“Are you all right?” He cupped his hand against the side of her face. His expression was alert and tense. And yet calm, which seemed totally out of place with all the yelling and chaos in the hallway.
“I’m . . . yes,” she managed. “What was that?”
“You didn’t hear it?”
“I heard something. I don’t know.”
“Stay here with Skyler.”
He ducked out the door, and Skyler came back into the room, gun still in hand as she looked Brynn over.
“Stay here.”
“Wait!” Brynn grabbed her arm. “Where is Ross?”
“Upstairs already.”
Skyler stepped out, closing the door behind her.
Brynn looked around. It was a small room, maybe five by eight. There was nothing in it besides a metal bench that was bolted to the floor. They’d stuck her in a holding cell for prisoners, she realized.
She sank onto the bench and leaned forward to put her head between her knees. She felt dizzy. Slightly nauseated, too. She stared at the pointy toes of her shoes. And she noticed the carpet burn on her knees. She sat up. Her thigh was scalded red from the coffee, and she tugged down the hem of her skirt.
Calm down, calm down, calm down. Deep breath.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to settle her nerves. She checked her watch: 8:35. She needed to call Ross. But her phone was back in the Tahoe, with her attaché case and everything else.
The door opened. She jumped to her feet as Hayes strode in, followed by Skyler.
“Here,” Hayes said, holding out her attaché case.
“Thank you.” Brynn looked from him to Skyler. “What is going on?”
“The sheriff’s deputies are searching for the shooter.”
“Shooter?”
“Erik said there was a shot fired. You didn’t hear it?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at Hayes. “It sounded like a car backfiring, maybe. Did you hear it?”
“I heard something. Not sure if it was a gunshot but something.”
Brynn’s phone beeped with an incoming text, and she pulled it from her bag. Ross: Where r u???
She glanced at her watch. “It’s eight forty. I have to get upstairs.”
“You want to go up?” Skyler looked surprised.
“Yes. I’m late for court!”
Skyler stared at her for a moment. Then she led Brynn out of the room and down the corridor crowded with cops. Above the din of voices, Brynn heard sirens outside.
Several prisoners in handcuffs stood against the wall. Brynn scanned the faces but didn’t see Justin, and her pulse picked up again as she checked the time.
They went to the front of the security line and stepped through the metal detector. Skyler stayed behind to talk to the guard manning the X-ray machine as Brynn and Hayes caught an elevator to the second floor. The doors to Linden’s courtroom were closed, and Brynn’s stomach clenched as she race-walked down the hallway, clutching her attaché case.
Hayes jogged ahead and reached for the door, and Brynn entered the packed courtroom. Every seat was taken except for the jury box. Brynn’s gaze zeroed in on the defense table, where Justin sat low in his chair.
Ross turned around. He looked distraught at the sight of her. Justin and his mother turned then, too, both looking distressed.
Brynn strode down the aisle, and the clack of her heels steadied her as she took in everything—the murmur of voices in the gallery, the polished wood of the witness box, the etching of Lady Justice with her scales, watching over it all.
“What the hell?” Ross whispered when Brynn reached the table.
“Ms. Holloran.” Judge Linden glared at her over the tops of his reading glasses. “Please approach the bench. Counselor?” He looked at Conlon.
She and Conlon approached.
“You’re late, Ms. Holloran. We have a full docket here, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“I apologize, Your Honor.” She stood ramrod-straight as she faced him. “There was . . . an incident outside the courthouse.”
Linden’s chin dropped, and he scrutinized her appearance. He glanced at Conlon. “Counselors, in my chambers.”
They walked to the door leading to his office. The bailiff stepped aside to let them pass.
“Not you.”
Everyone stopped, and Brynn turned around to see the bailiff blocking Hayes’s path.
“He’s my personal security guard,” she said. “Can he—”
“He can wait outside my chambers,” the judge said.
The bailiff moved aside. Hayes glanced at Brynn, then stepped into a narrow hallway outside the judge’s office. Once inside his chambers, Linden turned to face Brynn and Conlon, glaring up at Brynn now because she was a head taller.
“Does this incident have to do with the sirens I heard on my way in here?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Honor. There was a possible gunshot a few blocks away. Police are investigating, along with our security team.”
His bushy white eyebrows snapped together. “I heard about your security team. Am I to understand that this supposed gunshot is related to the murder of Jen Ballard?”
She cut a glance at Conlon. “Possibly.”
Linden crossed his arms and stared up at her, his expression hard. Several seconds ticked by as Brynn’s heart pounded and sweat pooled in the cups of her bra. She must look terrible. Disheveled. Out of sorts. She could feel Conlon beside her, sizing her up and sensing a weakness he couldn’t wait to exploit.
“In light of these events,” Linden said, “do you wish to take a brief recess?”
Her mouth dropped open. She’d been late, and now he was offering leniency? She tried to see through his steely gaze.
“Your Honor,” Conlon said, “the prosecution is ready. We’d prefer to move forward on schedule.”
“I’m asking Ms. Holloran.” The judge turned to Brynn, and it occurred to her that maybe he’d known Jen personally and that’s what this apparent sympathy was about. “Well?”
