“Nice redirect.”
He waited for her to answer, but she just looked at him. She’d been doing that all morning, and it was messing with his head.
Erik’s last client had been a tech CEO, and he’d spent every minute of every car ride glued to his phone. But this client was a lawyer, which meant she got paid to talk, and she evidently enjoyed it. Erik hadn’t counted on so much conversation. He hadn’t counted on any of the things that were making this the car ride from hell.
First problem, she smelled good. Not perfume but something sweet and subtle, like maybe her shampoo.
Second problem, she looked good. He’d known that going in, but he hadn’t realized how hard it would be to be cooped up right next to her without getting distracted. She wore skintight jeans—dark blue today—that showed off her killer legs and high-heeled sandals again. Yesterday’s were thin and strappy, but these had big, chunky heels that gave her an extra few inches. Not that she needed it. She wore a white button-down shirt that could have been a man’s, only there was something feminine about it—but damned if he could pinpoint it. It was too loose to reveal her shape, but he kept getting glimpses of her collarbone.
He needed to get his head out of his ass. He shouldn’t be noticing her clothes or her legs or her freaking collarbone. She was his client. Period.
“First, tell me why you care so much about my trial,” she said.
“Call me curious.”
“Nope.”
He cut a glance at her. “Nope?”
“You’re obviously not much of a talker, which is fine, but I don’t believe you just want to listen to me rattle on.”
He had to give her points for being perceptive.
“It’s relevant to the job I’m doing, so I want to know more about it.”
She turned to face him, and her shirt shifted again. “How is it relevant, exactly?”
“Your name’s been in the news. You’re my client. Anything that draws attention to you right now is relevant.”
“Well, what did you see in the news?” she asked.
Great, she was going to answer his questions with questions. This could take all day.
“Not a lot,” he said. “The defendant’s some wealthy drug dealer.”
“Wrong on both counts. In fact, he’s flat broke. Reggie took the case pro bono.”
“Nothing’s ever really pro bono.”
She arched a pretty eyebrow at him. “Cynical, aren’t you?”
“I’m realistic.”
“Well, in this instance you’re right. The firm’s getting free exposure out of it. This case has garnered some media attention, as you’ve noticed.”
“So why isn’t Reggie handling it instead of you?”
“He’s tied up with something big right now.”
“Bigger than this?”
“Yes. Anyway, I offered to take it.”
“What about Ross?”
“Ross is second chair. I’ve got more trial experience, so I’m taking the lead. It’s a good opportunity for me.”
Interesting. He would have thought uprooting her life temporarily and moving up to Dallas wouldn’t be much of a plum assignment.
“What’s that look?” she asked.
“Nothing. You were telling me about your case?”
She sighed and looked ahead. “Justin Sebring. He’s charged with first-degree murder in the shooting death of a college student named Seth Moore outside a pizza restaurant.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is. But he’s innocent.”
“They all are, right?”
“No, actually, some defendants are guilty as hell. I take it you don’t like defense attorneys?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m used to it. But everyone has the right to due process. That’s in the Constitution for a reason. It keeps those in power from running roughshod over people’s rights.”
“So if your client’s so innocent, why is he going to trial? I thought prosecutors generally try to cut a deal if they don’t have a strong case.”
“That’s where it gets sticky. Justin’s not a drug dealer, but the prosecutor is saying he was working for a local distributor and killed the victim during a botched drug buy. The DA’s office is playing hardball, hoping we’ll cave and give them something on the big fish in exchange for a light sentence.”
“And?”
“And what? It’s not happening.” Her voice took on an edge. “Justin is eighteen. He was three months shy of graduation when his life got derailed. Now he could spend the rest of his days in prison for something he didn’t do. I can’t let that happen.”
He heard the determination in her voice, and he had to respect it. He also respected that she had the guts to take on such a high-pressure case. The stakes were high, which meant stress for her, which Erik understood, because his job was high-stakes, too. They both operated in a world where their performance had life-and-death consequences. So many people didn’t.
She shifted her legs out from under her. Then she looked at her watch, as if she’d lost patience with the conversation.
“Hey, any chance we can pull over soon?”
“Why?”
“Um, because I’d like to use the ladies’ room.”
“Don’t you mean because you want to sneak away and call Liz back?”
She looked ticked off, and he knew he’d nailed it. “Who I call is none of your business.”
Erik took his phone from his pocket and sent a text to Jeremy. He exited the highway and pulled into the first gas station. It was busy with weekend travelers, and he veered around the pumps to swing into a space by the convenience store.
Brynn grabbed her purse.
“Wait.” He caught her arm before she could jump out.
She glanced down at his hand, and he let her go.
“We need to get clear on a few things,” he said, tossing her own words back at her.
“Like what?”
He waited for her to look at him and held her gaze. “I know you don’t like this. And I know you’re used to being in control. In every area of your life, I’m guessing.”
She didn’t respond to that, just watched him with those deep blue eyes.
“Your private life is private. Full stop. You don’t have to worry about me, or anyone on my team, sharing your personal information with anyone. Our job is your safety. But we can’t keep you safe if you won’t let us near you.”
He paused to let that sink in.
“You don’t need to run away from me to make a phone call or have a personal conversation or conduct a business meeting or whatever. Just forget I’m here.”
She scoffed. “You’re two feet away, but I’m supposed to pretend you’re blind, deaf, and dumb?”
“Pretend whatever you want. The point is, don’t compromise your safety by avoiding me because you’re trying to hide the details of your personal life. I’ve seen all this before, Brynn. I know how people react in these situations—”
“Like having a close friend murdered and then being forced to smile and act normal while a posse of armed bodyguards follows me around everywhere?”
“Yes.”
She looked away. Erik waited.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “I hear what you’re saying. And you’re right, I was planning to step away and call my sister to hear more about my ex-boyfriend, who I know I shouldn’t give a damn about, but for some crazy reason I do, all right?”
“Call her from the car. I’ll put my earbuds in if it makes you feel better.”
She just looked at him. He saw a trace of vulnerability in her eyes, and he wondered what her ex had done to her.
“Okay,” she said. “But as long as we’re here, we may as well make a pit stop. Can you let me out of your sight for three minutes, or do you need to follow me into the bathroom?”
“I’ll wait in the snack aisle.”
“Fine.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a t
wenty. “You can pick us up some Pop-Tarts.”
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 dinn
er?” 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?”
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