Desperate Girls

5

BY 6:15, Brynn had knocked out everything on her to-do list. She’d unpacked her bags, organized her case files, and even squeezed in a grocery run to pick up necessities, all the while being shadowed by muscle-bound security agent Trent Reese, who’d uttered a grand total of six words during their outing.

Brynn emerged from her bedroom and found him at the breakfast bar, hunched over a laptop. He looked up as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hi,” she said.

Like the rest of the corporate apartment, the kitchen had an impersonal, catalog feel to it, right down to the empty pewter bowl in the center of the granite island. Everything was relentlessly beige—the paint, the sofa, the carpet—and Brynn longed for her cluttered bungalow with its rich wooden floors and antique rugs.

Brynn grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Across the hall. We’re about to change shifts.”

They were doing rolling shift changes, staggering the start times for security reasons.

“Erik’s on his way over,” Trent added as he flipped shut his computer and stood up.

“Isn’t he done for the day?”

“No, ma’am. He’s on until midnight.”

A brief knock at the door, and then Erik walked in. Brynn was still getting used to the fact that all these people had a key to her apartment. It made sense, she supposed—especially if they were going to be coming and going at all hours—but she wasn’t crazy about not being able to walk around in her underwear whenever she wanted.

Erik looked her up and down. “Where are you going?” he asked, noticing her workout gear and earbuds.

“Out for a run.”

He shot a look at Trent.

“And after that, I’m going out out. Ross and I are having dinner at Otto’s Tap Room.”

Erik’s gaze narrowed. “I thought you were working tonight.”

“Nope. We always take the night off right before a trial.” She didn’t mention that she was prone to anxiety attacks if she worked the night before. “I go for a run to clear my head, and then Ross and I head over to Otto’s for burgers and beer. It’s kind of a pretrial ritual we have together.”

Erik just looked at her.

“Are you going to tell me that’s not allowed?” she asked.

“No. But there’s a fitness room upstairs with a treadmill. Three, in fact.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” She plunked her hand on her hip. “Treadmills make me feel like a hamster. I prefer to run outside, in the park. On an actual trail surrounded by birds and trees and fresh air. Can’t someone come with me?”

He glanced at Trent, and Brynn felt her irritation rising.

“Look, Liam said as few disruptions as possible,” she reminded him. “And I know this may seem like nothing to you, but my pretrial routine is important. It’s how I get my head in the game.”

Erik didn’t say anything.

“Actually, I was up there earlier,” Trent said, drawing Brynn’s gaze away from Erik. “It’s a really nice fitness center. They even have a rooftop pool.”

“No, she’s right,” Erik said. “We’ll figure it out. Where’s Jeremy?”

“Putting gas in the Expedition,” Trent reported.

Erik looked at Brynn. “Give me twenty minutes. I need to go change. I’ll have Jeremy scope out the route on his way back here. Draw it out for me, and I’ll text him a picture.”

“Scope out the route?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him. It was a battle of wills, and he had the upper hand, because he wasn’t actually insisting that she do what he wanted. No, he was offering to let her go, but it was going to be a huge pain in the ass if Jeremy had to scope out her pathetically short jogging path.

“Forget it,” she said. “I don’t want to waste time with all that. I’ll use the treadmill.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

She stuffed her earbuds in her ears, and Erik had the nerve to look smug as he followed her out.

As workouts went, it was ugly. Four miles, and she was soaking wet by the end. Usually, she only ran two, but with Erik there, she felt like she had something to prove.

Which didn’t make sense, really. He was her bodyguard. And he’d told her to pretend he wasn’t there. But that wasn’t happening, especially when it was beyond obvious that he and his team were in peak physical condition. Brynn had a competitive streak, and knowing Erik could probably run four miles uphill without breaking a sweat made her push harder.

Finally, she hopped off the machine. They rode the elevator back down, and she kept her distance, even though Erik seemed unbothered by her sweat-drenched state. Back inside the apartment, a new agent was seated at the breakfast bar in front of a computer. Hayes Becker. Brynn had read his background, too. At twenty-six years old, he was the youngest member of the team, and he looked it, too, with his blond hair and dimples.

