Desperate Girls

by Laura Griffin

  “Okay . . . but isn’t a combat medic more familiar with bullet wounds?”

  “Bullets, blades, shrapnel, burns. He’s pretty much seen it all.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Generally, the kidney is the bigger issue. If they can repair the damage and keep him stabilized, he should have a good outlook. And from what I hear, they were able to do that last night.”

  “So that’s more good news.”

  “Should be.”

  But Jeremy continued to look morose. Clearly, he felt responsible for his protectee being in the hospital, even though he wasn’t the man who put him there.

  “How’s Skyler doing?” Brynn asked.

  His brow furrowed. “This has been hard on her. But she’s tough. She was there all night with the marshals.”

  “I heard Liam pulled her off the team.”

  “Pulled her off protective detail,” Jeremy said. “She’s handling purely tech stuff now.”

  “You think it was the right call?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “And she understands that. She screwed up, so she’s off.”

  “And the marshals are guarding him at the hospital?”

  “So they say. I think they’re mostly there to interview him when he’s ready to talk.”

  “I need to go see him,” she said.

  “He can’t have visitors right now.”

  “Later this morning, then.”

  “We should be able to arrange something this afternoon.”

  Brynn’s uneasy feeling was back again. She took her plate to the sink. “You mean when Erik gets back,” she stated.

  “That’s right.”

  She turned to look at Jeremy. “And where is he again?”

  “He had something to take care of.”

  “What exactly?”

  No comment.

  She leaned back against the counter and stared at Jeremy. He didn’t look away. Neither did she. Brynn had a sneaking suspicion about where Erik had gone, and she hoped to hell she was wrong.

  “Jeremy, why are you here this morning?”

  “Erik asked me to cover for him.”

  “And why’d he ask you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He could have asked Trent or Keith or Hayes, but instead, he asked you. Why do you think that is?”

  Jeremy smiled slightly and crossed his arms. “I feel like I’m in a deposition here.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just curious why Erik would ask you, specifically, when you’re not on my detail.”

  “He trusts me.”

  “Trusts you . . . not to hit on me? Or to keep me contained today while he’s off on some mystery errand?”

  “Both.”

  Wow. Honesty. She hadn’t really expected him to answer. And his answer told her a lot, starting with the fact that he knew something was going on between her and Erik.

  Brynn no longer felt uneasy. Now she was worried.

  “Jeremy, you understand, right, that just because my firm hired your firm to provide security, that doesn’t mean I’m under house arrest here. You guys can’t force me to do anything.”

  He nodded. “We can recommend. And we strongly recommend that you stay here today.”

  “That doesn’t work for me. I have places to go and things to do today.”

  Jeremy shook his head, and she could tell he regretted promising Erik anything.

  “I know I’m going to regret this.” He sighed. “Where do you need to go?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I’ll ask you again. Where is Erik?”

  LIAM WOLFE’S compound looked different this time, and Brynn wasn’t sure why. Same almost invisible gate. Same towering trees. Same crack of rifle fire as they drove past the shooting range. Maybe she was different. Maybe the tumultuous events of the past week had changed something in her.

  Brynn buzzed her window down and inhaled the warm, fresh air that smelled of pine. She reached out and let the wind race through her fingers. It felt good to be out here, even if the reason she’d come did not.

  Jeremy drove past the big log cabin that housed Wolfe Sec headquarters and parked at the end of a row of trucks and SUVs. Brynn got out, looking around. No sign of Erik or the silver pickup he’d supposedly borrowed from Trent today.

  Jeremy walked around the Tahoe. “I’ll find out where he is,” he said, seeming to read her mind. “Wait inside, if you like.”

  She opted to stay outside. Her attention was drawn to a black wooden fence on the other side of a grassy knoll. She walked over, watching with interest as several men dressed in black fatigues played with a pair of German shepherds. The dogs wore matching black tactical vests and looked like they were trained to sniff out bombs.

  Brynn leaned against the fence and watched the dogs leap around, grunting and snarling at their handlers. Judging from the playful banter back and forth, it was all a big game.

  “Hi.”

  She turned around, shocked to see Erik behind her.

  “God, don’t sneak up on me.”

  His eyebrows lifted.

  Brynn looked him over. He wore the same gray T-shirt and jeans he’d had on last night, and she wondered if he’d come straight here after slipping out of her bed.

  She crossed her arms and gazed up at him. She’d planned to give him crap about his exit, but now the concerned look on his face put a lump in her throat. He looked worried. Burdened. Was she too late? Had he already talked to Liam?

  “I see you’ve met Gus and Gracie,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Our dogs.”

  “Oh.” She turned around. “Not exactly.”

  A line of men in green military fatigues—trainees, she guessed—stood inside the corral now, eyeing the German shepherds warily. One guy wore what looked like a catcher’s uniform, complete with chest padding and a helmet. Keeping his gaze on the dogs, he walked into the center of the corral.

  “What are they—”

  “Watch.”

