I sighed. Wait, did I just sigh?
He cocked an eyebrow. "What was that?"
"What? Nothing. A yawn?" Ears at five-alarm-fire heat levels.
He shook his head and, wait for it, ran his hand through his hair. There it was, the cause of the rumpling. It was so masculine yet also so unusual. He was always perfect to a fault whenever I saw him, not a hair out of place.
"Never mind. Let's just talk about the case."
I poised my pen over my legal pad.
"Rowan Ellis."
I popped my head up. "The Bayou Butcher?"
He nodded and leaned back in his chair, resting one hand on his desk. "But I never want to hear you refer to him as that again."
"Of course not." I began writing "Bayou Butcher" on my notepad in big, dramatic letters.
"We are heading to Angola tomorrow for our first face-to-face. I need you to be on point, be a second set of eyes and ears for me. Got it?"
"Yes." Seen and not heard, got it.
"I expect you to take excellent notes. I want to be able to go over every fact, every scrap of information, once we're out of there. This is the foundation of our case. We build our entire defense off this first interview, and I want it to be solid."
I glanced up from my notepad, and he looked away. But it was too late. I'd seen it. He'd been checking me out, the girls in particular. I couldn't have stopped my smile even if a gallon of Botox had been injected into my lips.
He cleared his throat. "I expect you to be ready to travel at eight sharp tomorrow. Meet me in the parking deck at my car."
He turned back to his e-mails and started typing again. I'd been dismissed. I stood and dropped my Rules of Evidence. It was accidental. Accidental on purpose. I bent over from my waist to pick up the book. By the time I'd straightened back up, he was staring intently at his computer screen, but his fingers were still.
I swayed my hips for the few steps to the doorway, my heels click-clacking along his wood floor. I opened the door and was about to step out when he spoke.
"Angola isn't a picnic, Ms. Montreat. It's full of murderers and rapists of the worst sort. I would suggest you dress a bit more conservatively. Please consult the employee handbook if you need any more instruction."
I looked over my shoulder and clocked another look. This time his gaze had been glued to my ass.
"Yes, Mr. Granade." I practically floated down the hall away from his office.
When I turned the corner he closed his door roughly, not quite a slam but just shy. I smiled. This assignment was getting better by the second.
Chapter Two
CAROLINE
I leaned against Mr. Granade's car, the chilly morning air running up my bare legs and under my skirt. His engine was still ticking, as if he'd only just arrived. But he must have gone into the office, because he was nowhere to be seen.
I had a notepad and my bag. It was five minutes before eight. I was surprised I'd managed to make it early, especially given that I tried on six different outfits before deciding on my short, light gray skirt suit and cobalt blue top. The top was especially calculated, because it hugged my ample breasts just right. Being curvy meant I knew how to emphasize my assets.
I'd also spent an extra half hour getting my hair in perfect blond waves. I might not have been dressed for Angola, but I was certainly dressed for Mr. Granade. He just didn't know it yet.
At eight on the dot, he strolled out of the elevator. He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit, white dress shirt, and lighter blue tie. I stared. Hard.
He stopped for a moment when he saw me, his blue eyes narrowing as he looked me up and down. He gave his head a slight shake. Did he even know he'd done it? Then he resumed his confident stride, though he looked everywhere but at me.
"Morning, Ms. Montreat."
"Morning, boss." I smiled up at him as he approached.
His gaze snapped to me as the word "boss" rolled off my tongue. He went toward the passenger door of his sedan, as if he were going to open it for me. Then, at the last second, he walked around to the driver's side.
"Get in." It was a gruff command.
I obeyed and slid into his black leather seat. My skirt rode up a bit, showing even more of my legs. Total accident.
He sank into his seat and started the engine. Voices took over the radio. Smart ones, at that.
"NPR, huh?"
"I like to learn something when I can." He put the car in reverse, his gaze on the backup camera.
"Me, too. Did you hear last week's segment about the alleged embezzlement that went down on levee reconstruction post-Katrina?"