The Right To Remain Mine (3 page)

        But, well aware she could get better results using honey rather than vinegar, Willow patted the man's arm and smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, barely able to actually look grateful as she took Theo's elbow and coaxed him back around to face her. "But I can handle this."

        Honey-approach working, the officer gazed back and returned her smile. "Yes, ma'am." He obligingly stepped back.

        She hadn't even fully turned from him when her client continued with his rant. "How much longer are you going to make me stand here and listen to this shit? I got places to be."

        Willow sighed. "I need answers first. Now, what did you do to get

yourself arrested?"

        "That's nothing to concern yourself with," he answered evasively, unable to meet her intense, probing stare. "Just get me the hell outta here."

        Tapping her toe to keep from saying something spiteful, Willow managed to hold her tongue for a second. Then she calmly answered, "Since I'm presently your lawyer, all legal issues regarding you are indeed my concern. I can't help you unless I know what I'm dealing with. Therefore, you need to cooperate with me, or I'll let you walk home."

        He lurched intimidatingly closer. "Listen, you stupid cow—"

        "No, you listen, Theo. I'm through with your insolence. Find yourself a new lawyer."

        Stumbling to a stop, he sputtered, "What? You can't do that."

        Willow lifted an amused brow. "I most certainly can. Now, what did you do to get yourself arrested?"

        He stalled another moment, glaring. But adept at the mortal staredown, Willow won, and he broke his gaze first.

        "I saw Lashonda last night," he mumbled, glancing away.

        Willow's shoulders fell when she heard the name of his ex-wife. "You broke your restraining order?"

        "He kicked her door in and wrecked the place," the interrupting officer was more than happy to divulge. "Busted the woman's jaw too."

        Shifting from one leg to the other, the tall, incredibly stout Theo shrugged. "I wanted to see my kids."

        Willow rolled her eyes but held in a tired sigh. "You see your girls once every month at your scheduled meeting."

        He snorted. "As if that's enough."

        This time, there was no containing the sigh in her lungs. "I understand your desire to see them more. But if you had just taken my advice and found a job, gotten a decent place to live, stopped hanging around your crack-dealing friends, and learned to control your temper, then the court would've let you have more time with them a month ago. Now, they're not going to—"

        "Look," he interrupted. "I'm sick of hearing you yap all the time. Will you cut the lame lecture and break me out of here already?"

        Willow paused. "Oh, hell no. You're wife's only had that order against you for three days. Three days! You're never going to see your kids again if you keep acting like a dumb idiot. You need to pull your head out of your ass and straighten up. And that's my final bit of legal advice for you. We're finished."

        As she turned to march off, he shouted after her. "Hey! You don't know nothing about what's going on."

        "I know you're a fool," Willow called over her shoulder.

        She was only five feet from the exit when his outraged roar warned her of trouble. With no time to brace herself, she wasn't at all prepared when he slammed into her from behind, tackling her to the ground.

        Willow's skull bounced against the concrete floor. Stars immediately rotated around her head. But she never lost consciousness. Not even when Theo Franklin wrapped his meaty hands around her neck and squeezed.

        She flailed under her heavy, sweat-sticky client for barely two seconds before a door flew open, slamming against the wall, and eight pair of county-issue combat boots flooded her very limited field of vision. A cacophony of shouting followed, and the weight of Theo Franklin was instantly ripped off her.

        Unable to move just yet, Willow continued to lie limp and useless with her face pressed against the cool, smooth concrete. As she sucked in sweet, life-giving air, she decided the county needed to sweep and mop more often. Their floor was just plain nasty.

        Sprawled on her stomach for what felt like hours but more realistically was barely seconds, she attempted to regain her scrambled senses. When she finally lifted her face, the county boys were still struggling to restrain and handcuff Theo. Three men provided a fort between her and her ex-client, keeping him from returning to her, while one brawny forearm wrapped around his neck, choking him from behind, and dragged him away.

