Desperate Girls

23

ERIK SHOWED up at Brynn’s on Sunday night and found Hayes stationed in the lobby as part of her expanded security detail.

“She up there?” Erik asked him.

“In the fitness center, yeah.”

Erik took the elevator to the top floor. The lights were on in the gym, but all the treadmills were empty. Erik recognized the tall, dark shadow standing beside the pool with his back to the windows. Tactically, it was a crap position, but he had a perfect view of the water.

Erik slipped through the glass door and stood in the darkness. The pool lights were on, and Brynn’s body was a long silhouette gliding through the turquoise glow.

Erik walked up and clamped a hand on Trent’s shoulder, making him jump.

“Shit, man! I didn’t hear you come out.”

“I noticed.”

Trent shook his head, cursing.

“How’s the shift going?” Erik asked.

“It’s almost over.” He checked his watch. “Only an hour.”

“I got this. You can take off.”

Trent glanced at the pool, looking hesitant. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Another look at his watch. “Skyler’s down in the control room,” Trent said. “Are you here in the morning? Liam told me to report to the hospital to help cover Ross.”

“Hayes and I are driving Brynn to work,” Erik said. “I think she wants to stop by the hospital after, so I’ll probably see you there.”

“Okay, later, then.”

Erik watched him leave, then lowered himself onto the end of a lounge chair near the side of the pool. He tipped his head back to look at the half-moon peeking through the clouds, and for the first time in hours, he felt his shoulders relax. A warm breeze swept over him, and he heard the distant hum of traffic at street level.

His gaze settled on Brynn. She did a quick flip turn and shot through the water, breaking the surface with a smooth stroke. Erik watched her, transfixed.

Watching Brynn was becoming an obsession, and it worried him. He liked watching her in court, arguing from the lectern. He liked watching her on the treadmill. On her sofa. In her kitchen. He liked watching her in bed underneath him, her head tilted back and her skin fever-hot as she came apart.

Maybe he was torturing himself being here, but he couldn’t not. The threat was escalating, and he wouldn’t put her safety in anyone else’s hands.

She caught his eye as she reached for the edge of the pool. She stopped to look at him, and the water swirled around her.

“Hi,” she said, panting. She wore her plain black Speedo, which shouldn’t have looked sexy, but it did.

“Pretty late for a swim.”

“Long day. I needed to burn off some frustration.” She pushed up on the concrete, hitching herself onto the side of the pool. She reached up to squeeze water from her ponytail. “Trent said you were off tonight.”

He watched the water slide down her shoulders and into the valley at the base of her spine. “I was running some leads down. I’m back on shift in the morning.”

She looked away, and he didn’t know what she thought of that. Did she want him to spend the night here? Or was it easier if he didn’t? For him, it was hell spending the night at his hotel. But it would be worse here, passing the night on her sofa while she was in a bed only footsteps away.

“Why was it a long day?” he asked.

She shifted to face him, propping her knee up and resting her arms on it. “Trial stuff. Trust me, you don’t want to hear it.”

She was wrong, but he let it go.

“How was Ross? You stopped by there earlier?”

She frowned. “He’s tired. He looked okay, though. Better than I expected. I didn’t tell him about Mark’s theory.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. He was all pale and hooked up to an IV. I just didn’t want to lay anything new on him right then.” She reached for a water bottle beside the chair, and he handed it over. “Anyway, where were you?”

“I interviewed that janitor at the Ames Theater. He stands by his first statement. It was a black Honda he saw in the parking garage. Dented back bumper, like the one Corby used Friday. But we haven’t been able to track down any black Hondas registered to an Ann Johnson.”

She swigged her water. “Who is ‘we’?”

“The task force.” Not that he was a part of it formally, but they were cooperating.

She held his gaze, and he let himself look at her, all flushed from her swim, her hair slicked back from her face. His eyes went to the bead of water sliding between her breasts.

“Texas only?” she asked.

“They’re expanding the search. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks. Can you hand me my sweatshirt?”