“We’re ready, too, Your Honor.” She looked at Conlon. “The defense would like to move forward also.”
“Very well, then.” Linden unfolded his arms and reached for the door. “Let’s not waste any more time.”
THE MINI-MART at the intersection of Commerce and South Streets was an impromptu staging area for Dallas law enforcement. Police units and sheriff’s department SUVs crammed the tiny lot, and uniformed officers milled on the sidewalk, sipping coffee and wolfing down breakfast tacos.
Lindsey pulled her unmarked Taurus into a gap beside a fire hydrant. She had no trouble spotting Erik Morgan, who towered over everyone. With his dark suit, mirrored sunglasses, and SIG Sauer at his hip, he looked like he should have been standing beside a president, not arguing with a potbellied sheriff’s deputy in front of a Grab-N-Go.
Erik spied Lindsey and immediately broke off his conversation to walk over.
“I got your message,” she said. “What happened?”
Erik turned to face the intersection. Rush hour had ended, but the sweltering air still was thick with car exhaust.
“At eight sixteen, our vehicle was en route to the courthouse. We had just pulled up to the stoplight when I heard a gunshot.”
“Brynn was with you?”
“That’s correct.”
“Where is she now?”
“In court. We’ve canvassed the neighborhood, interviewing potential witnesses, but so far no sign of a white Dodge pickup or anyone resembling James Corby in the area.”
Lindsey sighed. “Well, shit.”
“I need that list of weapons, ASAP.”
“I don’t have it.”
Erik stared down at her, clearly displeased, and Lindsey saw her reflection in his shades.
“You said McGowan’s son was going to get it to you yesterday.”
“I haven’t heard from him.” She glanced around. “What about surveillance cameras? There have to be at least a couple of
traffic cams around here.”
“Four,” he told her. “And three ATM cams within this one-block radius alone. The footage is under review, but as of now, no leads. We haven’t been able to get anyone to corroborate the gunshot I heard. We’ve interviewed store clerks, but a lot of the businesses weren’t open yet.”
“What about the dry cleaner’s there?” Lindsey nodded down the block. “That would have been open.”
“The attendant says she heard something, but she believes it was a car backfiring or maybe a nail gun. She doesn’t think it was a gunshot.”
Lindsey didn’t bother asking if Erik was sure. She’d been checking up on the man. He was a former Marine and had spent his entire career undergoing rigorous weapons training. If he said he’d heard a gunshot, then he’d heard a gunshot.
She studied Erik’s face—the tight line of his mouth, the hard set of his jaw. Intense seemed to be his default, but right now he looked extra uptight.
“I’ve got the address for McGowan’s son,” she said. “I’ll track him down myself and get that list for you.”
“Soon as you have it, send it over.”
Lindsey glanced around. “You know, with all the police traffic back and forth to the courthouse, there have to be a lot of dashboard cams. Maybe someone caught something?”
“We’re looking into it.”
“Good. Let me know what turns up.”
What turned up was nothing.
No bullet holes, no chinks in the concrete, no spent cartridges anywhere near the intersection.
Erik gritted his teeth with frustration as he walked back to Brynn’s apartment, still combing the street for clues. After spending the entire day searching, he hadn’t found one shred of evidence of a shooter.
Not one shred except for his certainty that he’d heard a gunshot. Erik had been looking at Brynn at the time, so he’d been distracted, which was part of his frustration. He’d been distracted then, and he was distracted now. He kept picturing that look of pure fear in her eyes when he’d pulled her from the Tahoe and hustled her into the courthouse.
Another frustration: Erik hadn’t been able to place the direction of the shot, which was inexcusable, given his training. This was why he couldn’t afford to lose focus, not even for a second. The smallest distraction could have deadly consequences.
Erik neared the Atrium and called Brynn. He could have called Hayes to check on things, but he wanted to hear her voice.
“Hey, I was just about to call you,” she said, sounding better than he’d expected.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up with you? I haven’t seen you all day.”
“I’ve had my hands full.”
“Anything on the gunshot?”
“No.”
Silence. Erik scanned the surrounding buildings as he reached the Atrium’s driveway.
“Brynn?”
“I thought you must have, you know, discovered something. You’ve been gone so long.”
“I’m still working on it.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m not. Why were you about to call me?”
“Logistics. I’m going out tonight.”
“Out?”
“I’ve got a business dinner with Reggie.”
Erik tensed. “Why weren’t we informed?”
“This just came up. How soon can we have the Tahoe ready?”
Right. Like it was just a matter of pulling the car around.
Erik swiped his way into the building and went straight for the elevators.
“Erik?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I know, but can you accommodate me? This is important.”
He wanted to accommodate her, absolutely. He prided himself on customer service. But he’d counted on her wanting to stay in tonight, just like he’d counted on having more time to pin down this threat before tomorrow. And now she wanted to spend the evening out at some dinner?
“It’s at Oak Creek Country Club,” she said, predicting his next question.