  A sharp command, and the bigger dog raced across the corral, launching himself at the defenseless man. Brynn gave a startled gasp as the dog clamped onto the man’s arm, growling and fighting as he tried to pull away.

  Another command, and the female dog raced into the fray. She leaped onto the man’s back and latched onto his shoulder. He struggled to shake her off, all the while trying to free his arm from the bigger dog’s jaws, but the animals held on. Brynn glanced at the spectators, amazed that no one rushed to intervene as the attack dragged on.

  A loud whistle. Both dogs released their grip. They ran back to their handler and, after a brisk command, sat obediently at his side. The trainee bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

  Brynn rubbed her chest. Her heart was racing. And she was sweating, she realized, just from watching the drill.

  “That’s terrifying,” she said.

  “That’s the point.”

  She looked at Erik. “Why?”

  “Stress training. To counter your natural flight response when you’re under attack. You learn to control your reaction so you can stand your ground and fend off a threat.”

  “You’ve done this? Stood there and let dogs attack you?”

  He nodded. “Animals are better for this than people, because we instinctively know they can’t be controlled, so the danger feels real, and your limbic system kicks in—which is what you want. Enough drills with Gus and Gracie here, and your heart rate actually lowers during an attack so you’re able to think straight and maintain motor skills.” Erik looked at her. “Yesterday you said I was like a robot. That calm you saw? That’s a direct result of stress conditioning.”

  She gazed up at him, at a loss for what to say. He’d been through so much training, so many life experiences she knew nothing about. She wanted to hear more. She wanted him to open up to her so she could see his world and truly understand it. But he wanted to shut her out.r />
  Frustration welled up inside her, and she turned away.

  “You look mad,” he said.

  “Mad?” She choked out a laugh. “That doesn’t even begin to . . .” She shook her head. “I’m severely pissed that you took off without telling me and left instructions for Jeremy to keep me on lockdown.”

  “Lot of good it did.”

  “I don’t know where you got the idea you could put me under house arrest, but it’s not happening. I’ve got obligations to people, Erik. Not just my client but Ross and Reggie and our legal team.”

  “Understood. We’re working on a plan.”

  She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Is that why you’re here? Is that what was so urgent that you had to talk to Liam in person?” She paused, trying to read his expression. “Because after our conversation last night, I had this insane idea that you might have come out here to quit.”

  He just looked at her.

  “Erik! God damn it, I knew it. That’s crazy. You can’t quit your job because of me!”

  “It’s not you. I had a lapse in judgment.”

  “But I didn’t realize when we . . . Look, I had no idea this was such a big deal to you. It won’t happen again. We won’t let it. We won’t even think about it.”

  He arched his eyebrows.

  “Not until this is over,” she added.

  “Brynn—”

  “What? You’re being an idiot! I won’t let you do this.”

  He glanced around, and she realized their heated conversation was attracting attention from some of the trainees.

  “Let’s go over here.” He took her gently by the elbow and steered her across the grass toward the business office. When they reached the side of the building, he pulled her into the shade.

  “I didn’t quit. Although that would have been the honorable thing to do.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The truth is, Brynn, I’m the best man for this job. I know that. And I’m not willing to hand it over to anyone else.”

  She stared up at him. He looked so conflicted, and she could tell he’d been torturing himself over this.

  “Then why are you here?” she asked.

  He looked past her. “Last night at the hospital, talking to the marshals, I realized we underestimated this thing. We misjudged the threat.” His eyes met hers, and she could tell he felt personally responsible for something—once again—that wasn’t his fault. “I came to persuade Liam to bring in more people.”

  She watched him, saying nothing. She wasn’t sure she wanted more people. And she definitely didn’t want them if they didn’t include Erik. She could work with him, talk to him, negotiate with him. They argued, yes, but he also listened when she voiced her opinions.

  Which was one reason she’d been surprised he’d left so abruptly and dumped her on Jeremy.

  “Liam asked me flat-out if I had a personal relationship with you,” he said.

  “How did he—”

  “He picked up on something. I don’t know. He reads people.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth.”

  She huffed out a breath. “I would have advised you to take the Fifth on that. It’s none of his business.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not my lawyer.” His gaze held hers. What was she, exactly? No longer just a client. “Anyway, it is his business.”

  “I disagree. How’d he respond?”

  “I’m pretty sure he wanted to yank me off the job and reassign me.”

  She heard a “but” coming.

  “But in light of new developments, that’s not happening.”

  “What new developments?”

  Erik stared down at her, and a feeling of dread came over her. What was it? She’d talked to Ross’s sister less than an hour ago, and he was recovering in his hospital room, guarded by marshals. Was it Corby?

  The door opened, and heavy boots sounded on the steps. Brynn turned to see Liam. He was in black commando clothes—no more business attire—and he had that warrior look she remembered from the first day.

  “Brynn.” He nodded at her.

  “Liam.”

  He looked past her at Erik. “You tell her yet?”