He glanced around, then snagged the gray sweatshirt off the chair next to his and reluctantly handed it over. She pulled it on and stood up.

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

She put on flip-flops, and they rode the elevator down to her floor without talking. The new camera they’d installed beside the elevator doors was up and running, Erik noticed.

He used his key to open the apartment, and the unmistakable smell of bacon made his stomach growl.

“Wait here,” he said, leaving Brynn beside the door while he did a quick walk-through. When he was finished, she went into her bedroom.

Erik dropped his keys on the counter and glanced at the TV, which was muted and tuned to a local news broadcast. Nothing about Corby. But it was the end of the hour, and the manhunt had been the top story all weekend.

Brynn returned to the living room, still wearing the sweatshirt, but she’d changed out of her swimsuit and put on the frayed cutoffs she loved to wear.

“Someone make breakfast for dinner?” he asked.

“We had BLTs.”

She had to mean Trent, and Erik ignored the twinge of jealousy.

“Want one?” she asked. “I made extra bacon.”

“I’m good.”

“You ate dinner?”

“I had a protein bar.”

She rolled her eyes and walked past him into the kitchen. “So your team is working with the marshals now, I take it?”

“We’re cooperating.” He went into the kitchen as she took items from the fridge: beer, mayo, a cellophane-covered plate. She grabbed the loaf of bread from the basket on the counter and took out several pieces.

“Is this willingly or . . . ?” She trailed off as she dropped the bread into the toaster.

“We don’t mind cooperating. They’ve got the best databases, so it makes sense to share intel.”

She nodded, quickly slicing a tomato. She put the plate of bacon into the microwave. When the bread was finished, she slathered mayonnaise on it and assembled the sandwich—three layers tall—and Erik’s mouth watered just looking at it.

“Get me a couple of plates, would you?”

He turned to the cabinet behind him and took down two small plates. She cut the sandwich into neat triangles, then arranged the sections on a plate and handed him one.

“Thanks.”

“Bon appétit.”

The dining-room table was blanketed with paperwork. Brynn set her plate on the coffee table. Erik took a seat on the sofa and left room for her beside him, but she took the armchair.

She grabbed the remote and turned up the volume as she chomped into her sandwich.

“Why was your day frustrating?” he asked again.

“Oh, you know. Work stuff.” She shrugged.

Erik eyed the dining table as he ate. She worked harder than any client he’d ever had, going at it evenings and weekends. And if her house was any indication, she worked in her downtime, too.

Brynn’s home had surprised him. He wouldn’t have expected her to be a do-it-yourselfer. But he was learning that despite having read her file, there were plenty of things he didn’t know about her.

She filled her time with work. Erik did, too, so he understood. The less time on his hands, the better. When he had a lot of free hours, it was too easy to think about everything lacking in his life. Such as a life.

“You really want to hear about my day?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She nibbled on her sandwich and licked mayonnaise off her thumb. “Okay, you know Perez, right?”

“Your MIA witness.”

“Except he’s no longer missing. Bulldog brought him back from Las Vegas, and now they’re holed up together in a two-room suite at the Four Seasons, on the law firm’s nickel.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I spent the afternoon with this guy. You know, running him through his testimony. This was originally Ross’s job, getting him prepped for trial.”

“And?”

She blew out a sigh. “And I’ve got a bad vibe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some people are good in front of a jury; some aren’t. This witness could go either way, but I’m not feeling confident about it.” She leaned back in the armchair. “I have a feeling Conlon’s going to get to him.”

“And you need him for what?”

“To alibi my guy. He’s the heart of our case. We’ve got some forensics stuff to present, too, but this guy was supposed to be the emotional anchor. Perez swears he and Justin were at his girlfriend’s apartment watching a Spurs game at the time of the murder.”

“Perez’s girlfriend or Justin’s?”

“Perez’s. They have a kid together.”

“Can you put her on the stand?”