Brynn retreated to her room to clean up and then stood in front of her closet, debating. Otto’s was casual, so she settled on jeans and a stretchy black top that accentuated her boobs. She put on some makeup and did a quick blowout, deciding to leave her hair down. Then she sent a text to Ross: Ready in 5?

It didn’t take him long to respond: Staying in tonight. Not up for Ottos.

Brynn stared down at the phone. U ok? she asked.

Working.

She grabbed her purse off the bed and returned to the living room, where she found Erik and Hayes gathered around a laptop, discussing something. Brynn recognized surveillance footage of the lobby downstairs.

“Ready?” she asked Erik.

“Yeah.”

“Hayes, can we bring you anything?”

“He’s driving,” Erik informed her.

Hayes grabbed the keys to the Tahoe and followed them into the hallway. Brynn made a beeline for Ross’s apartment. Unlike everyone else, it seemed, she didn’t have a key, so she had to knock.

Skyler answered the door. Her long dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she wore black jeans and a Wolfe Sec T-shirt.

“Hi,” she said, glancing over Brynn’s shoulder at Erik. “What’s up?”

“I need a word with Ross,” Brynn said.

He came to the door, and Skyler returned to the living room, which was identical to Brynn’s across the hall.

“Hey, sorry to bail,” Ross said.

“What the heck? Are you sick?”

He shrugged. “Just tired. I thought I’d stay in and go over a few things. Anyway, I’m not hungry.”

“You cannot get sick, Ross. We need you tomorrow. Want me to get you some Alka-Seltzer or something?”

“You’re the one who gets the pretrial heaves, not me.”

Brynn glanced toward Skyler and lowered her voice. “You’d better not be staying home to hit on her.”

“Get real.”

“I mean it. She works for us, and it would be completely unethical.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He looked over her shoulder at Erik waiting patiently in the hallway, listening to every word. “You guys have fun.” He patted her shoulder. “Keep the tradition alive.”

Otto’s Tap Room wasn’t what Erik had expected for Dallas or Brynn. Located on the outskirts of downtown just beyond the railroad tracks, it looked like a run-down warehouse. Only a blue neon sign and a row of pickups out front hinted that the place was open for business.

Hayes pulled up to the entrance, and Erik got out to open Brynn’s door.

“I’ll text you when we’re done,” he told Hayes.

“Roger that.”

“Wait, aren’t you coming in with us?” Brynn asked.

“I’ll keep an eye on things outside.”

“Are you sure? Best burgers in town.”

“I’m sure.”

Brynn slid out and stood on the sidewalk, looking uneasy as the Tahoe pulled away. “Has he had dinner?” she asked Erik.

“He probably ate before his shift.”

Erik crossed the sidewalk and opened the door, letting out a gust of cool air and loud music. The place smelled like barbecue. People were crowded around the bar, watching the Rangers game, and Brynn led him to a high-top table in back.

“This one’s better,” he said, touching her waist to steer her to a corner table.

“Don’t like your back to the door?” she asked as she took a seat.

“That’s right.”

“What was I thinking?”

Over bluesy guitar music, Erik could hear the sharp crack of a pool game in the back room. It was Erik’s kind of place, and under different circumstances, he would have liked to come here with Jeremy to put away a few beers and win some money at nine-ball. Right now, he was working, though, which meant focusing on Brynn and all the heads she’d turned since walking in here.

A young waiter came over. “Get you folks something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Guinness,” Brynn said.

“And you, sir?”

“Water.”

The waiter looked at Brynn. “Any wings or nachos tonight?”

“I’d like the Otto Burger, no cheese, please.”

“I’ll have the same,” Erik told him. “And one to go.”

When the waiter was gone, Brynn looked at him. “For Hayes?”

“Skyler. She texted me in the car.”

Brynn put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “So let me guess, no drinking on the job?”

“That’s right.”

“What else don’t you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You guys seem pretty disciplined. No drinking on the job, no sleeping. Anything else off-limits?”

“No tobacco, no stimulants.”

“What, like Red Bull or something?”

“Anything with caffeine.”

