Desperate Girls

by Laura Griffin

“But then I started doing it all over again.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Putting in the hours, the evenings, the weekends. Skipping time off. Neglecting my friends, my boyfriend. So—big shocker—he met someone. I found all these sext messages on his phone.”

  Interesting. From the conversation in the car, Erik had thought the guy broke up with her.

  “You found out he was cheating? That’s why you dumped him?”

  “I’d suspected he was cheating for months.” Brynn stabbed a bite of broccoli. “I dumped him when I realized I didn’t care.”

  Erik watched her.

  “And I started thinking, you know, there’s a pattern here. My problem isn’t the job or the boss or the city.” She leaned back against the booth. “It’s me. I throw myself in, immerse myself in work, block out everyone and everything that isn’t my job.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re good at it.”

  “It is, I know. Work’s great.” She shook her head. “It’s the rest of my life that’s a wreck.”

  Brynn lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of downtown traffic twelve stories below. She’d stayed in this apartment many times before. In this exact bed, in fact. And the noise had never bothered her. If anything, it had lulled her to sleep after a long workday.

  Not tonight, though.

  She kept thinking about that white truck. It was out there somewhere. James Corby was in it. Was he prowling the streets, watching her, waiting for his next window of opportunity? Or was he on the move, headed far, far away from the marshals and detectives and Texas Rangers who were scouring the state for him? Maybe he’d completed his revenge quest. Maybe he’d taken his last trophy and was on his way to enjoy his newfound freedom south of the border.

  She thought of the digital pictures Erik had shown her, all the different images of what Corby might look like now. As if she needed a reminder. As if Corby’s stone-cold eyes weren’t permanently etched into her brain.

  Brynn stared at the ceiling fan as it churned the air. She felt hot. Sticky. She kicked the covers off, swung her legs out of bed, and grabbed some cutoffs from the chair in the corner. Then she stepped into the hallway to check the thermostat.

  And Erik.

  The living room was dim, and she poked her head around the corner to see him sitting on the sofa, his arm stretched across the back. His suit jacket was off. He had his sleeves rolled up, and the light of the television cast him in a bluish hue.

  “Still here?” she asked.

  He just looked at her, and she felt a flush of embarrassment at the dumb question.

  She padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Wine, Gatorade, water, beer. Nothing tempted her.

  “Want anything?” she asked.

  “I’m good.”

  She grabbed a water and joined him in the living room, sinking into the oversize armchair beside the sofa. Close but not too close. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt, and it was dark, but she didn’t want to give him an eyeful.

  “I can’t sleep.” She twisted the top off her water and took a swig. Then she glanced at the TV. He was watching CNN, but he had the volume switched off and the closed-captioning turned on. “You can turn that up, you know. That’s not the problem.”

  “I like it on mute so I can listen.”

  Listen to what? Traffic? Voices? Footsteps in the hallway? She didn’t know how his job worked, exactly. The cameras at Ross’s were a part of it. Erik had gone through that with her earlier tonight—sharing information, just as he’d promised. Instead of two monitoring stations—one at each apartment—they had set up a designated control room in the spare bedroom at Ross’s. And they’d assigned an agent to monitor the cameras full-time, versus an agent in each apartment “keeping an eye on” the cameras. The new setup would eliminate the possibility of someone slipping into the building behind a tenant while both agents happened to be distracted, which was how Bulldog had gotten in.

  Security gap filled. Or so they hoped.

  “What is the problem?”

  She looked at Erik. “Huh?”

  “You said my volume isn’t the problem. What is?”

  She put down her water and grabbed a Vanity Fair off the coffee table. “Just, you know, general insomnia.”

  She flipped through the pages and found the article she’d tried to get through earlier, an interview with some twenty-three-year-old actress from the summer’s big blockbuster. Brynn had absolutely zero interest in the woman, beyond the fact that she was gorgeous and Liam had protected her a year ago. Did Wolfe Sec still work for her? Had Erik ever met her? Maybe he’d been on her detail and they were friends now. Friends with benefits even, if he was ever in LA.

  Brynn was losing her mind. Truly. She needed sleep. She glanced at the TV.

  “Are you watching this?” she asked.

  “I’m watching you.”

  She looked at him.

  “What’s wrong, Brynn?”

  “Nothing.”

  He picked up the remote and switched off the television. Then he leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at her.

  “Talk to me.”

  His words sent a rush of heat through her body. His words and his eyes. They were dark and serious, and the only light now came from the glow in the kitchen.

  And he was completely focused on her. He knew something was bothering her, and he was determined to pin her down on it. Maybe that was why she’d come out here.

  “I can’t go to the funeral,” she said.

  “Jen’s?”

  She nodded. “It’s at ten o’clock, and I have to be in court at eight thirty. Not that I even want to go. I hate those things, but I should be there.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Jen took a chance on me when I was straight out of school. I was drowning in loans and desperate for a job, even though my GPA wasn’t great and my résumé was thin. We hit it off, and she gave me a shot, and I owe everything to her. And now . . . I can’t even make it to her funeral.”

  “She’d understand.”

