shadowed by morning stubble. Forget how easy it was to imagine that he would look just like that after they spent the night...
You are so not going there, she admonished herself, even as she pushed the curtains aside with two fingers and watched him fold his long, lean body into his car and drive away.
She wondered why an attorney in New Orleans drove a Jeep. But it did suit him, like the jeans and T-shirt and, she had to admit, the stubble.
“Ms. Canto?”
She jumped and let the curtains drop into place. “What? Oh yes, Officer Field.” She hadn’t heard him come back inside.
“Do you need anything?”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “Only a ride to the courthouse.”
“If you’re ready to go, my car is right out front.”
“The Camry?” That was the only other car she’d seen parked in front of the B & B.
“Yes. I’m driving my own car. It’s not a good idea to have a police car sitting out front all day and night.”
Dani grabbed her purse, its extra weight reminding her of the gun and the lock-pick kit inside it. She glanced quickly at Field. Would he be able to tell she was carrying just by how the heavy bag swung against her side? Thank goodness Harte hadn’t noticed. She slung the long crisscrossed strap over her head so the bag lay diagonally across her torso and rested against her left hip. Its weight reassured her. Babysitters or not, she wanted the feeling of security and control the gun gave her until the trial was over.
Looking at the back of Field’s head as he opened the front door, she still wasn’t sure he had what it took to protect her, if Harte was right about the danger.
Chewing on her lower lip, she wondered how easily manipulated he was. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Are you?”
Officer Ronald Field turned to look at her. “Ms. Canto—”
“Dani,” she said, still smiling.
“Dani. Mr. Delancey gave me my instructions. You can order something delivered later, because right now I’m driving you straight to the courthouse and straight back.”
Dani suppressed a smile as she assessed him. So, Officer Field was more strong-willed than he looked.
Chapter Five
Harte stopped outside the door of the district attorney’s office to finish speaking with his cousin Dawson, who owned a private-investigations firm. “Dawson, hang on a minute,” he said into his phone. “Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to know how you plan to get hold of Stamps’s financial records. I need to be able to use the information in court, so be careful, okay?”
“No problem. I’m working on an idea,” Dawson said.
“Get back to me as fast as you can. I have a feeling the judge is going to set the trial date as soon as he can—soon as in next week.” Harte’s phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was Felix Drury, Yeoman’s defense attorney. “I’ve got another call,” he said.
“Okay, I’ll call you back.”
Harte thanked him before switching to his second call. “Hello?” he said.
“Delancey, why is my client being harassed about an accident that has nothing to do with him?”
“Uh, who is this?” Harte asked innocently. Felix Drury was better known as Jury Drury, because in front of a jury he was as charming and self-deprecating as Jimmy Stewart’s Mr. Smith. In person, Drury was a self-aggrandizing, annoying grouch more reminiscent of Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty.
“Damn it, Delancey, you know who this is. Why are the police hauling Mr. Yeoman in? He was having dinner with his entire family at Commander’s Palace when your client stepped in front of that car.”
“Okay, Drury. First of all, she didn’t step in front of the car, as you well know. I’m not going to put up with your usual blatant rewriting of the facts of the case. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, Harte went on. “And why am I not surprised that your client just happened to be seen at one of the busiest and most prestigious restaurants in New Orleans at the time the vehicle nearly ran her over?”
“Mr. Yeoman and I are terribly sorry about her accident, as is everyone. We do hope she wasn’t injured. It would be a shame for such a lovely young woman to be hurt like that.”
Harte didn’t like the way Drury said that. If he were paranoid, he might construe it as a veiled threat.
Drury was speaking again. “Now, you tell your boss to lay off Yeoman. It’s bad enough he’s having to endure