“No way.” She leaned closer, and Erik tried not to glance down her shirt. “You don’t drink coffee?”

“No.”

She shuddered. “I would die. No, first I would turn into a complete hell-bitch, and then someone on my team would shoot me. You don’t drink coffee at all? Not even in the morning?”

“Never.”

“Is that by choice, or is it some kind of rule?”

“It’s in my contract.”

“Seriously?” She leaned back. “You need a new lawyer. And Liam sounds like a control freak.”

“Doesn’t bother me. I gave all that up when I joined the Secret Service.”

“Why?”

He smiled at her look of disbelief. “You really want to know?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It messes with my focus,” he said. “Coffee, sugar, junk food. Anything that gives you a short-term buzz eventually wears off and causes cravings. You’re better off without it.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Shouts erupted from the bar as the Rangers scored a run, and Brynn turned to look at the TV.

“No, it’s true,” he said. “Imagine you’re protecting someone. You need to be completely in the moment. Every moment. You can’t be distracted because you’re jonesing for a cigarette or a hit of something. You have to be focused on the principal and the surrounding environment, ready to tune into any threat, at any time.”

She stared at him. There was something smoky and sultry about her eyes tonight. And then there was that shirt. He was trying hard not to stare, but it was nearly impossible. Had she worn that for him?

No. She’d planned to go out with Ross tonight. So was there something going on between them? The guy didn’t seem like Brynn’s type, but Erik had only known her for two days. Anyway, if there was something going on, he’d find out. That was how these things went. Everything came out eventually—affairs, rivalries, grudges. Erik was trained to observe people and pick up on precisely the things they wanted to hide.

Such as the guy at the far end of the bar in the leather biker jacket. He had a gun tucked in the back of his pants, and Erik was keeping an eye on him.

“So . . . ‘be in the moment.’ ” She gave him a long look. “Interesting philosophy.”

“It’s more of an operating principle.”

“What else?”

“What else what?”

She smiled. “I want to hear more about your operating principles.”

Did she really? He watched her expression, but he couldn’t tell.

“Wolfe Sec is the best in the field,” he said. “Liam’s put together a workforce of highly trained, intensely focused operators who will go to any lengths to protect a principal.”

“Any lengths . . . like jumping in front of a bullet?”

He nodded.

“Really? I mean, come on. I can see why someone might do that for a president. But a rock star? Or a lawyer?”

Erik sighed. Here was the trust issue again. “Ideally, nobody’s jumping in front of bullets,” he said. “The best security is preventive. First and foremost, that requires having trust with the client. Meaning you.”

“Hmm. That’s a tough one, because I hardly know you.”

“You don’t have to know me. You have to know that your safety is my top priority. You have to know that I’m thinking about your case around the clock.”

“Even when you’re off duty?” She sounded skeptical.

“That’s the point. I’m never really off. None of us is. While we’re working for you, you have our full attention.”

The waiter dropped off their drinks. When he was gone, Brynn clinked her glass against Erik’s.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” She sipped the foam off her beer.

“No problem.”

He hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but now he was glad to be here. There were things they needed to talk about, and she seemed more relaxed away from all her case files and legal pads.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it. That’s bad luck.”

He smiled slightly.

“What?”

“You’re superstitious,” he said.

“Isn’t everybody, at least a little?”

“No.”

“Well, if I sit around hashing through the case the night before, I get all wound up and have trouble sleeping. It’s better if I take the night off so I don’t overthink it. Maybe it’s weird, but it’s my thing. And I’ve got the best win record at the firm, so I’ll stick with what works.”

Erik was impressed, but he kept it to himself. She had plenty of confidence already.

“So what happens tomorrow?” he asked.

“Voir dire. That’s lawyer-speak for jury selection,” she added. “We go through every potential juror, one by one, and each side has a limited number of opportunities to strike someone from the pool.”

He watched her talk, paying attention to her body language—something else he’d been trained to pick up on. She made lots of eye contact, which probably helped her win people over in the courtroom.

“What makes you strike someone?” he asked. “Race or age, I’m guessing?”

