Desperate Girls

by Laura Griffin

  The waiting room was empty of tearful mothers and hand-wringing spouses this morning. The receptionist’s chair was empty, too, and Brynn followed the smell of fresh coffee to Reggie’s office.

  Faith sat behind her mahogany desk, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Brynn stopped short. Reggie’s assistant never cried. The mother hen of the law firm was unflappable, no matter how crazy things got.

  Brynn stepped over. “Faith?”

  She glanced up, startled, and her usually perfect mascara was streaked down her cheeks.

  It was Faith’s boys. Had to be. Her two teenage sons were constantly getting into trouble, and Faith had started to worry that the older one was on drugs.

  Brynn knelt beside her. “Faith, what happened?”

  Faith squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

  “Brynn!” Reggie boomed from his office. The door jerked open, and her silver-haired boss stepped out. “Brynn, get in here.”

  She shot him a glare and returned her attention to Faith. “Are you all right?”

  She dabbed her nose. “Yes, just . . . go on.”

  Brynn stood and followed Reginald H. Gunn, managing partner, past the nameplate bearing his title. Shelves crammed with law books lined the walls, and towers of file boxes crowded every corner. Reggie walked behind his cluttered desk, and Brynn noted the pin-striped suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair. The pink silk handkerchief in the front pocket told her he planned to be in court later.

  “Close the door, would you?”

  She followed his gruff command, taking one last peek at Faith as she eased shut the door.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  “I’ll stand. What’s up?”

  Reggie’s leather chair creaked as he sank into it. He ran a hand through his thick hair.

  “Nate called me. Jen Ballard was killed last night.”

  Brynn sagged back against the wall. “What—”

  “I don’t have all the details yet, but she was murdered sometime yesterday evening in her home.”

  Murdered.

  Brynn’s blood turned cold. Beautiful, witty Jen Ballard murdered. The words didn’t belong in the same sentence.

  She stepped closer to Reggie’s desk. “How?”

  “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t even had time to call the police up there. And there’s something else—”

  A sharp knock came at the door. Ross leaned his head in and immediately zeroed in on Brynn. “You tell him yet?”

  “Tell me what?” Reggie asked.

  Ross stepped into the office, oblivious to the tension hovering in the room. “Perez is missing. We were supposed to run through his testimony at nine, but he blew off the appointment.”

  “Try his girlfriend.”

  “She hasn’t seen or heard from him in days.” Ross looked at Brynn and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  She cleared her throat. “Jen Ballard.”

  “What about her?”

  “She was murdered,” Reggie said.

  Ross’s face went slack. “What?”

  “She was killed in her home last night. Up in Sheridan Heights, right outside of Dallas,” Reggie told him. “I just got off the phone with Nate Levinson twenty minutes ago.”

  Ross shot Brynn a look, as if she might somehow make sense of what he was hearing, but she couldn’t. The forty-two-year-old woman who’d once been their boss, their mentor, and their friend was dead.

  “What’s the other thing?” Brynn asked Reggie. “You said there was something else?”

  Reggie stared at Brynn. A veteran trial attorney, he had a talent for creating drama, but the solemn look on his face was all too real.

  “What is it?” Ross asked.

  “James Corby is out.”

  Brynn’s eyebrows shot up. “Out?”

  Beside her, Ross made a strangled sound.

  “He escaped.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ross clutched his head with his hands. “How do you escape a fucking maximum-security prison?”

  Reggie’s gaze locked with Brynn’s. “I don’t know.”

  But he did know. And so did Brynn. As an assistant prosecutor, Brynn had tried James Corby’s case alongside then lead prosecutor Jen Ballard. Brynn had learned that James Corby was not only violent and sadistic but also smart. Frighteningly smart. And the prospect of him slipping out of prison had lurked in the darkest corners of Brynn’s mind for years.

  Her chest felt tight. She placed her hand on her sternum and tried to breathe. But it was Ross who bent at the waist and looked like he was going to puke.

  “Shit!”