“I would. But she wasn’t there at the time, so she didn’t see Justin coming and going. It’s all up to Perez.” She closed her eyes. “I made a promise to the jury in my opening statement that I’d show them Justin wasn’t guilty of this crime.” She looked at Erik. “It’s like a commandment with defense attorneys: thou shalt not disappoint the jury. And now I’m worried my main witness is going to fall apart on the stand.”

Erik wanted to ease her mind, but he didn’t know what to say. He knew jack shit about practicing law.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore.” She sighed. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Erik finished his sandwich down to the last crumb. Brynn rested her feet on the edge of the table, and he tried not to think about her shiny pink toenails. Her fingernails were pink, too. And he had to truly be losing his mind if he was noticing nail polish now.

“Trent tells me you guys are off to Hawaii next.”

He looked up. “He told you that?”

“You’re working for some actress who’s on location?”

Erik pushed his plate away. “She’s filming a new series. Something on HBO.” Erik had never heard of the woman, but she’d been getting death threats. Or so her manager claimed. Erik had reviewed the case with Liam, and they both agreed there was a chance the manager was making it up as a publicity stunt. They’d find out soon enough.

Erik looked at Brynn, not happy that Trent was telling her all about their next gig. Now Brynn was focused on him leaving, when he was still trying to gain her trust. He didn’t want her to think she had anything less than his full attention.

“Well, aren’t you excited?” she asked. “I’ve never been to Hawaii, but I hear it’s gorgeous.”

“So they say.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You don’t like the travel, do you?”

“I don’t think of it as travel. Not like you mean. If the job’s done right, it’s consistent no matter where we are. Location is secondary.”

She tipped her head to the side, studying him.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you left the Secret Service?” She didn’t say “quit” this time.

“I can’t talk about the details.”

“Oh, come on. I’m a lawyer. I’m good at keeping confidences.”

He shook his head.

“Then don’t give me details,” she said. “Broad brushstrokes are fine. What happened?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because. You know everything about me.”

“Not everything.”

“You know a lot. And I don’t even know why you left the job you loved.”

“How do you know I loved it?” he asked, even though she was right, and he had loved it, at least in the beginning.

“Because.” She shifted on the chair to face him, like she was settling in for a story. “You went through a rigorous application process, then seven months of training, and then you spent years working your way up to one of the most sought-after assignments out there. And then—snap—you left. Something must have happened.”

She’d been doing her homework. He watched her watching him with those bottomless blue eyes. And for the hundredth time, he wished she wasn’t his client.

Erik felt a deep, consuming fear that his weakness for her was going to get her hurt.

Maybe he should open up to her. Maybe she’d understand where he was coming from and that he wasn’t just some jerk who’d slept with her and now wanted nothing to do with her.

“You know, you talk about trust all the time,” she said. “But it’s a two-way street.”

Brynn waited for him to say something. She’d learned to read his reactions, even though they were subtle. And she could see he didn’t want to talk about this.

Which made her all the more determined to coax it out of him.

“Okay, so . . . broad brushstrokes.” He gave her a stern look.

She nodded.

“You referred to our training. That’s what it all goes back to, same as in the Marines.” He paused. “We have a saying: The more you sweat in peacetime, the less you bleed in war.”

The thought of him bleeding in a war or anywhere made her sick. But she kept her face blank.

“So training is key. People’s lives depend on it.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “We go through all sorts of drills—firearms, close-quarters combat, tactical driving. And it’s not just a one-pass deal, something we do as trainees. It’s ongoing. That’s critical. These skills—especially the shooting—they have to be practiced over and over, until it’s pure muscle memory. You follow me?”

She nodded.

“The average attack is over in less than three seconds. So there is no time—none—to hesitate or second-guess yourself. Your reaction must be instantaneous. It must disrupt the threat and save the life of your protectee. Three seconds. So we can’t be slow on the trigger or sluggish or inattentive. That’s what I mean when I say I have to be in the moment, every moment. In this job, there’s no margin for error.”

She gave another nod, and he paused to look at his hands.

“I was six years in, and I’d moved up the ranks. At this particular time, I was posted to a teenage principal.”