        Willow squinted and could've sworn the guy with his arm pinning Franklin's windpipe was the sexy Deputy Malloy. But with black dots dancing in her eyes, she could barely make out Theo much less the face looming over his shoulder. The expression snarled into his features was so fierce, Willow shivered and told herself she never wanted to get on that man's bad side. Then she frowned, remembering she already was Malloy's least favorite person on earth.

        Either four men or one really personable octopus tried to help her up, all the hands tugging her in different directions, smothering her almost as badly as Franklin had.

        "Are you okay?"

        "Ms. DeVane, where does it hurt?"

        "Can you sit up?"

        "I'm fine," she mumbled, beginning to struggle against the unwanted

attention. When no one seemed to hear her, she snapped, "I'm fine! Please, just give me a minute. Alone."

        Finally, the hands left her, and footsteps respectfully shuffled off.

        Blinking to clear her vision, she slowly and hesitantly sat up, only to wince at the pain spiking through her temples. It hurt so bad she nearly vomited all over the dirty concrete, which would've been a real shame because she had stopped by her sister-in-law's restaurant that morning for breakfast and eaten the most delicious omelet. She bet her paycheck it was tastier going down than coming up.

        Muttering under her breath about stupid, restraining order-breaking ex-clients, Willow worked past the agony and wobbly pushed to her feet. She had to press a hand against the wall to steady herself, and even then, she swayed for a moment until her equilibrium settled and her stomach stopped heaving.

        Grateful the room had cleared of all men, providing her with a moment of privacy, she pulled herself back together before anyone could see her rattled. But, gawd. No one had ever attempted to kill her before.

        Trembling, she bit her lip and desperately checked the impulse to cry. Yet the threat of tears already stung her eyes.

        "Jerk," she grumbled to the absent Theo. No one scared Willow DeVane and made her bawl. She had a reputation to uphold. Crybaby lady lawyers got no respect.

        Willow brushed her quivering fingers down her clothes to wipe away all sign of wrinkles and floor grime. She might be as shaken as a James Bond drink but she certainly didn't have to look it.

        Still, as she swept dirt and small pebbles off her banged knees, she cursed. "Perfect. I have a run in my hose."

        "You just about got a whole hell of a lot more than that," a voice growled as a large hand grabbed her already-sore elbow and jerked her upright.

        Willow's eyes flared, and more dizziness assailed her. If the man's grip hadn't been holding her steady, she might've tumbled flat on her face.

        She blinked Malloy into focus, irritated by the flash of comfort she felt realizing it was him. For a nanosecond, temptation urged her to fling herself into his arms and burrow into his chest so she could sob her eyes out.

        But he didn't look too willing to play nursemaid. The man was livid. His reddening cheeks and clenched teeth were nothing compared to the icy chill in his gaze. Willow paused with a thoughtful frown, realizing she had never before noticed how incredibly blue his eyes were.

        Then he shook her, making her teeth clatter around like dice in her head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

        "N-Nothing," Willow said, instantly upset with herself for letting him cause her to stutter. She wrapped her hand around his forearm, balancing herself. But once she could see straight, she shoved away. "I'm quite fine," she added on a more authoritative note, though she had to refrain from touching her head, which felt as if someone was pounding a spike through both temples. "Thanks for your concern, though."

        Malloy scowled at her dry tone. "What in God's name did you think to accomplish by provoking a man like Franklin?"

        Willow straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "Excuse me? I wasn't provoking anyone. He's the one who—"

        Malloy grabbed her arms and shook her again. "You idiot! Do you even know what he could've done to you?"

        Imagining in horrid detail exactly what he could've done sent a shiver up her spine. But she wasn't about to let Malloy know how seriously Franklin had spooked her. She gave him a dirty look and coolly answered, "I try to limit it to one jerk a day manhandling me. So, if you could remove your paws..."

        Molloy blinked at his fingers wrapped around her arm as if he hadn't realized he was holding her. Immediately, he let go. But he didn't back off. He hovered close enough for her to smell the coffee on his breath as he scanned her from head to toe.