“Actually, no. I mean, race is a factor, sure. Sebring is mixed race, so we definitely don’t want an all-white jury. But more important, I’m looking for mothers.”

“Mothers,” he repeated.

“Preferably mothers of sons. They tend to be sympathetic.”

Erik lifted an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I can see it in your face.” She tipped her head to the side. “You have any brothers?”

“Two. And my mom was tough as nails when we were growing up.”

“Well, I bet she gets picked for jury duty a lot. She ever mention it?”

“Actually . . . yeah, come to think of it.” Erik folded his arms over his chest. “I always thought it was because she was a teacher.”

“Teachers are good, too. They tend to be fair-minded. What does your mom teach?”

“She’s retired. But she taught middle-school science.”

“I’d definitely want her on my jury, then. She’d pay close attention to the physical evidence.” She picked up her beer. “But hey, we’re not talking about the trial tonight, remember? It’s bad luck.”

The waiter returned with two big plates. The hamburgers were about six inches tall, but Brynn didn’t hesitate to pick hers up and dig right in.

“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and moaned.

Erik tried to keep his mind out of the gutter as he started on his food. For a while, they ate without talking, and he kept his gaze moving between the bar’s two exits.

“So Brynn, I need to ask you some things.”

She looked wary. “You want to know about Corby.”

“That’s right.”

“You have a file on him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I want to know from you.”

She sighed. “Know what?”

“I want to know why, exactly, you don’t think he killed Jen Ballard.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then took a sip of beer. She placed her glass on the table.

“The police think he did,” she said.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. The timing’s pretty uncanny, if it wasn’t him.”

“True.”

“But something feels off with it.”

“Off how?”

“Well . . . if you read about Corby, you know his MO. Every one of his victims was raped and choked, and then he slit their throats. So this thing with hunting down Jen and shooting her? It doesn’t add up.” Brynn shook her head. “I mean, if this is about revenge, wouldn’t a knife be his weapon of choice?”

“I don’t know.”

Erik knew someone who would, though. Liam’s brother was a criminal profiler, and they needed to get him involved in this.

“Corby killed that prison guard with a homemade shank,” Erik said.

“Yeah, that’s my point. He has a thing for knives. And torture. So he spends three years in prison fantasizing about getting revenge on the woman who helped put him there, and then he tracks her down and shoots her? And also, where’d he get the gun?” She tipped her head to the side. “You know a lot more about guns than I do, in your line of work. Wouldn’t it be a stretch for a convicted felon to get a firearm so fast?”

“With money, anything’s possible. He could have a connection in prison who told him where to go.”

“That’s the other thing,” she said. “He’d just escaped. If every cop in the state is looking for him, you’d think he’d want to keep a low profile.”

“You’re assuming he’s logical.”

“Fair point. He might not do the logical thing. But he is smart. I know that firsthand from the trial.” She poked at her french fries, but she seemed to have lost her appetite.

“Sorry to have to ask you about this,” he said.

“It’s all right.”

Still, he felt like shit for bringing it up. “Were you and Jen close?”

She didn’t talk for a moment, just stared at her plate. Then she looked up.

“Jen mentored me when I was just out of law school and working for the DA’s office. We got to be friends. She took it hard when I went over to the dark side.”

“The dark side?”

“Criminal defense work.”

“Why’d you switch?”

“Reggie made me a good offer.”

“You said he’s hard to say no to.” Erik watched her reaction, trying to get a read on their relationship.

“Also, I like the people—Reggie, Faith, Nicole. Plus Ross and the other lawyers. The firm is like the big, noisy family I never had. And there’s the money, obviously. I’ve got a ton of loans to pay back.” She shrugged, like changing sides was an easy decision, but Erik would bet it was more complicated.

Erik had gone to the “dark side,” too, when he left public service for the private sector. Most people assumed he’d done it for money, and he didn’t waste his time trying to convince them otherwise.

Brynn pushed her plate away. “You know, Corby was my last case working for the prosecution.”

Erik hadn’t known that.

“You know his nickname in prison?” she asked.

“What?”

“The Champ. You know why?”