Brynn lifted her eyebrow. Given the time frame, a teenager could have been one of four people in the president’s or the vice president’s family.

“For the sake of the story, we’ll give her a code name. Butterfly.”

“You guys really use those?”

“We do. Makes things easier over the radio. And every family’s names begin with the same letter. Anyway, Butterfly was up in Boston visiting some friends over Christmas break, and we were with her. She told us she had plans to go out to dinner, but we’d already pretty much figured that was a ploy, because what she really wanted to do was slip out the back and go to a bar.”

Brynn smiled. “She tried to ditch you guys?”

“All the time.”

“Did she manage to do it?”

“On occasion, she did. She was actually pretty good at it. Which sucked, by the way. It never happened on my watch, but the few times it did happen, it was a shit show. ’Scuse my language.”

“That is hysterical.”

“No, it’s not.” His expression hardened. “Because one time when she tried to do it, somebody grabbed her.”

“What do you mean, ‘grabbed her’?”

“Some guy grabbed her in the back of the restaurant and locked her in the women’s room.”

“Locked her in there? Like held her hostage?”

He nodded. “This guy had been stalking her. He’d followed her all the way up from D.C., which was bad enough in itself. Then he saw his opportunity to get her alone without an agent, and he grabbed her.”

Brynn put her hand to her chest. “You must have been freaking out.”

“We were when we finally figured out what was happening. Due to some major gaps on our part, it took about ten minutes. And in the meantime, she’s in there with him, and he’s reading her a love letter.”

“So he’s crazy.”

“Schizophrenic, as it turns out. It took another five minutes for us to send a female agent in to get her out of there. She posed as a civilian, let herself into the bathroom with a key, and pretended to be surprised to find them in there. Then she had the guy on the floor and cuffed in about four seconds flat.”

Brynn shook her head. “I never saw this on the news.”

“Nobody did.”

“Was the girl okay?”

“Physically? Yeah. But she was traumatized. Scared the hell out of her. Scared the hell out of all of us.” He looked down at his hands. “This guy had mental issues, which was dangerous enough. But if he’d been a foreign operator? Or someone with military training?” He shook his head.

Brynn watched him, wondering about everything he wasn’t telling her.

“So . . . this wasn’t your shift, but somehow you took the fall for it?”

“Shift doesn’t matter. I knew about the guy, and he’d been on my radar for a while. I’d interviewed him, even. The reason he got to her was sloppiness, pure and simple. We were short-staffed across the board and cutting corners. People were skipping out on training routinely while supervisors looked the other way. On this assignment, we had too few people staffed, and the ones we did have were not on the ball. Every single agent on duty that night had worked over ninety hours that week. One had worked a hundred. You can’t run a detail with people who are sleep-deprived and strung out on caffeine. Bottom line, it’s dangerous.”

Brynn watched his eyes. “What did you do?”

“I outlined a list of procedures that were being flat-out ignored because of staffing and budget issues, put it all in a letter, and handed in my resignation.”

“You chose to leave?”

“I left in protest. But yeah, it was my choice.”

“What happened to your protest letter?”

“Nothing. I’m sure someone buried it.”

Not nothing. No way. Brynn would be willing to bet that letter had been buried only after someone made sure Erik was permanently blacklisted from the service.

“You know, Erik—”

“Don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not interested in getting litigious. I left, end of story. And I’m better off where I am now.”

She watched him, wondering if he really felt that way or if he’d just convinced himself. He couldn’t go back now. His career with the Marines was over. His career with the Secret Service was over. This job in the private sector had to work out for him. Liam Wolfe’s firm was one of the best in the business, and if Erik blew this opportunity, there was nowhere to go but down.

Brynn felt selfish for putting his job at risk. Sure, it took two to tango and all that, but she’d been determined to wear down his resistance. And she had.

He was watching her now, studying her reaction.

“You don’t have to worry,” she said, “about me saying anything.”

“I know.”

Did he really? He’d been slow to trust her, but he did. The last thing she wanted to do was break that trust.