  “Hey,” Reggie snapped. “Don’t throw up in here.”

  Ross straightened and shook his head. “This is insane. Where the hell are the marshals?”

  “They’re on it,” Reggie replied. “That I do know. Nate tells me they’ve been working this thing from the beginning.”

  “And when was that?” Brynn asked.

  “Wednesday.”

  “He escaped Wednesday, and we’re just now hearing about it?”

  Beside her, Ross let out a blistering string of curses.

  “What does this mean for us?” Ross asked. “Our trial begins in Dallas in three days, right down the goddamn road from Jen’s murder—”

  “It means we have to take action,” Reggie said. “I’ve already started.”

  “What do you mean?” Brynn couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice. She’d dealt with plenty of criminals and considered herself fairly streetwise. But what kind of “action” did Reggie think they were going to take here? Was he planning to jump into his Mercedes and hunt down an escaped convict?

  “I’m hiring protection,” Reggie said. “The best money can buy.”

  “Bodyguards?” She blinked at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.” He checked his watch and picked up the phone.

  “Wait, stop.” Brynn held up her hand. “Before you rush off and hire anyone, we need to talk to the sheriffs up there about protection. This falls on them, doesn’t it? Our courthouse is in their jurisdiction.”

  Reggie gave her a dark look. “This law firm doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends up there. As you well know.”

  “Reggie, they hate us up there,” Ross said.

  “Exactly my point. We can’t count on the locals to do anything for us.”

  “Yes, but it’s their job,” Brynn said.

  “Yeah, and it’s our job to win this trial. I won’t have my two top attorneys worried and distracted.”

  Brynn was still in shock. But not so much that she couldn’t imagine the major pain in the butt having a bodyguard trailing her around was going to be. This was the biggest case of her career. Reggie had put her in charge of everything, from jury selection to the closing statement. She’d spent countless hours preparing and still had work to do.

  “Yes, but . . . bodyguards? As in plural?” She played the money card. “That sounds expensive.”

  “It is.”

  “Listen, Reggie, I appreciate the thought.” She glanced at Ross. “We both do, but—”

  “No buts. And it’s not a thought. I already made the call.” He looked at Ross. “Now, about this Perez thing, did you get Bulldog on it?”

  Ross shook his head, and Reggie jabbed at his desk phone.

  Bulldog, aka Bull, aka John Kopek, was the private investigator Reggie kept on speed dial. Brynn shook her head. She felt like she’d been sucker punched, and her boss was already back to business.

  “Bull, it’s Reggie. I need a locate.” He muffled the receiver against his shirt and gave Brynn a sharp look. “You’ve got a trial to prep for. Better get to it.”

  Erik Morgan was almost out when everything went sideways.

  An earsplitting boom.

  A billow of smoke.

  He halted in the narrow corridor and adjusted the body slung over his shoulder. The air around him swirled with grit. Sweat seeped into his eyes. But he pushed the dis
tractions out of his mind as he and his teammates moved into position.

  Weapon raised, Erik darted around the corner, instantly spotting two silhouettes. To his right, a man holding a pistol. To his left, a teenage girl holding a cell phone. Erik fired two rounds at the man, hitting him square in the chest.

  “Clear!”

  He ran for the door, stopping at the threshold to scan for hostiles.

  “Clear!” he repeated, then took off down the stairs.

  One flight. Two. A door slapped open above him.

  Boom!

  Dust rained down as Erik adjusted his load and kept moving. They were running out of time. He could feel it. More smoke, more shouting. He heard his teammates’ footsteps behind him.

  “Go, go, go!” someone yelled.

  Boots thundered as four men carrying more than eight hundred pounds of dead weight bounded down the stairwell. At ground level, Erik stopped at the plywood door. His teammate kicked it open and peered out to scan the area.

  “All clear!” Hayes yelled.

  Erik followed him through the door, exiting the kill house with a cloud of smoke and dust. He sprinted the last fifty yards to a concrete barricade, then dropped to a knee in the dirt and lowered his load to the ground.

