LITMIR.BIZ

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might be because it was racing toward me.”

      “An SUV?”

      She shook her head. “No. It was a—” She gestured. “A regular car. You know, a sedan.”

      “Have you ever met Ernest Yeoman?”

      Dani shook her head.

      “Myron Stamps? Paul Guillame?”

      “Come on, Harte. I’ve answered these questions a dozen times. For the police, for the other assistant district attorney and now I’ve got to answer them for you? I’m tired.”

      “Humor me,” he said. “I want you to answer as if you’re answering on the stand.”

      Dani sighed. “I know Senator Stamps. He used to come over here a lot to talk to Granddad. They’d argue into the night. I’d make coffee for them.”

      “What did they argue about?” he asked.

      “You know all this,” she groused. “The docks. The Port of New Orleans. Granddad fought for raising tariffs and taxes. He was convinced that lowering tariffs would allow more smuggling through the Port of New Orleans.”

      “And Stamps argued against that?”

      She nodded. “Sure. He was on Con Delancey’s side.”

      “Lower the tariffs to boost revenue and create more jobs,” Harte said.

      “Not to mention creating more crime-smuggling contraband and drugs.”

      Harte frowned, looking thoughtful. “I’ve never understood that argument. Smuggling by definition is bypassing normal import channels.”

      “You’re not that naive, are you? They smuggle the contraband and drugs in with the legally imported items. Sometimes inside them. Higher tariffs cut into their profits, and enforcing the higher tariffs means more port authority officers around.”

      Harte nodded. “I know the reasoning. So back to Stamps. You’re saying he and your granddad butted heads on the issue of tariffs, even though your granddad’s position had never changed? I wonder why.”

      “Granddad didn’t like Stamps, but he was too polite to refuse to see him. He always said—” Dani stopped. As an attorney, she hated speculation and hearsay. Harte would probably light into her if she started relating her granddad’s opinion of Stamps.

      “What?” he asked.

      She gave a little shake of her head and made a dismissive gesture.

      “Dani, tell me. Anything might be important.”

      “Even if defense council would cut me off in a heartbeat for hearsay?”

      His eyes softened in amusement. “Tell me and let me decide.”

      “It could be considered defamatory.”

      “Then definitely tell me.”

      Dani covered a yawn with her hand. “Okay. Granddad said that back when he and Con Delancey faced off over the tariff issue, it was a gentleman’s argument between two public servants who genuinely believed in their position. He had a very different opinion about Myron Stamps.”

      “Tell me.”

      “He was convinced that Stamps was doing it for money.”

      “Money? What money? Why haven’t you told me this before?”

      She shrugged. “Apparently, when he was first elected, Stamps was all for more stringent controls on the port. Then a few years ago he abruptly shifted positions. Granddad figured somebody got to him.”

      Harte took a small notepad out of his pocket and jotted something down. “Somebody as in—?”

      Dani drew in a long breath. “I don’t know. I hate to be rude, but I’m really tired.”

      He assessed her. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I forgot that you had an exciting evening. Are you sure you’re all right?”

      “I’m fine. Just exhausted and a little sore. I guess I’ll see you in the morning around what? Nine or ten o’clock? So you can incarcerate me.”

      He smiled and shook his head. “Nope. You’ll see me earlier than that. I’ll be staying here tonight.”

      “What?” She forced a laugh. “Right. Now, that’s funny.” She walked over to the back door and reached for the knob. But before she could grasp it, he was right there, his hand out, holding it shut.

      “Stop that,” she said. “Get out of the way. You need to go home. I’ve got locks. Those people are not going to do anything else tonight—if ever.”

      “You can’t know that. There’s no way I’m taking the chance. I told you. The order of protection names me as the responsible party. If you kick me out, I’ll just sleep in my car in your driveway.”

      Dani regarded him. His strong jaw was tight. The irritating smile was gone and his brown eyes looked positively black underneath the dark brows. He meant business. She took a step backward and threw her hands out in a helpless gesture.

      “Fine, then. Knock yourself out. I hope your car’s comfortable.”

      His mouth curled up on one corner. “It’s a Jeep Compass, so it ought to be.”

      “Excellent,” she snapped. “I’m glad for you. Good night.”

      He started to say something else, but Dani lifted her chin and pressed her lips together. He inclined his head in a brief nod, shot that irritating smile at her one more time and left, pulling the back door closed behind him.

      As Dani turned the lock, her hand shook. The fact that Harte was right outside her door, making sure nothing happened to her tonight, should be comforting.

      It wasn’t. All it did was provide an omnipresent reminder that, at least according to him, she was in grave danger.

      IN THE DRIVER’S seat of his Jeep, Harte pressed the lever that slid the seat back as far as it would go. He held it until the motor whined, then stretched his legs. He had about two inches more room than he’d had twenty seconds before. “Guess that’s it,” he muttered. Then he reclined the seat back and wriggled his butt, settling in.

      He’d bought the Jeep because it drove nicely in the city as well as on dirt roads and hiking paths. He’d never slept in it, but figured it shouldn’t be too bad.

      As he searched for a comfortable position, he thought about Dani. He hadn’t expected her to actually banish him to his car for the night. That house was huge. There had to be at least one guest bedroom. Hell, she could have at least offered him a couch.

      Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for the way she felt about him. The first time they’d met in the courtroom, she as a brand-new public defender and he trying his first case as prosecutor. He’d reacted instantly to her tall, leggy, drop-dead-gorgeous body and eyes that caught the sun just like her hair. But she’d entered the courtroom shooting daggers from those whiskey-colored eyes.

      She was undeniably Freeman Canto’s granddaughter. Canto and Con Delancey, Harte’s grandfather, had both been fixtures in the Louisiana state legislature. And they’d clashed on every single issue, most notably the security and tariffs on the Port of New Orleans. Canto was fiscally conservative, while Con Delancey fought to keep both security and tariffs at a minimum to help the working people. And, as Dani had said, they’d conducted themselves as gentlemen. There had been a kind of honor among politicians back then. An unspoken agreement that while the politics might occasionally get dirty, the politicians would not.

      The first time he’d faced Dani across the courtroom, Harte hadn’t been completely surprised that she’d shown up prepared for battle, ready to continue the feud between the Cantos and the Delanceys. Her client, the defendant, had been a woman who’d killed her husband, claiming self-defense and fear for her life. But there were no

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