Erik tried to imagine. Despite his history of violence, Corby wasn’t a big man, only about five-five, one thirty. Erik couldn’t picture him being a champ of anything that involved physical strength.

“Chess,” she said. “He was the reigning champion. No one could touch him, or so I’ve heard.”

“Maybe they were scared to try.”

“Or maybe he’s just smart.”

“Did he ever reach out to you?”

The question caught her off guard, and Erik saw her try to cover it.

“Seemed like you had something on your mind when Liam asked you.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, or you wouldn’t have thought of it.”

She watched him, as if weighing what to say. This woman had trust issues, and he was going to have to find a way past them.

“I got a note once,” she said.

“Where?”

“On my car.”

“On your car?”

“Tucked under the wiper blade. Blade. I just realized that.” She shook her head and looked away. “Not that that means anything, but—”

“What did it say?”

“No envelope, no return address, just a folded note. It said, ‘I’m watching you.’ And at the time, my mind went straight to Corby, because it was the one-year anniversary of his conviction.”

“Shit, Brynn. What did you do with it?”

“What do you think? I took it to the police.”

“And?”

“There were no prints on it besides mine. Not Corby’s or anyone’s. Which isn’t really surprising, right? Corby couldn’t exactly put a note on my car if he was sitting in prison in Beaumont.”

“And yet you originally thought it might be from him. Why?”

“I don’t know. Just the way he was at trial.” She leaned back in her chair. “He used to look at me, you know? Stare. The ‘I’m watching you’ thing made me think of him.”

“So the police have the note.”

She shook her head. “They returned it to me. It’s in a file at my office.”

“I want to see it.”

“Why? It doesn’t prove anything. The detective I gave it to thought I was totally paranoid.”

“Because you believed it was important, or you wouldn’t have saved it.” He leaned closer. “Don’t discount your instincts. You helped prosecute this guy. You know him. You got a note, and you immediately thought of him. You shouldn’t ignore that.”

She watched him. He hated the fear in her eyes. But he liked that his words had an effect on her. She wasn’t arguing with him, for a change.

“I’ll ask someone to send it up,” she said.

“Do it soon. I’ll get the marshals to look at it, too.”

She looked down at their half-eaten burgers.

“New topic,” she announced. “What do you think of Otto’s?”

“It’s pretty good.”

“That’s it? I take you to the best-kept secret in Dallas, and you give it a ‘pretty good’?”

“It’s not what I pictured for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her eyes sparked with interest. “What did you picture?”

“Something . . . I don’t know, sophisticated. A wine bar or something. Maybe some lawyers hanging around the bar, talking shop.”

“So you think I’m a snob.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure, you did.”

Brynn watched Erik polish off his burger as the bar filled up with regulars. She signed the check and left a big tip as Erik texted Hayes that they were ready to leave.

Erik led her through the crowd to the door, and the Tahoe was parked right out front, engine running. Hayes jumped out and opened the passenger door for Brynn, while Erik went around.

“You, step back!” Hayes yelled.

“But—oof !”

Brynn whirled around as something slammed against the car. Her heart lurched.

“Stop!” Brynn jumped out and grabbed Hayes’s arm. “That’s our waiter!”

Hayes had him pinned against the SUV, his face pressed against the window. At Erik’s sharp command, Hayes released the guy and stepped away.

The flush-faced waiter shot a panicked look at Brynn and then Erik.

“Are you all right?” Brynn reached out, but he jerked away.

“Yeah. Jesus.” He looked at Erik as he smoothed his shirt. “You forgot your to-go.”

“Thanks.” Erik snagged the bag off the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” Brynn said. “Thank you.”

The man hurried away, darting a scowl over his shoulder as he reached for the door.

“What the hell was that?” Brynn demanded.

“Get in,” Erik said, helping her.

Batting his hands away, Brynn climbed into the back seat. Erik closed the door, cutting off further conversation.

Hayes slid behind the wheel. As soon as Erik closed his door, they were moving. Erik stashed the to-go bag on the floor and calmly fastened his seat belt.

“Um, hello? Someone want to explain what just happened?”

Hayes glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “He rushed up to you.”

