Mr. Hall Takes A Bride. Marie Ferrarella

      She looked up at him, silent for a moment, as if debating whether or not he merited an answer. “You get a sense of things after a while. I can always tell when people are lying.”

      Jordan couldn’t help being amused. His firm paid professional profilers good money to make judgments like that about jurors who were being selected. He doubted if Sarajane Gerrity had had any professional training in that field. “Can you, now?”

      Something in his voice caught her attention. She looked up at him sharply.

      “Yes,” she replied firmly, silently daring him to argue with her. “I can.”

      But if she meant to bait him, he wasn’t taking it. Instead, he nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      Jordan watched as she returned to the small desk she presided over. Opening the lowest drawer, Sarajane took out her purse. Still moving, she extracted her wallet and took out a dollar bill and change.

      He drew his own conclusions. Lengthening his stride, he caught up to her before she reached the back door. “Can I give you a lift?”

      The other two people who had been in the office today had both left within five minutes of each other several minutes ago. He and this firecracker of a woman were alone now. It gave him a moment to study her, and think, again, that when her mouth wasn’t barking out orders, she really was a rather beautiful woman.

      “Provided that my car is still in the lot,” he added, remembering his feeling about leaving the vehicle unattended.

      She didn’t care for his presumption. “How do you know I didn’t drive here?”

      He nodded at her hand. “You’ve got money in your hand and as far as I could see this morning, there was no valet parking.”

      There was no way this was going to get personal between them. They were just going to work together for the next three weeks and it was clearly up to her to get the most out of him—professionally. She had no desire to add another layer to that.

      “Thanks,” she said coolly, turning off the last light. She stood in the doorway, waiting for him to walk out. When he did, she locked the door and activated the security code. “But the bus drops me off almost at my door.”

      “So could I.”

      She was well versed in men like Jordan Hall. He wouldn’t drop her off at her door. He’d try to talk his way into her apartment. That was about the last thing in the world she wanted.

      “Maybe some other time,” she replied. And with that, she pulled up the collar of her coat and walked deliberately away, heading for the bus stop on the next block—and away from him.

      Jordan stood and watched her for a moment, then told himself that she had no need or desire for a guardian angel. And he had both when it came to that drink he’d promised himself.

      With a shrug, he turned in the direction of the parking lot, hoping for a miracle. Trying to remember where his insurance papers were, just in case.

      Chapter Four

      When he thought about it later, Jordan wasn’t exactly sure why he took that route to go home. It certainly wasn’t the fastest way to get out of the area and back to his own home ground. Maybe, after a day spent trying to be generally selfless and sympathetic for no other reward than the expressions on the faces of the people he’d dealt with for the last twelve hours, he’d begun to be predisposed to selfless acts.

      Besides, there had always been a little of the defender of the fairer sex in him. He’d cut his teeth on books dealing with tales of chivalry dating back to the Knights of the Round Table.

      Or maybe he’d just seen too many superhero movies.

      Whatever the reason, Jordan decided, once he’d found that his car was still exactly where he had left it, with not so much as a single graffiti mark on it, that maybe he’d just drive by Sarajane’s bus stop to make sure that the whirling dervish was all right.

      Not that he expected her not to be. Jordan had no doubts that anyone foolish enough to try to take advantage of the young woman would get far more than he bargained for. She might appear to be soft and frail, but he had a strong feeling that she knew how to take care of herself. Her mouth alone should have been registered as a lethal weapon with the local authorities. Once she started talking, an avalanche of words would quickly bury the person on the receiving end, and they wouldn’t stand a chance against her.

      Jordan smiled to himself. Sarajane could probably have a great future in politics if she wanted to go that route.

      Still, all arguments to the contrary, Jordan turned his vehicle left instead of right, just to assure himself that everything was okay.

      The closest bus stop along the thoroughfare was located near the end of the next block. There was a streetlight situated several feet away from the rectangular sign proclaiming the area to be an official bus stop, but the bulb had gone out and apparently no one had gotten around to replacing it. Except for the light from the half moon, the area was deeply embedded in shadows. Looking, Jordan could barely make out two forms next to the bus-stop sign.

      One, because of the diminutive height, had to be Sarajane. The other, taller, bulkier, obviously was a man waiting for the same bus. A man Jordan surmised Sarajane knew, given how close he was standing to her.

      All right, he thought, she was okay and he was way overdue for that drink he’d been promising himself. Time to get home.

      But when he reached the end of the block, intent on making a U-turn so he could take the shorter route back to his penthouse apartment, Jordan could have sworn he saw the man grab Sarajane by the arm.

      And she didn’t like it, Jordan realized. She was struggling.

      Without thinking, Jordan stepped on the accelerator. The light was still red when he went through it, cutting across two lanes to reach the right side of the street, and Sarajane. The sound of brakes screeching behind him, coupled with the blast of a horn, told him he had narrowly avoided colliding with another vehicle. He didn’t bother looking back. His entire attention was focused on the two figures at the bus stop.

      Coming to an abrupt, skidding halt almost directly next to the pair, he knew he’d made the right call even before he got out of the car. Sarajane was definitely outraged, but there was no mistaking the trace of fear on her face.

      He was out of his car like a shot, leaving the driver’s-side door hanging open. “Let her go,” Jordan ordered.

      The man was even bigger up close. There were no whites to his eyes, only the disturbing reddish tint that came from hardened drinking. The smell of whiskey emanated from him and his clothes were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them at least once. The expression on his dark, stubbled face was malevolent, enraged by the intervention.

      “Get your own ho,” the man jeered, his expression growing uglier and more threatening by the moment. He looked as if his hamlike hands could easily smash to bits anything and anyone who roused his displeasure. “This one’s mine.”

      “Think again.” Pushing Sarajane behind him, Jordan put his body between her and her would-be attacker.

      To her surprise, the man who had tried to drag her away from the bus stop released her hand. Breathing hard, she stared at Jordan’s back. “What are you doing here?” she cried.

      “I would have thought that would be obvious,” he fired back, never taking his eyes off the brute before him. There was a quick movement. Jordan realized that the man had pulled out a knife. From the way he held it, the creep knew how to make it do his bidding.

      “Back off,” the stranger snarled. He followed the command with a particularly coarse label he affixed to Jordan.

      Jordan’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “My mother really wouldn’t like hearing you call me that,” Jordan said, his voice a steely calm that Sarajane found unsettling.

      “You