Erik held her gaze, and she felt a familiar charge in the air, only this time it came with a zing of panic.

She wanted him to kiss her. She was suddenly swamped with memories, and she wanted him to make love to her again as he had the other night, when he’d been so forceful and tender, both at the same time. Just looking at him, she felt a bone-deep craving for him. It wasn’t just his body or his hands or his mouth but his eyes that did it, the way he looked at her with such complete focus it made her heart melt.

She couldn’t do this to him again. She cared about him too much. It was ironic, really. She wanted him close to her in every way, which was exactly why she needed to keep her distance.

She stood abruptly. “I should get to bed.”

His gaze narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I have an early start tomorrow, so . . . thanks for talking.”

He nodded.

She turned and walked away, leaving him alone with the TV until one of his teammates came to relieve him at twelve—which thankfully meant she wouldn’t be bumping into him in the middle of the night.

“Brynn.”

She turned around.

“I’ve been following the trial, and you’re right about what you told Reggie.”

She arched her eyebrows.

“The jury isn’t buying what Conlon’s selling. They want to hear your case. So good luck with Perez tomorrow.”

Good luck? Wasn’t he taking her to the courthouse?

“Aren’t you driving me?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just mean good luck, you know, in case I don’t get a chance to tell you tomorrow.”

“You mean tell me something personal in front of Hayes.”

He nodded, and for no logical reason, that hurt her feelings.

“I realize it’s late in the game,” he said, “but I’m trying to keep this aboveboard.”

The game. Ouch.

“Hey, no worries, I understand.” She forced a smile. “Good night.”

Erik felt itchy. Edgy. The constant low-grade tension he’d been feeling for days had ramped up tonight, and he couldn’t shake it.

He didn’t want to. The feeling was useful because it was instinctive. Erik had long ago learned to use his instincts, especially when they were trying to warn him.

Erik had given up on sleep at his hotel and returned to Brynn’s apartment. Now he paused in the dim stairwell and listened.

No footsteps above or below. No groan of an elevator. At 0300, most of the building was asleep, and the hum of the AC duct overhead was the only sound.

He took the flights quickly. Reaching the bottom, he aimed his penlight at the recently installed surveillance cam. Everything looked in order. Erik slipped through the door and crossed the Atrium’s deserted lobby, where the silence was broken by the gurgling fountain. He took the back exit near the parking garage and stepped into the muggy night, scanning the alley behind Brynn’s building.

The alley had been a thorn in his side for days. The narrow strip of pavement had countless entry points, and short of setting up roadblocks, it was impossible to control traffic in and out, which created a security weakness. To make up for it, Skyler’s team had installed half a dozen extra cameras at various corners, but Erik still wasn’t satisfied.

Sticking to the shadows, Erik passed the entrance to the Atrium’s parking garage. He made his way down the alley soundlessly, searching for threats. He passed Dumpsters and stacks of pallets where the air smelled of rotting garbage. He moved along the building adjacent to the Atrium’s garage and emerged onto Commerce Street.

A small black four-door caught his eye. Engine off, no lights. It was parked at an empty meter a block from the Atrium, and a lone male sat behind the wheel. He wasn’t moving or looking at a cell phone, just sitting there with his gaze trained on the building.

Erik approached from behind, careful to avoid his mirrors. He ducked low behind the car and waited. A minute ticked by. Two. He clenched his hand into a fist and made his move.

Erik pounded on the glass, and the man jumped.

“What the fuck?” he said, pushing open the door.

“You need to watch your mirrors.”

Keith glared up at him. “Shit, Morgan. I could have shot you.”

“First you’d have to notice me. Which you didn’t.”

He shook his head. “What’s up, man? Everybody’s asleep, right?”

Erik nodded, scanning the street in both directions. “Anything since midnight?” By “anything,” he meant a black Honda or a white pickup truck.

“Caldwell made a pass around two, but other than that, nothing.”

“Caldwell himself?”

“Yeah.”

Erik was impressed. He would have expected the marshal to be tucked into bed next to his wife about now. Erik tapped on the top of the door.