  “She would. That’s the irony. She never let her personal life get in the way of her work.” Brynn combed her hand through her hair. “I’m relieved, if you want to know the truth.”

  “That you have an excuse?”

  “I don’t really want to see all those people from my past and think about Jen and how she died.” Brynn sounded whiny, even to her own ears.

  Erik reached over. He took the magazine from her hands and set it on the table.

  Her pulse picked up.

  “Brynn.”

  “What?”

  “I know you’re worried.”

  Worried didn’t begin to cover it. She felt paralyzed by her own thoughts. And she couldn’t stop thinking them. Every time she tried to sleep, her brain got stuck on this continuous loop.

  “But we will protect you, no matter what. That’s ironclad.”

  She laughed. “Why? You don’t even like me.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  He held her gaze, and her pulse sped up again. Her skin felt tight. There was something in his voice, his look.

  “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “Corby is a serious threat. He’s armed, and he’s experienced.”

  “And he managed to escape from prison. And get the drop on a cop.”

  “Retired cop,” he said.

  “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. Mick McGowan wasn’t ready for him. He never saw him coming. We’re prepared. We’re trained, and we have the advantage.”

  She stared at him, not wanting to voice her doubts.

  “You still don’t believe me?”

  “I want to, but . . . it sounds a little arrogant.”

  “Not arrogant, confident. It’s not arrogance if you have the skills to back it up.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. It felt warm and heavy, and her pulse picked up at his touch. “You need to trust us, Brynn.”

  He held her gaze, and she wondered what
it would be like to kiss him. She could tell he was attracted to her, and he had to know it was mutual. But she sensed his frustration, as though he didn’t want to be attracted to her.

  He dropped his hand from her shoulder and stood up.

  She stood, too.

  “You should get some sleep.”

  It was a dismissal, and she felt a twinge of hurt.

  Then he surprised her by walking down the hallway to her room. She followed him, and he stopped at the thermostat beside her door.

  “You hot?” he asked.

  “Not anymore.”

  She watched as he crossed her darkened bedroom. He parted the slats on the miniblinds and peered out. Most of the window treatments had been closed since she’d arrived, and after learning Corby might have access to rifles and not just handguns, Erik had given her strict instructions to keep everything closed at all times.

  He returned to the door, darting a glance at her rumpled bed.

  “You’re off at midnight?”

  “Yeah.” He touched her waist, surprising her again. “And on again at eight.”

  She gazed up at him, and suddenly the air between them felt so charged that she couldn’t breathe. His fingers were on her waist, burning a hole through her thin T-shirt.

  “Good night.” He stepped away, but she caught his arm.

  “Wait.”

  She kissed him, going up on tiptoes to reach his mouth. She slid her hands up to cup his face, holding him there as he tried to pull back.

  Cold panic shot through her.

  But then he kissed her back, and every part of her body fired to life. His lips moved against hers, and then his arms were around her, thick and strong and lifting her off her feet. He turned and backed her against the bedroom wall, pinning her there while his tongue delved into her mouth.

  It was hot. Explosive. Every nerve inside her was electrified by his firm lips and his hard body and the heavy weight of him leaning against her.

  He tasted so good, sharp and male and musky, and she realized she was starved for the flavor. She wanted more. Him. She wanted his mouth and his stubble under her fingertips. She wanted his big hands that were sliding under her T-shirt, searing a path over her skin.

  God, he was good. She should have known he would be. He was so capable at everything, so why would kissing be any different? She pressed against him, and his hand gripped her hip.

  A faint noise made her pull back. “Erik—”

  He cut her off, taking her mouth in another fierce kiss that made her dizzy.

  She heard it again—a soft snick. She pressed her hand to his chest. “Someone’s—”

  He jerked back before she finished the sentence. Keys jangled as someone unlocked the door and entered the apartment.

  “Trent.” Erik looked at her, and the desperation in his eyes mirrored what she was feeling. They stared at each other, breathless.

  “He’s early,” she whispered.

  Erik stepped back, raking his hand through his hair as Brynn tugged her T-shirt into place.

  Erik’s gaze hardened. “Sorry. This won’t happen again.”

  Then he turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the dark with her lips numb and her heart racing.

  BRYNN OVERSLEPT.

  Of course. Because after flailing restlessly for hours, it was just her luck to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep that even her cell-phone alarm couldn’t penetrate.

  She awoke with a jolt at 7:45 and spent fifteen minutes throwing on clothes and racing around the apartment, jamming files into her attaché case. She checked her watch as she hurried into the bathroom and surveyed her cosmetics on the counter. She had time for makeup or coffee but not both.

  “Shit!”

  “Help you with anything?” Hayes called from the hallway.

  “No, thanks! Wait, yes.” She opened the bedroom door and poked her head out. “Can you make the coffee?”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “Four scoops, eight cups of water.” She closed the door before he could refuse. The man had made it through the FBI Academy. Surely he could figure out a coffeepot.

  Brynn did minimal makeup and ran the straightening iron through her hair, trying not to singe it. She gave it a few spritzes of hairspray. She grabbed some earrings—understated gold studs today. Then she slipped her feet into slingbacks and checked the mirror.

