Free Her 24-Hour Protector by Loreth Anne White Page A

Quetzal was handed down by my father, Joseph Rothchild. The stone apparently came from one of his South American operations.”
    “But you have no paperwork to show this?”
    “Not a thing. All lost in a fire in his South American office, way back.”
    Jenna had been right about one thing last night: Lex was a consummate poker player. Reading people—every flicker of an eye, body movement, inflection of voice—was a skill he’d sharpened to almost sixth sense perfection as a homicide investigator. And that gut sense was telling him that while Harold might be a good liar he was not that good. And he was lying now. Lex made a mental note to check out the story around the alleged fire. There’d have to be a record somewhere.
    Jenna appeared carrying a tray of iced teas, cubes of frozen water with mint clinking against sweating glass, distracting Lex instantly. He thanked the heavens she’d tossed a skimpy pool robe over her bikini, but it still hung open down the front.
    He couldn’t blame her for showing off her body. A figure like hers required effort, probably honed to perfection with daddy’s health club membership. It wasn’t a thing to be hidden.
    But it sure didn’t help his focus.
    A hairy little dog scampered at her heels, and for the first time Lex laid eyes on the subject that had provided so much amusement and yipping back at the FBI office. Ugly thing, he thought, glancing down at it. The animal settled at Jenna’s feet, the movement drawing Lex’s attention down to her immaculately painted red toenails. They matched her fingernails, the ones that had trailed over his hand the night before. His pulse quickened at the memory, and he concentrated on the dog instead. The pedigreed mutt had a row of sharp little white teeth along the bottom of his jaw that jutted out over his top ones. And its black beady dog eyes were trained on him. A growl began at the back of the ugly animal’s throat as Lex met its stare.
    “Oh shush, Napoleon, it’s just the police,” Jenna chided, at the same time managing to put Lex in his place on the social ladder. “Iced tea, gentlemen?” she said with flourish and a dazzling smile. She’d recovered her composure—game clearly back on. Lex felt his adrenaline spike. Another hot gust crackled through dry palm fronds.
    “Looks like he’s mad,” Lex said to the dog, trying to avoid staring as Jenna leaned forward to set a glass of tea in front of him.
    “Oh, Napoleon? He can’t help it. He always looks like that, even when we have company we do like.” She set a glass beaded with perspiration in front of her father. “You shouldn’t judge someone on their DNA, Lex. That’s prejudice in my book. People can’t help what they’re born to look like. They don’t pick the financial status of the families into which they’re born, either.”
    She was digging at him for his comments about her family last night.
    “It’s a dog, not a person.”
    “Napoleon is a ‘he.’ Not an ‘it.’ Aren’t you my little poochi-kins?” She bent down and scratched under that mean little chin, then looked up. “And Naps is as good as human to me. More affectionate and understanding than some people I’ve recently met.” She was back to provocatively taunting him.
    Lex glanced at Harold in growing desperation. “Is there somewhere we can…talk?”
    “I keep no secrets from my daughter,” Harold said, reaching for his glass of iced tea. “She might even have something to add.” He sipped, watching Lex, shrewd blue eyes set in creased, tanned features as he calculated the situation. He was a dangerous man, thought Lex. And the only help Harold’s daughter was going to be was in distracting him from the reason he’d come here.
    Lex stole another glance at her. She was settling into a deck chair in the sun just near the table and well within his direct line of sight. The little jewel in her belly twinkled in the sunlight as she wiggled her fine butt into position and