Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

“That’s the plan.” Brooke picked up her tea. It was her favorite kind, but she didn’t feel like drinking it. She still didn’t feel back to normal yet. Maybe she never would.

  “How’s Cameron Spence doing?” Kelsey asked. “He’s, what, ten years old?”

  “Eleven. I talked to his mother yesterday, and she said he’s doing okay. Some nightmares about what happened, which I guess is to be expected.”

  “And you?” Maddie asked.

  Brooke shrugged. “Some.”

  “Your doctor should be able to prescribe something for that,” Kelsey said.

  “I don’t know. Sean’s been good about it. I’d rather have him than a pill.”

  All three of her friends smiled at her.

  “Aww . . . that’s so sweet.” Kelsey dabbed her eyes.

  “Oh, God. Are you actually crying?” Maddie asked. “Maybe you are pregnant.”

  “What? It is sweet.”

  “It’s not sweet, it’s hot,” Alex said. “I’ll take sex therapy versus a pill any day.”

  “Damn, me too.” Maddie winked at her. “Especially with those sexy law-enforcement types.”

  A noise at the back door had everyone turning to look at the kitchen as Sean walked in. He wore jeans and a leather jacket and had his badge clipped to his belt. The layer of stubble on his jaw reminded Brooke he’d been called out of bed early this morning.

  “Speaking of . . . ,” Alex mumbled.

  Sean seemed unfazed by all the women in his living room. “Ladies.” He nodded at them.

  “Hey, Sean,” Maddie called. “Hope you don’t mind we invited ourselves over.”

  “Don’t mind at all.” He deposited a brown sack on the kitchen table and walked into the living room and leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss Brooke’s cheek. “Brought you some lunch.”

  “Thanks.”

  He returned to the kitchen as her friends watched her, every one of them grinning.

  “Well, look at the time.” Kelsey jumped up. “Better get back to work.”

  Alex and Maddie stood, too, and Brooke grabbed her crutches.

  “No, don’t get up,” Maddie said. “We can see ourselves out. Bye, Sean. Take good care of Brooke for us.”

  “Will do.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes and followed them to the door, where they said good-bye with hugs and teasing and even a few tears from Kelsey. Then Brooke crutched her way over to the kitchen, where Sean was unpacking deli sandwiches.

  “You guys were talking about me.”

  “How would you know?”

  He gave her a sly smile. “I’m a detective.”

  He grabbed a Coke from the fridge and popped it open. “What did you tell them?”

  “That’s confidential.” She propped the crutches against the counter and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and she felt a familiar rush of warmth. She loved the feel of his arms around her.

  “Missed you this morning. I didn’t even have time to make coffee.”

  She pulled back. “You didn’t have time to shave, either.”

  He rubbed his jaw.

  “I like it.” She leaned her hip against the counter. “So, hey, I wanted to let you know I decided I’m going back to work on Monday.”

  “Already?”

  “I’m getting way behind.”

  He took out a few plates and put the sandwiches on them. “I thought your doc said no driving for another week.”

  “Roland can drive me. He lives across the park from here, so it’s on his way in.”

  Sean lifted his shoulder. “Makes sense.”

  Brooke watched him, trying to read his reaction. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

  “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

  “I have.”

  “Then, I hope you’ll take it easy until you’re back to feeling one hundred percent.”

  She tried to read the expression in those hazel eyes of his. “So . . . you don’t have an issue with Roland?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Matt always had a thing about him. I’m glad you’re not the jealous type.”

  “I’m totally jealous.”

  She pulled back. “You are?”

  “Hell yeah. Roland gets to see you all day.” Sean slid his arm around her and cupped her butt. “I only get to see you at night and on weekends.”

  She smiled. “But they’re very good nights.”

  “They are.” He kissed her. “And I have a confession to make. I didn’t just come here to bring you a sandwich.”

  “No?”

  He lifted her up and carried her into the living room. Taking care with her cast, he set her down on the sofa where they’d shared those first intimate moments. Then he lowered himself beside her.

  He kissed her, and her entire body responded. She slid her hands around his neck and pressed against him, drinking in everything she’d craved this morning when she woke up in an empty bed.

  He tipped her head and took her mouth with a kiss that was greedy and possessive and tender, all at once.

  “You taste so good,” he said against her lips. “I can never get enough of you.” He kissed her chin, her neck, her collarbone, and his hands eased underneath her sweater.

  “Sean . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  He stopped and stared down at her. She could tell she’d surprised him, and her throat went dry because she’d surprised herself, too. The silence stretched out, and nerves rippled through her. She didn’t want to pressure him by saying it too soon.

  He kissed her, and the raw need in the kiss made the nerves disappear. She felt light. Free. Exhilarated—like she always felt when she told him something in her heart. Even if he didn’t say it back, she was glad she’d told him.

  He broke the kiss and looked down at her. “I love you, too.”

  “You don’t have to say it just because I did.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting to say it. I’ve been choking back the words for weeks.”