“Stay awake,” he said, and walked away.

Erik circled the block and approached the Atrium from the north this time. Traffic was light, but he could hear the distance whir of cars on a nearby overpass. Erik reached the six-story parking garage behind Brynn’s building. He had been keeping an eye on it. The garage wasn’t associated with the Atrium, and his team had no control over who came and went, so it was another source of concern. He checked the new security cams and looked around before taking the stairs to level two. He emerged from the stairwell and halted. Something was off. He stood motionless until he identified the issue. The light fixture near the elevator was out.

Erik surveyed the parked cars as he moved toward the shadowy alcove. He passed a row of steel cages where renters stored bikes, camping equipment, and other crap they didn’t have room for in their apartments. When he reached the dim alcove, he took out his flashlight and crouched below the light fixture, noting the shards of glass on the concrete.

Thud.

Erik stood and turned, drawing his weapon. The noise had come from a nearby row of cars. Erik moved toward it, hyperalert for any sound or movement. No lights, no people. He reached the row and swept his flashlight beam between the cars. Beside the one on the end, he spied something small and white. A flattened cigarette butt. Erik knelt and touched the blackened end. Still warm.

An engine roared on the level below him. Tires shrieked. Erik ran to the wall and peered over as a black car sped down the side street and hooked a right onto Commerce. It was a Honda.

“Fuck!”

Erik made a call as he raced downstairs.

“Caldwell.”

“I’ve got a black Honda on Commerce. It just exited a garage near the Atrium, and it’s moving west. Where’s your nearest unit?”

“Morgan?”

“Yes! I need a unit.”

“Roger that. We’ve got someone on Pearl.” Commotion on the other end as Caldwell talked to someone on a radio. “You said westbound?”

“Affirmative. Call me back.”

Erik reached the sidewalk and ran for Keith’s car. He pounded on the trunk before jumping into the passenger seat.

“Drive!”

“What? Where—”

“Pull a U-turn here.”

Keith complied, pointing them westbound, and hit the gas. Erik quickly saw the problem. They were coming up on an interstate, which was near a major interchange. The only taillights in sight were a gray pickup and a white SUV. Had he turned off somewhere?

“Is it him? You saw him?” Keith was alert now, gripping the wheel.

“I saw a black Honda Civic.”

The traffic light ahead went yellow.

“You’re clear,” Erik said. “Punch it.”

Keith sailed through the intersection, glancing at Erik. They were almost to the interstate, which meant three choices.

“Hang a right,” Erik ordered as Caldwell called back. “You have him?”

“No. We’ve got two units in the area, but they don’t see him.”

Erik scanned the cars ahead as they entered the freeway. Traffic was light, but there was no black Honda in sight. Keith pressed the gas, but Erik could already tell he’d made the wrong call. A major interchange came into view, and the choices multiplied.

“That interchange is a spaghetti bowl,” Caldwell said. “He could be anywhere by now. Did you see the driver?”

“No, but there was someone staked out in the garage, having a smoke, with a clear view of the Atrium’s north exit, the one facing the parking garage.”

“You think it was Corby.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“That would be pretty ballsy, him getting so close after what went down Friday.”

Which was exactly how Erik knew it was Corby. Everything he’d done till now had been a big fuck-you to law enforcement.

He heard Caldwell’s muffled voice as he gave orders over the radio. After an endless wait, he came back on. “Morgan, I think we lost him. I’ve got two units there, and they’re both saying it’s a no-go. Wherever he was, he’s gone.”

“Head back,” Erik told Keith. “We’ll run the surveillance footage, see what we get.”

“Why would Corby be there now?” Caldwell asked. “At three in the goddamn morning?”

“Maybe he’s waiting.”

Setting up an ambush, in other words.

“Shit. Who’s taking Brynn Holloran to court tomorrow?”

“I am. Eight sharp.”

“Okay, keep your eyes peeled,” Caldwell said. “We’ll be around.”

So would Erik.

And his gut told him Corby would, too.