        "You have a red mark." He lifted his hand to her forehead, but he barely brushed the pads of his fingers over the spot before Willow sucked in a pained breath and slapped his wrist away.

        He met her gaze. Grateful he didn't comment on the tears she rapidly blinked away, she ignored the hot blush covering her body as his expression turned gentle.

        "Jesus," he breathed. "You don't even know how to defend yourself."

        Willow frowned. "I would've kicked him in the nuts if he hadn't tackled me from behind." Now that he had stopped jostling her, she grew steadier.

        Malloy shook his head. "I'm serious, DeVane. If you're going to represent slime like Franklin on a regular basis, you need to invest in some protection."

        "What? I sharpen my claws nightly." Willow shot him a cheeky smirk. "Doesn't that count?"

        He sighed. "There're some self-defense classes at the Y. You're enrolling in one of them. Today."

        His authoritative tone of voice amused her as much as it grated on her nerves. She arched a brow. "Is that a command, Sergeant?"

        "It's Lieutenant, not Sergeant," he growled, stepping closer. "And you bet your sweet ass it's a command."

        If he was trying to intimidate Willow by breaching her personal space, it wasn't working. The more clearly she could smell his musky male scent, the more she wanted him to linger—a realization which daunted her more than his massive, hovering bulk could. She edged a micro-step backward and snorted. "Get real, Malloy. I'm not paying for some stupid class just to make you feel better."

        His eyes sparked as he pressed even closer. "Yes, you are. Or I'm calling your daddy and telling him exactly what just happened."

        Gasping, Willow's mouth fell open. "You wouldn't."

        He grinned. "You'll learn some self-defense if I have to teach you myself."

        That caused her to laugh. "Oh, I'd just love to watch you teach a girl how to defend herself."

        He lifted his brows. "I could teach you a hell of a lot more than you know now."

        "Fine, then," she said, lifting her chin. "You're on."

        Malloy paused. Blinking as if he had just caught the punch line of a joke and it wasn't so funny, he straightened. "What?"

        "If you want me to learn how to protect myself, then you have to teach me. Isn't that what you just offered?"

        After staring at her as if he couldn't understand her language, he suddenly chuckled. "Yeah, right. I was joking, DeVane. Haven't you ever heard of a joke?"

        "Well, I'm not joking." Somehow she managed to keep a straight face. But at Malloy's dumbfounded expression, she just wanted to cackle. Yes! She had the man right where she wanted him. "You're insane if you think I'm going to spend my own hard-earned money purely for your comfort. If you want me taught, you're teaching me yourself."

        There. She knew he would never agree to that.

        "I'm not teaching you self-defense," he insisted, looking panicked by the mere idea.

        "Fine," Willow answered with a careless shrug. "Then I guess I'm not going to learn." She turned away, fully prepared to flounce off, but Malloy caught her arm and swung her back.

        "Fine," he echoed, studying her with a challenging glint in his blue eyes. "We start tomorrow."

        Willow swallowed. Crap. She hadn't thought he would call her bluff. His eyes glittered with amusement, and she could tell he knew he was winning this round.

        So she sniffed as if it was nothing. "Fine," she said. "Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. My place."

        Raith pulled into the vacant drive and parked his truck, wondering, not for the first time, what he had gotten himself into. Blowing out a tense breath, he killed the engine and studied the sprawling, single-story home.

        Five minutes late for his first "lesson" with Willow DeVane, he had to believe he'd lost his mind. He was fixing to enter the goddess's den and spend the evening with her, teaching her self-defense.

        During his academy days when he'd trained with other officers in his class, there'd been a hell of a lot of physical contact, learning each move. Back when he'd wrestled around on floor mats in a gym full of sweaty guys, he'd never thought about how intimate such contact could be. But as he stared at DeVane's elegant mansion and realized how close he'd get to her tonight and how much he'd be touching her, he couldn't think of anything else.