  “Weeks?”

  “Yes.” He framed her face in his hands. “Brooke. You are the bravest, smartest, sexiest woman I have ever known. I think I’ve been in love since the day I met you.”

  She sighed quietly and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was watching her.

  “What’s that look?”

  “I’m just . . . relieved.” She smiled. “You’ve seemed so, I don’t know, preoccupied lately. I thought something was wrong.”

  He brushed her hair out of her face and his gaze lingered on the ugly bruise along her cheek. “Something is wrong. I keep replaying everything that happened and how close I came to losing you. Every time I think about it—”

  “I know.” She kissed him to stop the words. “I get that way, too.” She rested her hand against his chest. “I keep remembering how I felt walking toward the end of that pier knowing my life was about to end, and all I could think of was how truly sorry I was that I never had the guts to tell you how I felt about you and us and everything.”

  He gazed down at her, and the love in his eyes made her heart feel swollen.

  “And how do you feel about me and us and everything?”

  “I feel . . . grateful. So grateful, I can’t even put it into words.”

  He kissed her. “You don’t have to. I know.”

  Can't get enough of Laura Griffin? Check out more sexy, action-packed thrillers!

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  Available in June 2018 from Gallery Books!

  CHAPTER 1

  Jen Ballard planned to get lucky tonight.

  The thought made her heart do a little hopscotch as she pulled her Volvo sedan into the driveway and checked her surroundings. No news vans. No beat-up hatchbacks belonging to reporters. She skimmed the street in both directions but saw only familiar cars in familiar driveways. She glanced in the rearview mirror to the driveway across the street, but it was empty—which might or might not be a good sign.

  Jen pulled into her spacious garage and gathered her groceries off the passenger seat as her phone pinged with an incoming text. David.

  Running late. ETA 20 min.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Perfect. Now she’d have time to shower and change into something more alluring than the charcoal pantsuit she’d worn to work.

  She slid from the car and hurried into the house. Even laden with groceries, she felt empty-handed this evening. She had no briefs to read, no pre-trial motions to consider. She’d left everything at the office, including her laptop, which felt good for a change.

  Jen stashed the steaks and salad ingredients in the fridge, then washed the potatoes and put them in the oven. She checked the clock. Fifteen minutes. She uncorked the merlot. It needed to breathe anyway. Really. She poured half a glass, then made her way to her bedroom as she sipped a little liquid courage.

  David liked merlot. And he was allergic to bees. Funny the things you learned about your neighbors over the years. She also knew he was divorced, had no kids, and he was one of the top cardiologists in Dallas.

  Jen set her glass on the en suite vanity and turned on the shower, twisting her thick hair into a bun because she didn’t have time to dry it. She stripped off her clothes and stepped under the hot spray.

  A date. Tonight. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, and she wished she hadn’t sampled the wine.

  She’d bumped into David at Home Depot last week, and he’d asked her out right there in the light bulb aisle.

  We should have dinner sometime, he’d said with his easygoing smile.

  She’d been so shocked that she stood there staring at him for a full five seconds until I’d love to! popped out of her mouth.

  It was impulsive. And ill-timed. But once the words were out, there was no going back.

  She’d told him they should probably wait until her trial was over, but his blank expression made her realize he might not even know about it. How could he not, though? Didn’t he read the papers? Or was he too busy saving lives to take notice of the media circus that had been going on in her courtroom for the past four weeks?

  His utter obliviousness to her professional life appealed to her. A lot. She liked the prospect of seeing someone who didn’t think of her as Judge Ballard or Your Honor. Most men were intimidated by the robe, and she hadn’t had a single date in the two years since she’d been elected to the bench.

  Jen stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. Nerves fluttered again as she opened her closet and skimmed the endless rack of suits.

  “Crap,” she mumbled, combing through the hangers. Everything was drab, even her weekend clothes.

  Very few women could exude sex appeal in the courtroom and still be taken seriously. Brynn Holloran came to mind. The auburn-haired defense attorney wore low-cut blouses and spiked heels, and everyone knew she was a force to be reckoned with. Jen had always dressed down, in muted colors and sensible shoes, even during her prosecutor days. She wanted people to focus on her brain, not her boobs, but lately she’d felt sick to death of the whole conservative-jurist shtick.

  Her gaze landed on the coral sheath dress she’d worn to her niece’s graduation. It was pretty. Feminine. She remembered feeling confident in it. She grabbed the hanger and before she could change her mind, slipped into a lace thong and pulled the dress over her head. She tugged up the zipper and rearranged her breasts because the tight fit didn’t leave room for a bra.

  Jen checked herself out in the mirror. Not bad. She freshened up her makeup and fluffed her hair into a breezy style to match the dress. She slid her feet into sandals and downed a last sip of wine.

