LITMIR.BIZ

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but we’re attorneys. This case has no defendant. Therefore, no client. How do we do this if there’s no client?”

      “It’s pro bono.”

      Penny dropped her head an inch. “I’m... Wait... I’m confused. Again, no client. How are we working pro bono if there’s no client?”

      “We’re helping a friend. I’m not sure how we’ll do the paperwork. There may not be any paperwork. I really don’t know. All I know is that your mother had that look about her.”

      Penny sat back and sighed. “I know that look.”

      Jenna raised her hand. “Where did the murder happen?”

      “Carlisle, Illinois,” Mr. Hennings said. “About sixty miles south of here.”

      Oh, no. She had zero contacts that far away. Even Russ probably wouldn’t be able to help her. Although, maybe he knew someone who knew someone. Heck, maybe she knew someone who knew someone.

      “You’re hesitating. I assumed you’d be interested.”

      “I am. Interested.”

      I think. Breaking a cold case would send her value on the professional front soaring. A cold case would prove she had skills beyond her looks.

      Still with her hands folded, Jenna took a minute to absorb it all. Twenty-three-year-old murder. Sixty miles away. No contacts. Juggling it with other cases. Piece of cake. Hysteria cramped her throat. I can do this. She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and channeled Jenna-the-lioness, the Jenna everyone around the office knew.

      “I can handle it, sir. Thank you.”

      “Good. Penny is your point person on this.” He turned to Penny. “You’re the logical choice. I can’t give it to one of the associates. Technically, this case doesn’t exist. Plus, he’s your friend.”

      Jenna flipped her thumbs up. This was a chance to have a profound impact on someone’s life. “Works for me. Let’s solve a cold case.”

      * * *

      “GOOD MORNING, MARSHAL THOMPSON,” Penny Hennings said in the snarky voice that had earned her the Killer Cupcake moniker from law enforcement guys who’d been on the rough end of one of her cross-examinations.

      Brent stepped into the Hennings & Solomon conference room—a place he’d been countless times before—and smiled. “Good morning, Ms. Hennings,” he shot back in a damned good imitation.

      Penny popped out of her chair, cornered the huge table and charged him.

      He held his arms out and folded her into them. “You’re like a teeny-tiny bird,” he cracked.

      She gave him a squeeze, then shoved him back. “Well, I was going to be nice, but now I’m not.” He unleashed a teasing smile and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t think that smile will work on me,” she said with sisterly affection. “I’m a lawyer. I’m immune.”

      “Yes,” came a female voice from the end of the table. “But I may not be.”

      He’d know that voice anywhere. Jenna. Five months ago he’d been standing in the hallway right outside this room and spotted her amazing body gliding toward him in a way that would make any red-blooded male drop to his knees. He’d seen her dozens of times since then, and she’d invaded his mind on a regular basis. She was one of those women lucky enough to have her weight evenly distributed, but with a little extra magically landing in all the right places. With her long legs—perfect for a guy who clocked in just shy of six-four—and a body that was more lush than slim, Jenna Hayward gave him an itch he seriously wanted to scratch.

      Right now, though, he needed fresh eyes on his mother’s case, and his mother always took precedence.

      He held his breath, readying himself for the sight of Jenna to knock him daffy. By now he knew to prepare for it. That first day? He’d been toast. He released his breath, turned and there she was, sitting with her shoulders back and one hand resting on the tabletop. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders and draped over her red blouse. The blouse with one more button undone than was technically appropriate. He studied that extra button and imagined...

      Don’t.

      He brought up his eyes and found her staring at him, head tilted. Their gazes held for a long second, the blue of her eyes sparking at him and—yeah, baby—he started to sweat. Slowly, knowing exactly where his mind had gone, her lips eased into a smile that should have dropped him like a solid right hook. Bam!

      “Nice to see you, Jenna,” he said.

      Very nice.

      She stood and he moved to the end of the table, holding out his hand. She took it, gave it a firm but brief shake. “Hello, Brent. Always a pleasure.”

      “It’s like a reunion in here,” Penny said.

      Penny. Right. They had company. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and took the seat across from Jenna, leaving the head of the table open for Penny. Her meeting, her power spot.

      He waited for Penny to get settled and then angled toward her. “Thank you for doing this.”

      “It’s the least we can do. You know I hate to get mushy, but you mean a lot to us. If we can help you get some kind of closure, we’ll do it.”

      Brent slid his gaze to Jenna. Talking details about his mom in front of people he barely knew never came easy. The basic stuff about her murder and the case still being open, he’d gotten used to. Now he’d have to get comfortable with Jenna real quick. And not in the way he wanted.

      He swiveled his chair to face her. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s been twenty-three years. The case is as cold as they get.”

      “I don’t mind a challenge, and if we can figure this out, well, I suppose we’d all be...satisfied.”

      “I’d be more than satisfied. But listen, there’s no pressure here. If you can dig up some leads, it’ll help. A fresh look might crack it.”

      “Maybe,” Jenna said.

      “Where do we start?” Penny asked.

      “I can tell you what I know, take you to the crime scene, go over whatever notes I have. The sheriff is a good guy. I can’t see him being subversive. Right now, he’s got an unsolved murder messing with his violent crime statistics.”

      Jenna’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Yeah, that statistics line sounded harsh. He sounded harsh. After spending eighty percent of his life wondering what happened to his mother, he’d forced himself to detach. Emotional survival meant burying the pain. Stuffing it away.

      Coping 101. Brent style.

      The phone at his waist buzzed. “Excuse me, I need to check this.”

      Text from his boss. They had a tip on a federal fugitive. He shot a text back, stood and buttoned his flapping suit jacket. “Ladies, I’m sorry. I need to go. Jenna, call me with your schedule. Outside of work, I’m at your disposal.”

      She gave him that slow smile again—simply wicked—and his chest pinged. Son of a gun. In a matter of minutes, she’d figured out how to distract him from thoughts of his mother.

      Whether that was good or bad, they’d soon find out.

      * * *

      THAT EVENING JENNA rode shotgun in Brent’s SUV while they drove the sixty miles south to Carlisle, Illinois, a place so foreign to city girl Jenna that she wasn’t sure she’d even speak the same language.

      Maybe that was a tad extreme, but Brent had exited the tollway and immediately engulfed them in miles and miles of farmland. Could she get a Starbucks? A Mickey D’s? Anything commercial?

      Not even six o’clock and the late October sky suddenly had gone black. She smacked her legal pad against her lap. Marshal Hottie had taken off his suit jacket and rolled

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