He nodded at Reggie. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. Trials take preparation.”
Danny looked at his agent. “We ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
Danny flagged a waiter. “Hey, tell them to bring the car around.”
Everyone stood up. Brynn stayed back as the men filed out, not wanting to get swept up in good-byes. Danny’s agent started passing out cigars, and Brynn took advantage of the diversion to slip off to the ladies’ room.
Once inside, she stood before the mirror and sighed. She looked tired. And wilted. Which was precisely how she felt after getting no sleep and being in court all day and then enduring a three-hour Danathon. And what about Hayes and Erik? They had to be just as tired as she was, only they hadn’t had the benefit of a steak dinner. Guilt needled her as she smoothed her hair and freshened her lipstick. Her phone pinged with a text, and she dug it from her purse.
It was Hayes: We’re out front.
Brynn rushed out of the restroom and nearly smacked into a broad chest.
“Hey there.”
She smiled up at Danny. “Hey.”
“You were planning to leave without saying good-bye, weren’t you? I see how it is.”
“Of course not. It was lovely meeting you. Thank you for dinner.”
“I meant what I told Reggie.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m thinking about hiring you.” He leaned his hand against the wall above her. “You might be just the woman I need to get me off.”
Brynn wanted to gag. Instead, she smiled. “Our firm’s record speaks for itself. We hope to get your business.”
He smiled and dipped his head down. Brynn ducked under his arm.
“Thanks again for dinner,” she said, striding down the hall.
Erik stood beside the door, watching her. He shot a look over her shoulder, and if looks could incinerate, Danny would have been a pile of ashes.
Without a word, Erik pushed open the door. The Tahoe was waiting with Hayes behind the wheel. A red Ferrari rolled to a stop, and a valet hopped out.
Brynn ignored the obnoxious car and the even more obnoxious man who slid behind the wheel. She reached for her door, but Erik beat her to it.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t respond as she climbed inside.
They made their way home through the tree-lined streets of one of Dallas’s wealthiest neighborhoods. No one spoke. Brynn was tense, Erik was silent, and Hayes just seemed oblivious to the mood as he navigated across town.
Brynn busied herself scrolling through her phone until they reached the Atrium.
“I’ll park. You take her up,” Erik told Hayes.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Brynn rode the elevator up with Hayes.
“Please tell me you got some dinner,” she said.
“Not yet.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll order you a pizza.”
“Really, I’m fine.” They stepped off the elevator. “I’m off in an hour.”
Still, she felt guilty as they walked down the hallway.
“Hey, you mind if I stop for a sec?” she asked. “I need to talk to Ross.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
She rapped on the door. It was almost eleven, but Ross was a night owl.
He answered in jeans and a sweatshirt, beer in hand. “Hey, nice dress.” He looked her up and down. “How’d it go with Sheffield?”
“Fine.” She walked past him. “Where’s Skyler?”
“In the control room. That’s what we’re calling it now.”
She turned to Ross. “Danny’s still deciding.”
“Damn, I thought we had him.”
“I think we will.”
“Well, cheers to clients with money.” He lifted his beer. “You want a brew?”
“I just stopped by for an update. You hear anything from Bulldog?”
“Not tonight.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. But don’t sweat it. He’ll come through.”
“I’m sweating it, Ross. I mentioned Perez in my opening statement today.”
“He’ll be here in time to testify.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know Bulldog. Calm down. Let me show you what I’ve been working on while you and Reggie were wining and dining.”
Brynn followed him to the coffee table, where he had legal pads spread out around his computer.
“I’ve been going through Conlon’s open line by line and studying the wit list. I think I’ve figured out who he’s going to call.”
Conlon’s witness list was ridiculously long, and if he called everyone on it, the prosecution’s case would take months. That wasn’t going to happen. Conlon was using the age-old tactic of burying the important names under a mountain of others. The trick for the defense was to figure out where to focus limited time and resources.
Ross handed her a legal pad with a list of names. Most were eyewitnesses who had been near or inside the pizza restaurant at the time of the shooting. One name jumped out.
“Dr. Peter Garvey.” Brynn looked up.
“I think he’s the heart of Conlon’s strategy.”
“Why? The eyewitnesses are much more of a threat to us. We talked about this.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been analyzing Conlon’s opening statement. He mentioned the ballistic evidence, which means Garvey. And we know he’s got to put up some sort of forensic science, even if it’s thin.”
It was true. Today’s jurors had watched so many CSI TV shows, they expected to see forensic evidence at trial, even in cases where police had other slam-dunk evidence, such as a taped confession. Forensic evidence was so crucial now that many juries had difficulty convicting without it.
“What makes you think he’s going to go with Garvey versus some of the other experts? He’s got a dozen listed.”
“Garvey’s a last-minute addition. I think they’re banking on the fact that we won’t have as much time to dig up dirt on him. Bulldog ran down everybody already, but we need to go deeper with this guy.”
If there was any dirt, Bulldog could probably find it. Anything from a closet drug addiction to a blemish on the record of the crime lab where Garvey worked could damage his credibility on the stand.