  Her phone chimed from the bedroom, and she rushed to check it. Maybe another update from David. But instead it was Nate Levinson, a former colleague. What would he want? She’d missed two calls from him while she’d been in the shower, as well as a call from a Beaumont area code. She let Nate’s call go to voice mail. It was business, no doubt, and she was taking the night off.

  She looked at the mirror one more time before heading to the kitchen. The house felt warm, and she stopped at the thermostat to turn up the AC. The clock read 7:25. David would be here any minute, and she still needed to season the steaks and throw the salad together. She walked into the kitchen and felt a crunch under her feet.

  She looked down. What the . . . ?

  Glass. All over the floor. She glanced at the patio, and a warm waft of air turned her blood to ice.

  “Hello, Jennifer.”

  She whirled around to see a black pistol inches from her face. Her heart leapt as she looked at the man holding the gun. Dear God, no.

  The calls from Nate, from Beaumont, all made sense now.

  The man stepped forward. “On your knees.”

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  “Now!”

  Her legs folded, and she was on the floor, chunks of glass biting into her skin. This can’t be happening. How can this be happening? Her heart hammered wildly in her chest.

  “Don’t hurt me.” She gazed up at him, and the utter calm on his face made her stomach quiver.

  He brought the muzzle of the gun to her forehead. It felt cool and hard, and bile rose in the back of her throat.

  “Please,” she croaked. “I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

  “That’s right.” His eyes were flat and soulless. “You will.”

  • • •

  Friday morning.

  The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the temperature hovered at a bearable eighty-five degrees. But despite the weather, Brynn Holloran couldn’t seem to get into her typical TGIF mood as she drove to work.

  A Wonder Woman ringtone emanated from the cup holder. She turned down the relentlessly cheerful morning DJs and answered a call from her sister.

  “Hey, Liz, what’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, which Brynn didn’t buy for a minute. “Just wondering what you’re up to this weekend.”

  “I’m loaded with work.”

  “Again?”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t this the third straight weekend? Reggie’s a tyrant.”

  “It’s not him, it’s me,” Brynn said. “Our trial starts Monday in Dallas.”

  “Oh.” Her sister sounded disappointed. “Are you ready for it?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Then I guess there’s no chance you’ll join us for dinner tomorrow?”

  Us was Liz and her husband. Brynn loved them dearly, but she didn’t love being a third wheel.

  “Mike’s got a college friend in from out of town,” Liz continued, “and we thought it would be fun to take him out for Tex-Mex.”

  Brynn turned into the parking lot beside her office and whipped into her customary space. “I wish I could, but I’m slammed.”

  “You’re just saying that because you think it’s a setup.”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Tex-Mex and margaritas. Totally casual. And this guy’s cute, trust me. You two will hit it off.”

  Not likely. Liz and Brynn had a special language when it came to men. “Hot” meant drool-worthy alpha. “Cute” meant a teddy bear, and the last “cute” guy her sister had set her up with had been three inches shorter than Brynn.

  Not that it should matter. Who cared what he looked like if he was decent and smart and managed to get through the evening without burping or bad-mouthing his ex? Brynn was the problem here. She wasn’t r
eady to get out there.

  “I really have to work. And I’m not just saying that. But you guys have fun, okay?” Brynn slid out of her car just as her phone pinged from a text.

  “Okay, well . . . I’ll call you tomorrow, just in case you change your mind and need a break.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Brynn hung up and checked the text. Ross. As usual, her partner’s message was short and to the point: Perez a no-show.

  Brynn cursed and stomped her foot. The trial started in seventy-two hours, and their star witness was missing.

  Reggie was going to go ballistic. He was going to blame her, and with good reason. He’d warned her Perez was a flight risk, but Brynn had been so preoccupied that she didn’t listen.

  She strode across the lot, careful not to catch her Jimmy Choo sandals in any of the potholes. She dropped her phone in her purse as she mounted the steps to the converted Victorian that housed the offices of Blythe & Gunn.

  Reggie had bought the property three years ago when he moved his law practice from Dallas to Pine Rock, a sleepy bedroom community north of Houston. From the street, the place looked charming. But years of dealing with leaky windows and temperamental plumbing had dampened Brynn’s enthusiasm for the architecture. The building was originally a boarding house, but Reggie had renovated it to accommodate six lawyers, two paralegals, an administrative assistant, and a receptionist—not to mention the steady flow of clients who drifted in and out seven days a week. Big trials were the firm’s gravy, but Saturday night arrests were its bread and butter.

  The waiting room was empty of tearful mothers and hand-wringing spouses this morning. The receptionist’s chair was empty, too, and Brynn followed the smell of fresh coffee back to Reggie’s office.

  Faith sat behind her mahogany desk, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Brynn stopped short. Reggie’s assistant never cried. She was an island of calm.

  “Faith?”

  She glanced up, startled, and her usually perfect mascara was streaked down her cheeks.

  Brynn’s stomach knotted. It was Faith’s boys. Had to be. Her two teenage sons were constantly getting into trouble, and Faith had started to worry that her oldest was on drugs.