Desperate Girls

by Laura Griffin

  She let her head fall back against the wall. He pulled away and looked at her, his gaze intense.

  Shifting her weight to one arm, he held her against him as he got rid of his pants and walked her the few steps to the bed. He lowered them onto it and kissed her forehead.

  “Still with me?”

  She nodded dazedly, coming down to earth, and he settled his weight on her and started a new, completely different rhythm. She held on to his shoulders, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t, though, because he was moving against her, deep and slow, building the fire all over again.

  She closed her eyes and slid her hands over his arms, then up his back, loving the ripple of muscles under her hands, the sheer power of his body.

  “Brynn.”

  She opened her eyes. He brushed her hair from her forehead, and the heat in his gaze sent a surge of joy through her. She’d never felt so desired, ever. And she’d never desired someone like this, with every cell of her body and every corner of her soul.

  “More,” she whispered.

  He obliged, moving harder and faster as she clutched him to her and let the desperate need build and build.

  “Erik.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Now. Now.”

  He drove into her, smashing her world apart all over again as they came together this time. Then he collapsed onto his elbows, pinning her under him.

  She stroked her hands down his sides, savoring his weight on her. His skin was slick and hot, and she felt happy knowing she’d done that to him.

  He pulled away and rolled onto his back. She lay there, catching her breath. Then she rolled over and reached for him, but he got out of bed.

  “Scoot up.”

  “Huh?”

  “On the bed.”

  She scooted back and pushed down the bedspread. He swept all the covers to the end and then slid in beside her, pulling her flush against his naked body. She rested her head on his arm and sighed.

  It was blissful. Heavenly. He brought her thigh up to rest on his stomach, and she turned to look at him.

  There were so many questions churning inside her. She nestled her head against his chest, and silence settled over them. Was this their last night together? Second-to-last?

  He ran his palm over her thigh, and his tenderness undid her. Not long ago, she never would have suspected this side of him. Or that she could ever develop such a strong connection with someone in such a short time. It felt special. She could admit that to herself. But what did he feel? She wanted to ask, but the idea scared her. She’d never been afraid to ask tough questions, but this time she couldn’t find the words.

  Brynn closed her eyes, fighting back tears. He stroked his hand up her thigh slowly, then back down again. And suddenly, the day was back, all of it, in horrible, vivid detail, and she pictured the shocked look on Hayes’s mutilated face as the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher.

  “Hey.” Erik gave her shoulder a squeeze. She looked up at him and realized her cheeks were wet.

  “Sorry. I’m all weepy suddenly.” She started to sit up, but he pulled her back down, snugging her against his chest. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

  His hand stilled on her thigh. “Relief?”

  “You think?”

  “It’s a powerful emotion.” He resumed the stroking.

  Relief. That was definitely part of it. And the release of all that fear that had been gathering inside her since she’d first learned of Jen’s murder.

  But it was more than relief.

  It was uncertainty. And a whole different kind of fear of what would happen now with Erik. After all this time—thirty-three years—she’d finally met a man strong enough for her. He was fierce and hard and loyal and full of integrity. And the way he made love to her so intensely took her breath away.

  And he was leaving.

  He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer.

  ERIK’S EYES opened at 0600, and the gray light of morning was already in the room. Brynn was curled beside him, her breast pressed against his side. He pulled the sheet up around her shoulders and stared at the water mark on the ceiling.

  He was leaving soon. Not tomorrow but soon. And he dreaded the coming conversation with her.

  He wanted to opt out of the job. He wanted to ask Liam to get someone else for Hawaii and give him something local. Or even better, he wanted to take a week’s leave and spend every minute of it with Brynn.

  He closed his eyes, cursing silently. When had he ever opted out of work? He hadn’t. He didn’t. That wasn’t who he was, and he couldn’t pick a worse time to change, given that he was already on the ropes. Liam had granted him a second chance, but Erik was under no illusions about his reasoning: he’d had a bad situation on his hands, and he’d needed skilled people. But Erik knew that if he dropped the ball again, he was history.

  It was a sobering thought.

  Or it should have been. But Brynn slid her thigh over his, and every work-related thought was replaced by this burning need that had been dogging him since he’d met her.

  Would she be here for him when he came back? Erik traveled all the time, and she didn’t seem like someone who would wait around for a man. Erik was well aware that there were plenty of guys who would step in when he wasn’t around. Her ex. Ross. Danny Fucking Sheffield. The thought of her with any of them made him dizzy with jealousy.

  Brynn moved again, and her eyes fluttered open. She gave a lazy smile. But it faded as she searched his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Guilt stabbed at him. He needed to handle this. Soon. But he didn’t know how. Relationships weren’t exactly his area of expertise.

  But he was a problem solver. That’s what he did. And he could solve this one, if he could get Brynn to trust him. That presented a challenge, though, because she was one of the least trusting people he’d ever met. She shifted onto her elbow and gazed at him with those blue eyes that were already filled with skepticism. She knew something was wrong.

  Erik’s phone pinged with a text. He reached across her and grabbed it off the nightstand. He read the message from Liam, then scrolled through another one he’d missed.