The elevator slid open, and he strode down her hallway, passing several women with yoga mats tucked under their arms. One of them definitely gave him the once-over.
“When?” he asked.
“Seven o’clock.”
Erik halted outside her apartment. “That’s in forty minutes.”
No answer.
He let himself inside with his key and saw Hayes standing in the kitchen on the phone.
Brynn emerged from her bedroom with a waft of perfume, and Erik stopped cold.
Short black dress. Tall black heels. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in shiny, coppery waves. She smiled and strode up to him.
“Hey, you’re here.” She slipped her phone into a little black purse. “This mean we can go soon?”
He couldn’t speak. Go soon? Was she serious?
She gazed up at him, all innocence. She’d done that smoky thing with her eyes again and something with her mouth, too.
“We’re not going anywhere,” he told her. “I need to know more about this event. Is it a private club?”
“Some golf club.” She rolled her eyes. “The client invited us. Very exclusive, so security shouldn’t be an issue. It’s a gated club within a gated community.”
“Who’s the client?”
She tucked her purse under her arm. “Potential client. We’re hoping to close him tonight.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Reggie and me.”
“Not Ross?”
“No.”
Erik studied her face as his mind raced with logistical issues. She looked perfectly composed. The stammering, wide-eyed woman from this morning was long gone.
“Who’s the client?” he asked again.
“Daniel Sheffield.”
Erik stared down at her. “Danny Sheffield. First baseman for the Rangers?”
She nodded.
And it all snapped into focus. The last-minute dinner, the dress, Ross not going. Erik tried to rein in his temper—not just about the plan but also about the fact that Brynn seemed on board with it.
“Forty minutes isn’t happening.”
“But—”
“Not happening, Brynn. I need to run his record, check out this club, get people in place—”
“Run his record ?” She fisted a hand on her hip. “He’s our client.”
“I thought you haven’t closed him yet?”
“Whatever. We will close him. If I can get there in time to help Reggie negotiate.” She glanced at her watch. “We need to get moving. I can give you his record on the way. In case you haven’t heard, he was recently arrested for punching a tabloid photographer outside a nightclub, and he’s about to fire his lawyer and hire us, if Reggie and I can convince him over dinner.”
“Tell him seven thirty.”
“Seven thirty! He and his agent are already over there, having drinks in the clubhouse.”
“It’s the best I can do, Brynn. Take it or leave it.”
BRYNN’S LATENESS had just the effect she’d anticipated. As the maître d’ led her to the table, Brynn noted that Reggie looked pissed off while Danny Sheffield and his agent looked well on their way to being toasted.
“So glad you could join us,” Reggie said, standing up.
Danny didn’t bother, just smiled up at her and pulled out the chair beside him.
“You must be Brynn,” he drawled. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Brynn smiled and took the empty chair next to Reggie, who managed not to react to her snubbing the client. He made introductions, praising Brynn’s record and calling her the firm’s “heavy hitter.”
The conversation started flowing, along with the wine. Brynn darted her gaze across the room a few times and noticed that Erik and Hayes had somehow melted into the shadows without attracting attention. It probably helped that many of the club’s members looked like they’d been tossing back Scotches since they came off the golf
course.
It was a typical Reggie-led client dinner with a celebrity athlete. Brynn laughed at Danny Sheffield’s jokes, feigned interest in his stories, and pretended to be impressed as he dropped a bunch of names she’d never heard. She demolished her medium-rare filet and carefully nursed the glass of merlot the waiter kept topping off. When the plates were cleared and the second bottle of wine was emptied, Reggie rested his elbows on the table and got down to business.
“You know why we’re here, Danny. Our firm would like to offer you representation.”
The ballplayer leaned back in his leather chair, which was more of a throne. The decor in this room had obviously been selected with male egos in mind.
Danny smiled smugly. “I’ve already got representation.”
It was all so canned, and Brynn wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she leaned forward.
“For your business affairs, you’ve made the right choice,” she said. “Fischer and Evans is definitely the right firm for you on that front. But for criminal defense work? They’re not a good bet.”
“Is that right?” he said, soaking up the sales pitch.
“That’s right.”
“I been with them for years.” He shrugged. “I trust them. What can I say? Takes time to build that.”
“Time?” Brynn shook her head. “That’s something you don’t have right now, Danny. You’re facing two years, minimum, and your trial’s in nine weeks. You need a real defense team, or you’re looking at hard time.”
His smug expression faded.
“She’s right,” Reggie said. “It’s time to make a choice here,
Danny.” Danny looked at his agent. Brynn could tell he was close to a decision. Beside her, Reggie shifted in his chair, and she knew he was winding up for the big pitch.
“Be smart here, Danny.” Reggie leaned forward. “Go with Blythe and Gunn. It’s like I tell all my clients, you don’t want to take a knife to a gunfight.”
Brynn managed not to groan. Or reach for her wine. She hated Reggie’s slogan almost as much as she hated giving clients the hard sell. But this particular client was half-drunk, so subtlety would have been a waste of time.
Danny turned to Brynn with a look that was both lazy and calculating. She’d been on the receiving end of looks like that before.
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