  “Ready!” she called, rushing into the hallway.

  Ross stood at the door, looking dashing and impatient in his navy Hugo Boss suit.

  “We’re late, Brynn. What’s the holdup?”

  “Nothing, I’m ready.”

  She spied her travel mug on the bar beside Hayes.

  “Bless you,” she told him, grabbing it on the way out the door. Skyler was already waiting at the elevator with the doors open.

  “Wait, my briefcase!” Brynn glanced back at her apartment. “Brynn, seriously.” Ross looked exasperated.

  “You guys go. I’m right behind you.”

  She hurried back to her place with Hayes at her heels. She retrieved her briefcase and relocked the door.

  “Is the car ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Meaning Erik was waiting. Brynn’s pulse skittered at the thought of seeing him, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it as they raced for the elevator.

  On the ride down, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She felt totally discombobulated starting the morning this way. The elevator slid open, and there was the Tahoe.

  Erik stood by the driver’s-side door dressed in a dark suit. He wore his mirrored aviators, and she couldn’t read his expression as Hayes stepped ahead and opened the back door.

  “Thank you.”

  She climbed inside, and Hayes took the shotgun seat. Erik was driving this morning, no doubt to prevent her from staging another impromptu press conference on the courthouse steps.

  “You’re late,” Erik said to Hayes.

  “It’s my fault. I overslept.” Brynn glanced at her watch as they got moving. “We’ll be fine.”

  Erik pulled into traffic, which was unusually heavy today, of course. Hayes muttered a curse.

  They stopped at a red light, and Brynn took out her compact. Despite her makeup efforts, she still had shadows under her eyes. She dug a lipstick from her bag and carefully painted her mouth.

  She glanced up, and Erik was watching her in the rearview mirror. He looked freshly showered and shaved and infuriatingly well rested.

  This won’t happen again.

  She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Why the hell shouldn’t it happen again? And why did he get to decide?

  He looked away. Then he made a call on speakerphone. The man who answered sounded like Jeremy.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Erik said. “We hit some traffic. Should be ten minutes behind schedule.”

  “Roger that. We’re just pulling into the prisoner bay.”

  “You talk to Joe?”

  “Yeah, a minute ago. All three mags are up and running.”

  “Okay, see you in ten.”

  Erik ended the call, and Brynn kept her gaze focused on her compact so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “What’s a mag?” she asked.

  “A magnetometer. They’ve got one at each entrance. And everyone’s under orders not to wave anybody through today.”

  She glanced up at the edge in his voice.

  “That includes you and Conlon,” he said. “No one gets special treatment.”

  She pointedly looked at her watch.

  “The line at the back checkpoint is short,” he assured her.

  Pop.

  “Get down!” Erik yelled, reaching back and yanking Brynn’s jacket. “Get her down!”

  Her chin hit the console as both Erik and Hayes forced her head down. Tires squealed. The SUV rocketed backward onto a median.

  “What the—”

  “Keep your head down! Hayes, get on her!”

 
And then Hayes was in the back seat, pushing her down onto the floor as the SUV surged forward. Coffee scalded her knee, and tires shrieked as they took a corner. Hayes’s weight smothered her, and she couldn’t see anything with her face against the floor.

  “Erik!”

  “What was that?” Hayes asked.

  “Gunshot,” Erik said.

  “I didn’t hear it.”

  “Call 911.”

  Hayes shifted his weight, and Brynn leaned away from him, struggling for air.

  “What the hell was that? What is happening?” she screamed.

  But Erik was on the phone with Jeremy. “Gunshot fired at Commerce and South Streets,” he said. “I repeat, Commerce and South. Clear the bay. We’re coming in hot.”

  Brynn got to her knees and tried to sit up.

  “Down!” Erik yelled, reaching back to push her head down.

  The SUV veered left, then right. Horns blared. Erik jabbed the brakes, swerved again, and Brynn’s stomach lurched. She glanced through the tinted window and saw that they were speeding the wrong way down a one-way street.

  They took another corner, and she braced herself against the door.

  “Almost there.” Erik’s voice was tense but calm. “Brynn?”

  “What?”

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She could hardly breathe. She swept her hair out of her face and looked over at Hayes kneeling on the floor beside her. He was juggling his pistol in one hand and his phone in the other as he talked to the 911 operator.

  They whipped into a parking garage, and everything went dim. Another sharp corner, and the squeal of their brakes echoed off concrete. They skidded to a halt.

  “Where are we?”

  Erik jumped out without answering. Then Brynn’s door jerked open, and four big arms reached in to pull her out. Erik and Jeremy. Skyler stood beside the entrance, along with a sheriff’s deputy, and both of them had guns drawn. Brynn’s feet barely touched the ground as Erik and Jeremy took her by the arms and hauled her up several steps and through a door. And then she was in a gray cinder-block hallway, surrounded by cops in uniform.

  Skyler reached for her arm. “This way,” she said, towing her into a room.

  “What—”

  “In here.” Skyler pulled her into a corner.

  Then Skyler walked out, and Erik was there.