  “Two minutes, forty-six seconds.”

  Erik glanced up to see Jeremy Owen looming over him with a stopwatch. The former Marine sharpshooter did not look happy.

  The man playing the role of Erik’s protectee groaned and sat up. “What the fuck happened back there?”

  Hayes shook his head. “I couldn’t see.” He glanced back at the kill house, a building made up of rooms, hallways, and stairwells where they practiced closed-quarters battle and rescue scenarios. Flash-bangs and smoke grenades were tossed into the mix to ramp up the chaos.

  Erik had watched Hayes work, and visibility wasn’t his only problem. Hayes’s protectee had a paint splatter on his shirt the size of a soccer ball. If they’d been facing live rounds, the man would be dead.

  “Okay, everybody up,” Jeremy ordered. “Hit the hoses, and we’ll reconvene on the south range at fifteen hundred.”

  Erik got up and helped his teammate to his feet. He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his arm and glanced at the sun. It was ninety-eight today—hotter inside the kill house—and his clothes were saturated.

  Everyone grabbed the gear and moved out. Jeremy caught Erik’s eye and signaled for him to walk back with him on the trail.

  “How’d it go with Becker?” Jeremy asked when they were deep in the woods.

  Hayes Becker, twenty-six, of Roanoke, Virginia. As a team leader, it was Erik’s job to help evaluate candidates who wanted to join the elite ranks of Wolfe Security, and Hayes had made it to the final round.

  “He’s not ready yet,” Erik said. “But he’s getting there.”

  “What’s your take on his skills?”

  “His tactical driving’s good. PT scores are off the charts. It’s his shooting that needs work.”

  Jeremy grunted. “That’s the problem with these FBI hires.”

  “So we’re keeping him?”

  Jeremy nodded.

  They made their way along the running trail and O-course. Set among the towering East Texas pines, the course had been modeled after the SEAL obstacle course at Coronado. The pinnacle in terms of height and effort was a seventy-foot cargo net, which a couple of new recruits were clawing their way up right now. They wore olive-green BDUs to differentiate themselves from real Wolfe agents, who wore all black.

  Erik reviewed this afternoon’s session, making a mental list of the areas where Hayes needed work. Any team they deployed on a job was only as good as its weakest member, and new hires either had to get up to speed or get out.

  “I’ll spend some time with him,” Erik said. “We can burn through some mags on the range, see if I can pinpoint his problem.”

  “Good. I’ll give Liam the heads-up.”

  Erik walked into the clearing as a silver 5-series BMW sped by, leaving a cloud of red dust in its wake. It curved along the dirt road and pulled up to the sprawling log cabin that served as their business headquarters. A man climbed out from behind the wheel. Average height, medium build. From his Ray-Bans and his suit, Erik pegged him for a corporate executive. Then the passenger door opened, and a woman slid from the car.

  Erik halted. Her long red hair caught the sunlight as she turned around. She wore tight black jeans and a silky white shirt, and she had a big leather purse slung over her shoulder. She was several inches taller than the guy with her, partly because of her mile-high heels.

  “Who is that?” Erik looked at Jeremy.

  “No idea.”

  They got all kinds of VIPs at the compound. Pop stars, politicians, athletes. Some of their clients were just ordinary rich people who’d picked up an enemy along the way and decided they needed protection. Judging from their looks, this couple fell into the last category. They mounted the steps to the building, peeling off their shades as they went inside.

  “Yo, Erik.”

  He turned to see Tony Lopez jogging up the trail. In a black T-shirt and tactical pants, he was dressed just like Erik, only he wasn’t sporting a layer of dirt and soot.

  “The chief wants you in his office,” Tony said.

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, ASAP.”

  Erik’s gaze narrowed. “This have to do with the five-series that just pulled in?”

  “You got it.”

  “Know who they are?”

  He smiled. “I hear they’re a couple of hotshots from Dallas.”

  “Shit.”

  “Think they’re attorneys,” he added.

  “Shit.”