  “I was just about to.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Liam’s gaze settled on her. “Mark is here. Probably better if you hear it from him.”

  MARK WOLFE was in the conference room, files and papers arrayed in front of him. In contrast to his brother, he wore a dress shirt and a blazer, which Brynn took for his casual look.

  The expression on his face was anything but casual, though. The former FBI profiler appeared dark and brooding. Skipping pleasantries, Brynn took a seat.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Mark looked at Erik as he took the chair beside her. “I was just going over all this with Liam.”

  “All what?”

  “Liam knows the head of the task force, and we were able to get copies of Corby’s files.”

  “Which files?”

  “Those pertaining to his criminal case,” Mark said. “I’ve been reviewing everything to come up with a fugitive assessment. That’s basically a criminal profile but with a special emphasis on predicting what a fugitive might do. Where he’s going, where he’s likely to hide, people he might reach out to. It’s a tool for police.”

  “What did you come up with?” she asked.

  Mark paused and tapped his pencil, as if not sure where to begin.

  “Did the prosecution team or Corby’s defense team ever bring in a profiler on this case?”

  His question startled her. “The police reached out to the FBI for something after the third victim. But they didn’t get back with anything before the fourth murder happened, and soon after that, Corby was arrested. Why?”

  “What about during trial preparation?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “I can’t speak for the defense, but we didn’t. There was so much physical evidence linking Corby to the murders that we decided to make that the backbone of our case. Juries like physical evidence.”

  “As opposed to profiling mumbo jumbo?” He smiled slightly.

  “Well, I’ve never referred to it as mumbo jumbo, but yeah. Jen’s case was based on three main elements,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. “The cable company records showing that Corby had been in three of the four victims’ houses while on the job, a droplet of blood from the first victim that was found on Corby’s shoe, and the fourth victim’s necklace recovered from Corby’s house. It was one of his souvenirs.”

  The necklace had been an especially powerful piece of evidence. It was a gold chain with an L-shaped pendant, and Jen showed jurors numerous photos of young, vivacious Lauren Tull wearing it around her neck. The pictures provided a stark contrast to the crime-scene photos that showed Lauren on the floor of her living room with her neck slashed open.

  “In that case, I may be the first profiler to go through all this,” Mark said. “And I’ve found some alarming details.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “You mentioned the cable company where Corby worked. Police zeroed in on him as a suspect when they learned three of the victims had recently had cable work done, and the same technician had been to their homes.”

  “That’s right. Our theory was that he scoped them out ahead of time, selecting victims whose homes would be easier to break into.”

  Mark flipped a page in his notepad. “The first three victims had sliding glass patio doors that had been pried open with a crowbar. Victim one was found in her bedroom. The next two in the hallway. Based on the sleepwear they had on, it looks like the killer broke in after they’d gone to bed. In victim four’s case, she was wearing regular clothes and was attacked in her living room. She didn’t have a slider, but the window on her back door was broken.”

  “Okay.” Where was he going with all this?

  “The victims were raped and then killed by asphyxia,” he continued
. “The killer also slit their throats and mutilated them with the knife.”

  “Yes, but I’m sure you saw that the cutting happened postmortem,” Brynn said. “Even though the media dubbed Corby the Throat Slitter, the ME determined that the actual cause of death was asphyxia.”

  “I was just getting to that,” Mark said. “The asphyxia.”

  “What about it?”

  He flipped open a file beside him. “According to the ME’s report, microscopic fibers were lifted from Lauren Tull’s mouth and nose.”

  “Okay.”

  “That suggests to me that she was smothered. The first three victims were strangled manually. Another notable detail? The tox screens. All four victims had varying amounts of alcohol in their bloodstreams, but Lauren Tull also had trace amounts of a chemical called seven-aminoflunitrazepam, whose parent drug is Rohypnol, which confirms that she ingested Rohypnol before death. Were you aware of that?”

  No, she hadn’t been. They’d been dealing with a huge volume of investigative materials, and the prosecution team had divided everything up. Brynn’s focus had been on other aspects of the case.

  “You’re saying he drugged her?” Brynn asked.

  “I’m pointing out subtle differences in the MO. The method of entry, manual strangulation versus smothering, the trace amounts of Rohypnol in the fourth victim’s system.”

  Brynn leaned forward. “But why would he change his MO?”

  “I don’t think he did.”

  Silence settled over the room. Brynn glanced at Erik and Liam. They seemed to be waiting for her to catch up.

  “I see what you’re suggesting.” Brynn shook her head. “But you’re forgetting a few things. What about all the evidence at Corby’s home? The necklace, the blood on the boot, the news clippings.”

  Mark looked at her for a long moment. Then down at his notes. “Another thing to consider is Corby’s build. He’s five-five and weighed one hundred thirty pounds at the time of his arrest.” Mark flipped to another page in his notebook. “The first three victims were blond and could be described as petite, all weighing around one hundred ten pounds. Lauren Hull weighed more than Corby—one thirty-five—and had brown hair. She was a different physical type from the others.”