with his own if necessary. “Want some coffee? Ms. Canto and I are going to talk about the upcoming case.”
“No, sir. I’ll take a look around the house and up and down the street while you’re here.”
“Good. Thanks.”
As Ronald left, Harte turned to the kitchen. Dani was dressed in the same jeans she’d worn the day before. He hadn’t missed how well they fit her long sleek legs and trim, curvy backside. They looked even sexier today. How was that possible? He watched her retrieve a sweet roll from the microwave and set it on the small table. When she looked up and frowned, he realized he was staring.
“What?” she said, jerking the chair out and sitting down.
He walked over and picked up her coffee mug from the counter and set it in front of her. “Forgot your coffee,” he said lightly, then turned to pour himself a cup.
“I guess Michele told you about my silly reaction to the cats?” she asked as he sat down across from her. She cut a wedge of cinnamon roll.
“Yes, but I don’t think it’s silly. You need to tell her or Field any time you think you hear something outside your window. I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.”
“Well, thanks.” She gestured with her fork. “These rolls are surprisingly good. You should have one.”
He tore his gaze away from her and sent a halfhearted glance toward the package. What he wanted to have was a chance to taste the little dollop of icing off the corner of her mouth. He swallowed. “I came by to tell you that the judge called me this morning. He apologized for the trial date being moved forward. Said he’d put it on the docket last week, but he’d been out of town. I’m thinking Drury must have seen the date on the docket. If he told Yeoman that the trial was moved forward, that could be why Yeoman has been trying to frighten you. You should be happy that the trial is starting. The earlier it starts, the quicker it finishes.”
“I guess so,” Dani said. “But that doesn’t leave much time for prep.”
“Right. We’ll be working on that all this weekend.”
“But Tuesday—I’m not sure I’m ready,” she said, setting her fork down.
“Of course you are. You know the process. It doesn’t matter that you’ve never testified in a trial yourself. You’ve tried plenty of cases. You know what to expect.”
She shook her head, and a couple of strands of her dark hair fell across her face. She shoved them back with an impatient hand. “I haven’t been...” She paused, then started again. “I haven’t talked about that night with anyone—I mean, other than the police and someone from the D.A.’s office back when it happened. Whenever I think about it...” Her voice cracked.
Harte watched her. He’d sat with lots of witnesses as they talked through their grief. Violent death was a cruel and heartless way to die. It left family and friends not only grief-stricken but guilt-ridden, wondering if they could have done something to prevent their loved one’s death. He always felt tremendous sympathy for those left behind.
But the feelings niggling their way through his chest right now were more than just sympathy for Dani as a grieving granddaughter. He felt protective of her. He had an unprofessional urge to hold her close and ease her pain.
No. Not hold her close. He hadn’t meant that. He didn’t want that. He was merely concerned about her safety and state of mind. He needed to make sure that by Monday, she could clearly and succinctly describe what had happened the night Freeman Canto died. That was all.
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. He tried to concentrate on what she was saying.
“It’s funny. I was okay at the funeral too. But ever since—” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked and looked down at her hands.
Harte leaned his forearms on the table. “It’s no wonder that you’re upset now. You were almost run down by a car yesterday. Not to mention being uprooted from your home, which you shared with your granddad until he was murdered. I suspect that hearing those cats last night was the last straw. You’re in a much more vulnerable state than you’ve been so far since your granddad died.”
Her brows drew down. “Vulnerable state? You make me sound like a Jane Austen character. Trust me. I am not prone to fainting on couches.”
He couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I’m sure you’re not.