She turned around, and the detective was right behind her now. His sharp gaze pinned her, and she took a step back. I’m in trouble, she thought. Which was ridiculous. She’d never even laid eyes on this man. One of her clients was in trouble—that was much less ridiculous. Leigh had gotten her start with the public defender’s office, and some of the people she’d represented weren’t exactly pillars of the community.

“Are you Leigh Larson?” he asked again.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Detective Brandon Reynolds, Austin PD.”

“If it’s about De Silva—”

“Who’s De Silva?”

She paused to look up at him. He had strong cheekbones, brown-black eyes, and thick dark lashes that any woman would kill for. And he definitely looked annoyed.

Leigh shot a glance at the elevators. “Listen, I’m late for court, so whatever it is you need—”

“I need information.”

“You’ll have to call my office.”

Leigh moved toward the stairs, and he fell into step beside her, undeterred. She pushed through the door, and he followed her into the cinder-block stairwell.

“It’s about Vanessa Adams,” he said.

She glanced at him as she hurried up the stairs.

“Who?”

“Vanessa Adams.”

She checked her watch. “I really can’t talk right now. I’m due in court in two minutes.”

“I just have a few questions.”

“My office is on Tenth Street.” She rounded the landing, but he kept pace with her. “You can make an appointment and—”

“Stop.”

He halted on the landing, and an invisible force made Leigh stop, too.

“I need information now, not later.”

She stared up at him and summoned her very last shred of patience.

“If you insist on doing this now, you have thirty seconds,” she said.

The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile, and she felt an unwelcome rush of warmth.

She glanced at her watch. “Twenty-five.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “Vanessa Adams, Austin resident, twenty-six years old. Can you tell me if she’s a client of yours?”

“No.”

He frowned. “No, she’s not a client? Or no, you can’t tell me?”

“I don’t have a client by that name.”

“No?”

“No.”

She hurried up the last flight of stairs.

“You sure about that?”

She shot a look at him as she pulled open the door. “Yes.”

Leigh glanced around, disoriented as she emerged from the stairwell and not the elevator bank, like she normally did. Her gaze landed on room 305, and she hurried for the door. Through the rectangular window, she spotted the bailiff standing beside the bench. But no Judge Thielman, thank goodness.

Leigh turned to face the detective, giving him her full attention for the first time. He was tall and powerfully built. Short dark hair, tanned skin. He was actually fairly nice-looking, in a cop sort of way. But his timing was crap.

“One more thing,” he said.

“I have to go.”