Brynn handed back the legal pad. “Call Nicole, too. Get her on it.”
“Why?”
“Bull’s preoccupied. And why not use both? If Garvey really is the heart of their case, we need to go for the jugular.”
She left Ross to his work and returned to her apartment with Hayes. Still no Erik. She retreated to her bedroom, and relief set in the instant she closed the door.
Brynn kicked off her heels. She stripped off her dress and tossed it onto the bed, then went into the bathroom and turned the shower to hot. She twisted her hair into a knot and stood under the spray, letting the water sluice over her tired muscles. By the time the bathroom filled with steam, she’d relaxed enough to face whatever else this day wanted to throw at her.
She put on a T-shirt and cutoffs. It was the same shirt as last night, only this time she wore a bra.
Memories flooded her. Erik’s hands on her skin. His tongue tangling with hers. His stubble under her fingertips as she pulled him down to kiss her. Her cheeks warmed thinking about it.
And then she thought of his words. This won’t happen again.
She’d thrown herself at her bodyguard. It was exactly what she’d warned Ross about. And even though Erik had been very, very into the kiss, he clearly regretted it now and probably thought she was an idiot.
She’d misread his signals last night, which wasn’t like her. Evidently, he had some sort of moral code that prevented him from getting close to her, even though he seemed attracted to her.
No. He was attracted to her. Physically, at least. She’d felt proof of that last night.
Brynn walked out of her bedroom and found Erik at
the dining table in front of his laptop. He’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and she tried not to stare at his muscular forearms.
“You want to order takeout?” she asked.
He didn’t look up. “I ate.”
He did? When? Maybe he’d managed to have a burger while she and Reggie were eating steaks. Although that didn’t seem like something he’d do, being so opposed to distractions while on duty.
She stopped beside the breakfast bar to watch him.
He glanced up. “What?”
“You have a problem you want to tell me about?”
“No.”
She went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. “You don’t have a problem with me? I’m just imagining this . . . hostility since dinner?”
He leaned back in the chair, meeting her gaze. “A problem with you? No. I have a problem with the guy you work for.”
“Sheffield?” She waved him off. “He’s a spoiled egomaniac. I can handle him.”
“I know. I saw that.” His gaze hardened. “I was talking about Reggie.”
“Why do you have a problem with Reggie?”
He stared at her but didn’t say anything.
“Really. Speak up.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“So?”
“Okay, fine. I don’t like the way he uses you.”
“Uses me?”
“Uses your looks to land clients. Why do you put up with that?”
She bristled at the disapproval in his voice. “Our track record lands us clients. We have a very high success rate. Reggie built his reputation with clients like Danny Sheffield, which is why we get so many referrals.”
He stood up and walked over to where she stood beside the breakfast bar. Without her heels on, she was much shorter than he was, and she felt distinctly disadvantaged. She crossed her arms over her chest.
He stepped past her and opened the fridge. “Then why does he dangle you out there like that?”
She laughed. “Oh my God, do you even hear yourself ?”
“What?” He grabbed a bottle of water and leaned back against the counter as he twisted off the top.
“You don’t think your boss uses you?” She stepped closer. “You don’t think Liam Wolfe uses you guys with your combat fatigues and your muscles and your mean-looking guns?”
He tipped his head back and laughed.
“What the hell is so funny?”
“Our muscles? Like we strap them on when we come to work?”
“You know perfectly well what I mean,” she said. “You guys show up looking like SEAL Team Six, and it intimidates people. That’s your boss using your looks to get clients.”
His expression grew pensive, as though he was considering her point.
“And anyway, Reggie didn’t dangle me tonight. It’s called introducing me to the client. Danny Sheffield has a well-deserved reputation for being a hothead. He shoots his mouth off, gets into bar fights, punches paparazzi. Reggie wants him to know that if he hires our firm to represent him, he’ll get a woman in the courtroom to smooth some of his rough edges, and he definitely needs that to win over a jury.”
“So you admit he’s using you?”
“As an attorney, I sometimes use the fact that I’m a woman. If I don’t, you can be damn sure someone will use it against me to make me look weak.”
He just watched her.
“I freely admit it, Erik. I’ve been known to use sex appeal. I wear heels and skirts to work because it gets people’s attention. I tower over men whenever possible. I assert myself because people like strength. They respond to it. They respect it. You, of all people, should understand that.”
Erik looked at her, his expression unreadable, and she felt frustrated with herself for caring what he thought.
“You know what? I don’t need to defend myself to you.” She turned away, and he caught her arm. He gazed down at her, and she felt the heat of his touch all the way to her bare toes.
“You’re right, you don’t.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I offended you.”
“Whatever.” She shook his hand off. “I’m going to bed.”
Erik stared after her as she disappeared into her bedroom.
She was dead-on accurate.
His looks did help him do his job, and he was being a hypocrite. He intimidated people, and it was completely intentional. If a potential threat took a look at a target’s security team and backed down or decided to change targets, all the better.
Erik leaned his head back and sighed. He’d pissed her off. He should have kept his thoughts to himself, but instead, he’d spoken his mind. He wasn’t thinking straight tonight.