  “Hayes did okay last night,” Erik said.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “I’ve got a wrap meeting at oh-eight-hundred.”

  She tugged the sheet up. “A wrap meeting?”

  “The team comes together to debrief, wrap up, address any loose ends.”

  “I see.”

  Something in her tone put him on guard. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  Now she was the one lying.

  She sat up and looked around. “I’ve got to be in court at eight thirty. You mind giving me a ride to the apartment?” She slid from bed and grabbed his rumpled shirt off the floor, keeping her back to him as she pulled it on.

  “Of course. I’ll take you to court, too.”

  Brynn hurried up the courthouse steps before she could say or do anything stupid, like pelt him with questions. When are you leaving? When will I see you again? How the hell are we going to make this work? Because sometime between waking up beside him and kissing him good-bye just now, she’d decided she wanted to. If he had reservations, she’d just have to convince him.

  Brynn shoved the thoughts from her mind to focus on the day ahead as she went through security. Conlon was already in the courtroom. As she passed through the gallery, the door to the judge’s offices opened, and Linden’s clerk stepped out.

  “Counselors.” She nodded at both of them. “The judge would like to see you in chambers.”

  Brynn shot a look at Conlon. He didn’t appear surprised or even curious as he followed the clerk past the bailiff and into Linden’s private office. The judge sat behind his desk, reading a document, as the clerk ushered them inside.

  “Have a seat,” Linden said.<
br />
  Brynn sat, darting another look at Conlon, and for the first time, she noticed the gray pallor of his skin. He looked like he might be sick.

  “Mr. Conlon? You had an important matter to discuss?”

  The prosecutor cleared his throat, not looking at Brynn. “Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.” He paused. “It has come to my attention that Joel Sebring was arrested last night.” He glanced down at his hands. “He’s being held on murder charges. Two murders, in fact. One of them is Seth Moore’s.”

  Brynn’s jaw dropped open. “What—”

  “Seth Moore, whose murder Justin Sebring is being tried for?” Linden looked at Brynn. “Ms. Holloran, were you aware of this development?”

  “No . . . Your Honor. I just—what the hell, Jack? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I just found out this morning. A confidential informant who was arrested on drug charges yesterday implicated Joel Sebring in two separate killings.”

  “Implicated?” the judge asked.

  “He claims he was there at the time.”

  Brynn stared at him. “He claims?” People would claim just about anything, especially if they were in the hot seat and facing incarceration.

  “And how credible is this informant?” Linden asked.

  “Very.” Conlon tugged at his tie. “Apparently, he has evidence of these events on his cell phone. Video evidence. From what I understand, he was in the car when Joel Sebring shot Seth Moore.”

  The judge leaned forward, looking at Conlon over the tops of his glasses. “In the car?”

  “That’s correct, Your Honor.”

  Brynn stared at the prosecutor in shock. He still hadn’t looked at her since dropping his bombshell.

  “Ms. Holloran?”

  She looked at Linden. “Your Honor?”

  “I would suggest you make a motion to dismiss.”

  The next hour was a whirlwind.

  Back in the courtroom, Brynn made a motion to dismiss the charges against her client, which the judge granted without a word of argument from Conlon. Linden had a brief conversation with the jury, vaguely outlining the situation and thanking them for their service before sending them on their way.

  Justin was shell-shocked. His mother was a basket case. Sylvia waited in the courtroom, crying and wringing her hands, while her son went through the required procedures and then was released. After an impromptu press conference in the courthouse lobby—from which Conlon was conspicuously absent—Brynn led Justin and his mom to the back of the building so that they could slip out without being mobbed by reporters. They would have plenty of chances to talk to the press in the coming days.

  By the time they parted ways, it wasn’t even eleven o’clock, and it had already been the second-most tumultuous day of Brynn’s career. After disentangling herself from a few lingering journalists, she slipped into the first-floor ladies’ room to get some space.

  She washed her hands and examined her reflection. She looked as bowled over as she felt. This case had been one of the most challenging of her life. And before it even got to the jury, her client had been miraculously exonerated, sparing everyone on his side an agonizing wait and the even more agonizing possibility of a conviction.

  And Conlon was spared being reported for witness tampering.

  Even in the confusion of the morning, that little detail hadn’t been lost on Brynn, and she intended to check into it. She’d call Bulldog and get him to see what he could sniff out. But first, she needed to call Reggie.

  The door opened, and Brynn glanced over her shoulder.

  “Molly, hi!”

  “Hi yourself.” Molly grinned at her. “I hear you just caught the break of the century.”

  Brynn stepped over and gave Molly a hug. They had been friends since law school but drifted apart when Brynn moved to Pine Rock.

  “Good news travels fast,” Brynn said.

  “Yep. It’s all over Twitter. And probably CNN by now. That is awesome, girl. Now I know why they call you Reggie’s good-luck charm.”

  She smiled. Reggie knew Molly from the Dallas days and had tried to recruit her down to Pine Rock.

  “Hey, when are you going to come down and work with us?” Brynn asked.