  Tony grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Better you than me, bro.”

  THEY WAITED a good ten minutes before Liam Wolfe met them in the lobby of his office, which was nothing like Brynn had expected. The building looked like it was made of Lincoln Logs, and a huge stone fireplace dominated the lobby. After reading that Wolfe Security was one of the top personal security firms in the country, Brynn had expected something slick and modern, not what could have been a hunting lodge tucked deep within the piney woods.

  The CEO wasn’t what she’d expected, either. Brynn had spent way too much time last night surfing around and only managed to find one photograph of Liam Wolfe, a paparazzi shot of him helping some young starlet into a limo. The picture didn’t begin to do him justice, probably because he wore sunglasses that concealed his striking green eyes. They were sharp eyes. Warrior eyes. Brynn had read that the man was some sort of special ops badass, but it turned out you actually had to see him in person and shake his hand to get the full impact.

  “Nice place you have here,” Ross quipped as Liam led them down a hallway. “Was that a firing range we heard on the way in?”

  “It was.”

  “Sweet,” Ross said, and Brynn tried not to roll her eyes. Her partner wasn’t exactly a gun enthusiast. But he was probably trying to fit in at what was obviously a boys’ club.

  Brynn followed Ross into a conference room and stopped short. Five men stood around the table, each one more ripped than the last. Some had military haircuts, some had scruffy beards, but all wore the same black commando-style clothing.

  Liam made introductions, and everyone nodded. The silence stretched out, and Brynn realized they were waiting for her to sit down.

  So she did.

  The conference room had modern furnishings, including a long glass conference table and black leather chairs. A giant LCD screen dominated the far wall. Pulling a legal pad from her bag, Brynn smiled and glanced around the table, trying to project more confidence than she felt.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wolfe, for agreeing to meet us here this afternoon,” she said.

  He nodded. “Typically, we go to the client’s home base, but we’re happy to accommodate you.”

  Ross shot Brynn a questioning look that she pretended not to see. She hadn’t told
him that coming out here was her idea, not Reggie’s. She was trying to get ahead of a situation that was rapidly spinning out of her control. Despite three intense debates, Brynn hadn’t persuaded her boss to ditch the bodyguard plan. She’d resigned herself to the fact that these men had been hired, but she was here to negotiate terms. As always, the devil was in the details.

  “Gentlemen—” She looked around the room, slightly dazed by all the testosterone. These guys were seriously jacked. “I’m sure you’re as busy as we are, so I’ll get right to the point—”

  The door opened, and a man stepped in. He was huge—even bigger than the rest—and Brynn’s heart gave a little lurch as he zeroed in on her.

  “This is one of our team leaders,” Liam said. “Erik Morgan, meet Brynn Holloran.”

  The man gave a brisk nod.

  “And her partner, Ross Foley.”

  Another nod. All the chairs were taken, so he slipped to the side of the room and leaned against the wall.

  Brynn cleared her throat. “So I—or we—would like to thank you for being available on such short notice.”

  She wondered if Liam Wolfe caught her underlying message. She had no doubt he’d researched his new clients and knew that Blythe and Gunn represented several NFL players with very fat salaries. Liam had probably jumped at the chance to take this job because he was thinking about future referrals.

  But his expression gave nothing away. “Short notice is pretty typical for us. Threats like this tend to catch people off guard.” He paused. “I understand you’d like an overview of the security plan?”

  “Exactly.”

  “First question is when,” Ross said. “I don’t know if you realize this, but half our office is driving up to Dallas tomorrow morning.”

  Brynn’s stomach knotted just thinking about the whole operation: two lawyers, a paralegal, and a private investigator who still hadn’t managed to locate a witness critical to the case.

  “We’re aware,” Liam said. “We’re also aware that your trial starts Monday. We’re used to moving quickly, so it’s not a problem.” He looked at Brynn. “We’re finalizing your security plan today, and your agents will be ready to go in the morning. Meantime, I understand the two of you are staying at a hotel instead of your private homes?”