The instant he’d seen Brynn backed up against the wall by that asshole, Erik saw red. He’d wanted to deck the guy when he tried to kiss her. And if she hadn’t given him the slip, Erik would have decked him.
For the first time since he’d started this job, he felt rattled. Not because of some idiot ballplayer but because he felt his discipline sliding. He was getting distracted, which made him prone to mistakes. And he knew damn well this job left no room for error. What had happened this morning was proof of that.
Erik’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Jeremy.
“Are you at Brynn’s?” he asked, and Erik caught the tension in his voice.
“Until midnight. Why?”
“I just sent Keith over to cover for you. You need to come see this.”
THE PARKING garage beside the Ames Theater had nearly emptied out for the night by the time Erik pulled in. He found Jeremy on level six, leaning back against his gray pickup.
Erik parked the Tahoe next to him and got out, surveying the area.
“Not a bad view,” he said grimly.
“Look at this.”
Jeremy led him to a corner beside a stairwell. The parking spaces were empty, and over the four-foot wall of concrete, Erik had a view of the downtown skyline.
The Atrium was a sparkly tower in the distance.
A ball of dread formed in Erik’s gut. “That’s got to be, what, two hundred meters?”
“Two fifty,” Jeremy said.
As a former Marine sharpshooter, Jeremy would know.
This building was well beyond the area they had canvassed earlier. Jeremy handed him a pair of binoculars. Erik assessed the scene. From this elevation, he didn’t have a view of the Atrium’s entrance. It was blocked by the overhang that covered the apartment building’s driveway. But he could see where the driveway met Commerce Street.
So could a shooter.
“Now look at this,” Jeremy said.
They walked down the row of empty parking spaces. Before they reached the end, Erik knew what he was going to see. Sure enough, between two tall office buildings was a narrow view of the intersection in front of the mini-mart.
“That’s an even longer shot,” Erik pointed out. “That has to be three hundred meters.”
“Yep.”
“Corby has no military training. And he’s not a hunter.” Erik looked at his friend. “This setup doesn’t feel like a fit. Everything he’s done till now has been up close and personal. Like very up close. A shank in the gut.”
“You checked your e-mail lately?” Jeremy pulled out his phone and opened a message. “This just came in,” he said, handing the cell to Erik.
It was a forwarded message from Lindsey Leary. Erik scrolled down and saw the exchange between the detective and someone named Shawn McGowan, who had to be Mick McGowan’s son. The man had provided investigators with a list of missing items from his father’s gun cabinet.
“Glock twenty-three. Beretta nine-mil. An FN Five-Seven?” He glanced up at Jeremy. It was the type of gun used by many Secret Service agents. Erik preferred a SIG P229, but the Five-Seven was a serious piece of hardware.
“Keep going.”
“A Remington twenty-two. A Winchester twelve-gauge. Shit, a Remington seven hundred.”
<
br /> A deer rifle. The military version was the M24, a favorite of snipers.
“He have a scope on it?”
“Lindsey asked that, too, and yeah. Shawn McGowan told her it’s a Leupold.”
“Fuck.”
Jeremy didn’t say anything, but Erik could tell he felt the same. A scope like that didn’t make the shot easy for someone like Corby. But it made it possible.
Erik glanced around the parking lot, looking for cans or food wrappers or cigarette butts, any sign that someone had used this location as a sniper hide. They walked back to the other side, away from the overhead parking lights, and Erik pulled out a penlight to examine the concrete.
“Any evidence he was here?” He looked at Jeremy.
“Not besides the view. But it makes sense. People park here for the theater, so it’s busy evenings and weekends but empty most mornings. And did you notice the camera setup on the way in here?”
“There isn’t one,” Erik said.
“Exactly.”
Erik combed his flashlight beam over the area, illuminating dirt and grit but no trash to speak of. He’d repeat the procedure on the levels below, too.
“I don’t like the rifle,” Jeremy said. “And I sure as shit don’t like the scope.”
“I don’t like how the fucking marshals have been after this guy for a week, and still they’ve got nothing.” Erik looked at Jeremy. They’d worked together so much he could tell his friend knew exactly what he was thinking. The marshals couldn’t be relied on to make this problem go away.
“It’s time to ramp this up,” Erik said.
“We need to talk to Liam.”
“We need more agents, more cameras, and much less visibility.”
Jeremy lifted an eyebrow. “She’s not going to like that.”
“You talk to Liam. I’ll handle Brynn.”
Lindsey eased down the darkened street, scanning the dilapidated houses separated by chain-link fences. Torn-up cars sat on lawns. Some homes looked deserted. Others were clearly inhabited, and shadowy figures lounged on sofas, watching the street from their porches. Lindsey was in an undercover ride tonight, but she still stood out like a parade float.
She passed a utility easement littered with abandoned fridges and construction debris. The next section of the neighborhood was even less inviting, with several of the homes boarded up and covered in gang graffiti. This neighborhood was a literal dump, caught between a rash of foreclosures and the promise of gentrification that hadn’t yet materialized.
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