  Molly made a face. “Not anytime soon.”

  “I promise, you’d like the money, and we could really use your talent for appellate work.”

  Molly just looked at her.

  “Reggie’s not really a hard-ass,” Brynn added. “Not as much as they say, anyway.”

  “Reggie’s not the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I could never work with Ross.”

  “Why not?”

  Molly looked at her for a long moment. “Never mind. You don’t want to know.”

  Surprise and intense curiosity buzzed through Brynn. “What? You can tell me. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  Molly seemed to be debating. Then she glanced under the stalls. “I never told you this, but . . . a few years back, I went out with him one night. I woke up with a monster hangover and some ugly bruises. And I’d only had one drink. Or so I thought.” She gave Brynn a meaningful look. “I have no idea what happened, but I know it wasn’t good. And given the place I was in then? It could have been anything. Mitch had just moved out, and I was going through a wild phase. So I’m not accusing anyone, but I’m saying I don’t remember a goddamn thing. And I don’t know why I don’t remember.”

  Brynn stepped closer. “Molly—”

  She held up her hand. “Look, I heard about his attack. I know he’s in bad shape, and I don’t want to kick someone when they’re down, but really, he’s an asshole. I could never work around him. If he quits the firm? Then give me a call.”

  The door whisked open, and a bailiff walked in. She nodded at Brynn and Molly before going into a stall.

  “Congrats again on your trial.” Molly reached for the door. “Let’s do lunch when things slow down.”

  BRYNN WATCHED in a daze as buildings and storefronts raced by. Her mind was spinning.

  I don’t remember a goddamn thing. And I don’t know why I don’t remember.

  Was she saying Ross drugged her and raped her? Ross?

  It seemed impossible. Brynn had known Ross for years. She knew he was a player, but she couldn’t imagine him being capable of something like that.

  Molly thought he was, though. She was so sure of it that she’d turned down a lucrative job offer with one of the state’s top defense attorneys.

  Brynn’s stomach clenched, and she closed her eyes. Ross. Ross. The idea of him drugging and raping someone . . . And the implications . . .

  Brynn’s taxi pulled into the driveway of the Atrium. Her hands were clammy, and she wiped them on her skirt before taking out several bills for the driver.

  “Keep the change,” she told him, sliding from the cab.

  She took out her key card and swiped her way into the building as wild thoughts raced through her head. She had to be wrong. It was lack of sleep. And the roller-coaster morning she’d had. Her brain wasn’t functioning right. She pressed her hand to her stomach, wishing it would calm down, as she rode up the elevator to her floor. She let herself into her apartment and went straight to the dining-room table.

  Mug shots of Corby stared up at her. His booking photo, his prison photo, an array of computer-generated drawings showing him in various disguises. Brynn had memorized all of them, and she swept them aside now as she searched through the paperwork. For days, she’d been culling through trial notes and transcripts and case-related documents Lindsey had sent her. She found what she was looking for: the search warrant for the initial suspect police had zeroed in on after the third murder, the meter reader who had been at all three of the victims’ houses. Investigators had executed a search warrant at the suspect’s apartment but had come up empty.

  She skimmed the document, including the list of items investigators had told the judge they were looking for. The list included a heart-sh
aped locket, an ankle bracelet, a lock of human hair—all the souvenirs Corby had taken from his first three victims. Brynn flipped to the attached affidavit and scanned the legalese: Affiant requests that a Warrant be issued forthwith to permit the search . . . Brynn read the name of the officer requesting the warrant.

  She whipped out her phone and looked up the number for Dallas PD. Her stomach did a nervous dance as she waited for the operator to put her through.

  “Martinez.”

  “Hello. Is this Detective Jorge Martinez?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Brynn Holloran, formerly with the DA’s office. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

  “I remember you.”

  Brynn closed her eyes with relief. At least his voice sounded friendly. “Good. Listen, I’m checking up on some details related to the James Corby trial, and I see here that you were the officer who requested the initial search warrant?”

  “The initial one, yeah. Mick McGowan handled the search warrant for Corby’s place.”

  “Yes, I understand. I’m talking about the first search warrant for the suspect who didn’t pan out.” She took a deep breath. “I remember you guys used to call us sometimes, to give you a hand with the affidavits? I was wondering if you remember asking for help with this one?”

  “Yeah, you know, I’m not much on paperwork. Truth is, I hate it. All that legal speak isn’t my thing.”

  “I understand. So did you get anyone’s help writing the affidavit?”

  “Yeah, one of your guys over there. Foley.”

  “Ross Foley?”

  “Yeah, him. Hey, I saw on the news about him—”

  “Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your help.”

  Brynn hung up. Her heart was racing. Her legs felt noodly. She sank into a chair and stared at her phone. With trembling fingers, she called Lindsey.

  “Hi, it’s Brynn.” Her quiet voice sounded strangely disconnected from her screaming thoughts. “I need a favor.”

  “Sure. What do you need?” Lindsey asked.

  “Did you ever get the evidence-room logs? From the day after Corby was arrested?”