“Yes, and thank God you were there.” She looked at Erik. “You think you guys might want to take it down a notch?”

“He was doing his job. He intercepted the threat.”

“Threat?” Brynn leaned forward between the seats. “That kid’s barely out of braces. He could press charges for aggravated assault.”

“I hardly touched him,” Hayes said.

“You shoved him against a vehicle.”

“ ‘Aggravated’?” Erik gave her a skeptical look.

“Hayes is armed.”

“His weapon wasn’t out. The guy didn’t even see it.”

“His body could be considered a deadly weapon,” she said. “So could yours.”

Erik set the thermostat to seventy degrees. “Well, if he presses charges, you can represent us.”

“Ha! You couldn’t afford me.” Brynn leaned back and folded her arms over her chest, not just pissed but rattled. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Hayes’s booming voice behind her.

The ride back was silent and uncomfortable. Hayes seemed embarrassed. Erik seemed tense. Brynn stared through the tinted back windows at the downtown streets, trying to get her head around this new reality. She’d thought going to Otto’s would settle her nerves and help her feel normal on the eve of a big trial. But nothing was normal when she was surrounded by armed men twenty-four/seven.

Brynn closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. She thought of Jen and wished she and Erik hadn’t talked about her. Ross was right. She shouldn’t have talked to that homicide detective, because now she had all the lurid details of Jen’s murder filling her mind.

She took out her phone and sent a message to Faith. Reggie’s assistant had known Jen from the law firm’s early days up in Dallas, and she was shocked by the murder. Everyone in the legal community was, from both sides of the aisle.

Brynn told Faith about the anonymous note and asked her to overnight it to Dallas. Faith was the only other person at the firm who understood Brynn’s haphazard, somewhat alphabetical filing system. The note she’d received on the one-year anniversary of Corby’s conviction was in its own manila envelope within a file marked “D Com” for defendant communications.

You believed it was important, or you wouldn’t have saved it. Brynn looked at Erik in the front seat, and she knew he was right.

Hayes pulled up to the front door of the building to drop them off before heading to the parking garage. The whole door-to-door service thing made Brynn feel spoiled. But Erik kept insisting, and she needed to pick her battles with him.

She swiped her way into the building with her key card and strode past the gurgling marble fountain in the lobby. Growing up, Brynn had lived in a series of apartments, none of which had a posh lobby or a rooftop pool or a fitness room. Brynn wasn’t footing the bill for this place, but still it seemed wasteful.

She and Erik rode the elevator up without a word and went straight to Ross’s to deliver the to-go bag.

As Erik let himself into the apartment, Brynn got a text from Bulldog: Meet me in the lobby.

She stared down at her phone. Where r u?

Downstairs.

Brynn glanced around. Ross and Skyler were both on the sofa with their laptops out. Erik leaned over Skyler, pointing at something on her screen. Hayes was in the hallway with Brynn, his shoulder propped against the wall as he checked his phone.

“I’ll be across the hall,” she said.

Hayes looked up and nodded.

Brynn slipped out and returned to the lobby, where she found Bulldog waiting beside the fountain.

The PI was short and stocky and proportioned like a bulldog, hence his name. He wore his usual cheap suit, no tie. Twenty years as a cop and five as a private detective had put a permanent frown on his face, but he looked especially unhappy tonight.

“Where’s Ross?” he asked.

“Upstairs. What are you doing here? I thought you were in Las Vegas.”

“I’m on the red-eye out of DFW. Had to catch you before I left. It’s important.” He glanced over her shoulder. “You got a problem, buddy?”

Brynn turned to see Erik standing behind her looking like a thundercloud. Good, she’d ticked him off.

“Erik, I’d like you to meet John Kopek, also known as Bulldog. John’s our private investigator.”

“I know. Otherwise, he’d be in handcuffs.” Erik looked the man over, no doubt noticing the Ruger under his jacket. He turned to Brynn. “You told Hayes you were across the hall.”

“Bulldog stopped by to tell me something important.” She turned to him. “What’s going on?”

At the look on his face, Brynn braced herself.

“Michael McGowan is dead.”