone else. You need to worry about staying safe.”

“That’s all well and good, but even if somebody picks up my caseload, I still have paperwork to complete. I brought my laptop. I need that stuff.”

“Okay. I’ll ask the officer to take you to pick them up. One hour, no more. And that’s the last time you leave this B-and-B until I say so. Got it?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Prosecutor, sir,” she said, not even trying to hide the irritation in her voice. She heard the tinkle of the bell over the front door and sturdy footsteps approaching.

Harte turned and took a step backward. “I’m Harte Delancey.”

“Field, sir,” the officer said, coming into view at the bedroom door. “Ronald Field, reporting for protection duty.” He stood straight and solemn, his right hand resting on the butt of his gun.

He was a medium-height officer with medium-brown hair and a medium build. He was pleasant-looking, but he didn’t look as if he could do any better job of protecting her than she could herself. He wasn’t in uniform, but even so, he looked spit-and-polished, from his crisply ironed shirt all the way down to his mirror-shined shoes.

As a public defender, she was no stranger to the police. But the sight of Officer Field standing in the doorway of the frilly Victorian room looking so earnest and official, despite his street clothes, and knowing he was there to spend eight or ten or however many hours every day guarding her, sent a frisson of fear down her spine.

“This is Danielle Canto,” Harte said, gesturing toward her.

“Yes, sir.” Field regarded Dani with a slight nod. “Ma’am. I know you, at least in the hall. I’ve been the arresting officer on a couple of cases you’ve defended.”

“Oh, of course,” Dani said, although she didn’t recognize him. She felt her cheeks begin to warm in embarrassment. “Nice to see you, Officer.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Please call me Dani.” She held out her hand and Field took it. He was nice, only a few years older than she.

She listened as Harte laid out the ground rules to Field about taking Dani to the courthouse to retrieve her papers—nowhere but her office, only as many papers as fit in one box or briefcase, straight back to the B & B.

“Take a different route each way and make sure you’re not followed,” he said. Then with a quick glance at her, he added, “And she’s not to leave the house again.”

She met Field’s gaze over Harte’s shoulder and rolled her eyes. Field’s expression didn’t change from quiet respect.

“Okay, then,” Harte said. “Dani, be a good girl and don’t give Officer Field a hard time, okay?”

She raised her eyebrows, wishing her superpower was shooting daggers from her eyes. “Watch it, Mr. Prosecutor. I could file harassment charges against you for calling me girl.”

“You could,” he said, amusement tingeing his voice. “Anybody can file suit, but it would be dismissed as frivolous.”

“I could make it stick,” she retorted.

Harte’s face grew solemn. “Seriously, don’t give him any trouble. This is for your own safety.”

Suddenly, the back of her throat quivered and she felt a twinge of fight-or-flight adrenaline course through her veins. “I understand,” she said evenly, silently willing him to go away and stop trying to scare her. Because it was working. The image of the mangled porch stairs rose in her mind’s eye. If the car had done that kind of damage to four-by-fours, what would it have done to her legs—or her body?

Chapter Four

“I’ll call you,” Harte said. “Check to see how you’re doing. And tomorrow, I’ll start prepping you for your testimony.”

Dani nodded.

Harte headed out the door, pulling a key ring with two keys on it from his pocket. “Officer? Walk me out, will you?” he said as he passed Field. “These are duplicate keys to the front and back doors. I’m giving you one and keeping one myself. You and the second-shift officer will exchange keys. One of you will be here with Ms. Canto at all times.”

“Yes, sir,” Field said, turning on his polished heel to follow him.

Imperious. That was it. She’d been searching for just the right word to describe Harte Delancey. And imperious was perfect. He was arrogant too, and she didn’t like him at all. Forget how very nice he’d looked this morning in old worn jeans and a faded T-shirt with his hair tousled from sleeping in his car and his jaw