Woods’s eyes shifted toward her. “That’s what they usually do when they drive by—unless they’re tourists.”
Kleinmann’s thin lips just barely folded themselves into a smile. Playing the moment out, he steepled his fingers, then looked over them at the two people he had in his office. To the casual observer, he appeared calm. Janelle had learned by experience that nothing could be further from the truth. He was worried about them, she thought. God, she hoped he wasn’t going to take her off the case. He was a Southern gentleman down to the bone and just politically incorrect enough to do it “for her own good.”
After a moment, he made his ruling. “You two need bodyguards.”
Woods nodded, looking relieved as he smiled. Janelle felt relieved, but for a different reason. At least this was better than being taken off the case. But she was far from happy about the turn of events. She hated nothing more than having her space invaded without an invitation.
She did her best to divorce the distress and annoyance she felt from her voice. “Is that really necessary, sir?”
Everyone knew that Kleinmann viewed himself as always being fair. They also knew he didn’t like having his wishes questioned. “I believe it is.”
The battle lines were drawn and she was on the other side. Janelle softly blew out a breath, knowing that she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Haiti of winning this if it turned into any sort of debate.
“All right, I could probably get one of my brothers to…” But Kleinmann was shaking his large, sparsely haired head. His eyes were firmly fixed on her face, as if he were waiting for her to stop talking. Janelle backtracked. “What?”
The D.A. was well acquainted with her pedigree, knew most of her relatives by name and reputation. “You need someone around all the time,” Kleinmann told her matter-of-factly. “Your brothers all have their jobs to do within their different departments. Besides, they’re too close to you. You’d probably find a way to wrap them around your little finger.” He forced a smile to his lips. On the whole, smiles did not arrive there naturally. “Don’t worry, Ms. Cavanaugh, I’ve already got this covered.”
Which was precisely why she was worried, Janelle thought. She did her best to keep her thoughts from her face. “So fast?”
“You don’t get to be district attorney by sitting on your duff, waiting for your shoe polish to dry,” he informed her tersely. His eyes shifted to include Woods as he continued. “And I don’t want word getting around that the D.A.’s office can’t take care of their own.” His reasoning was simple. “If we let our own people become walking targets, how does that look if we tell a witness they have nothing to fear? That we’ll protect them? Our credibility will go down the drain and we’ll be out of business in no time. I have no desire to go back to private practice,” he informed them glibly. His voice echoed about the spacious office, an office that was more than twice the size of any other on the floor. “I’m too old to start all over again.”
As if he believed that, Janelle thought. She made the obligatory protest, knowing the D.A. expected it. “You’re not too old, Ezra.”
Kleinmann paused for a moment, as if enjoying the banter. “And you’re not too subtle, Janelle.” His eyes grew serious as he got back to business. “You’re getting bodyguards, both of you,” he underscored, looking at Janelle. “Along with Martinez or Matine, or whatever he wants to call himself. I’ve already put the requisition in.”
Going through channels would take time. Janelle felt a ray of hope. “The wheels of justice grind slowly.”
With any luck, she thought, by the time the bodyguards were assigned, the D.A. would change his mind about their necessity. She absolutely hated the idea of having a shadow dogging her every movement. Pointing things out to her that even a hopeless simpleton would know.
She found herself wishing that one of her brothers could be given the assignment. But now that she thought of it, neither Dax nor Troy nor Jared handled that kind of thing. Her father would have to be brought into this in order to make the arrangements.
God, that was the last thing she wanted, to bring her father into this. He’d want to wrap her in a six-foot cocoon.
Like a man engaged in a mental game of chess, one that he was winning, Kleinmann permitted himself a fleeting smug look. “Not this time.” The smug look widened to resemble a smile. “Not when you know who to call.”
And she had no doubt that the D.A. knew exactly who to call. And how to get someone to do what he wanted when he wanted it. A great many people in Aurora owed him favors. She knew damn well that any kind of protest voiced on her part was useless and might even work against her. You didn’t go far in this office if you got on D.A. Ezra Kleinmann’s bad side. And you got there one of two ways. By consistently losing cases or by going up against him.
She knew enough to pick her battles carefully. Her father had taught her that. It was one of the first lessons she’d ever learned.
Brian Cavanaugh had taught her something equally important, as well: how to lose graciously. Not that losing had ever been a large factor in Brian Cavanaugh’s professional life. Personally, however, was another story. He’d lost his wife of twenty-five years, a woman he had looked forward to spending the rest of his natural life with. The loss had been difficult to come to terms with. It caused him to teach his children to be prepared for the worst—just in case.
This was one of those times to step back from the line of scrimmage. Janelle forced a smile she in no way felt. Protesting being assigned a bodyguard, someone who would perforce intrude into the fabric of her life, imposing his will over hers, might be useless, but no one said she had to like it.
“How soon are we getting the bodyguards?” Woods asked.
He sounded eager and relieved, Janelle thought. Relieved that he didn’t have to appear as if he were less than manly because he really wanted someone watching his back until this case was over.
She knew that had been on the assistant D.A.’s mind for the last half hour. It had been apparent in their conversation as they’d returned from the courthouse. She’d asked him several questions regarding the finer points of some of the procedures they were implementing. The answers she’d gotten had been rendered by a man whose thoughts were severely distracted and scattered.
Growing up with three brothers had made her competitive. It had also made her motherly on occasion. She felt the A.D.A’s discomfort, both over the threat and at his reaction to it.
Changing direction, she’d abruptly asked, “Wasn’t that Adam Shepherd I saw outside the courthouse just before the gunshots went off?”
Her question had sliced through the fog and Woods had looked at her. “Yes.”
She grinned. Shepherd was a highly sought after divorce lawyer famed for getting his clients exorbitant alimony settlements.
“So maybe the shooter was a disgruntled ex-husband looking to get revenge because Shepherd had raked him over the coals.”
Woods had looked at her then, a tired smile on his lips, as if to tell her that he knew what she was up to. “I don’t think so, Janelle. But it’s a nice theory.”
“Might be more than a theory. People surprise you sometimes.”
He’d nodded, looking directly at her. “Yes, they do.”
Now, without waiting for further comment or questions, the D.A. pressed a button on his telephone console. “Doris, send the two gentlemen in.”
A soft, disembodied voice informed him, “There’s only one here, sir. A Detective Novak.”
Kleinmann frowned. “Where’s the other?”
“Hasn’t gotten here yet, sir,”