Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(97)

She stepped closer to Reggie’s desk. “How—”

“I don’t know, okay? I haven’t even had time to call the police up there. And there’s something else—”

A sharp knock at the door. Ross leaned his head in and immediately zeroed in on Brynn. “You tell him yet?”

“Tell me what?” Reggie asked.

Ross stepped into the office, oblivious to the tension hovering in the room. “Perez is MIA. We were supposed to meet at eight to run through his testimony, but he didn’t show.”

“Try his girlfriend.”

“She hasn’t seen him in a week.” Ross looked at Brynn and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She cleared her throat. “Jen Ballard.”

“What now?”

Anger flared in Reggie’s eyes. “She’d dead, Ross.”

Ross’s face went slack. “What?”

“She was killed in her home last night. Up in Sheridan Heights, right outside of Dallas,” Reggie said. “I just got off the phone with Nate Levinson twenty minutes ago.”

Ross shot Brynn a look, as if she might somehow make sense of what he was hearing, but she couldn’t. The forty-two-year-old woman who’d once been their boss, their mentor, their friend was dead.

“What’s the other thing?” Brynn asked Reggie. “You said there was something else?”

Reggie stared at Brynn. A veteran trial attorney, he had a talent for creating drama, but the somber look on his face was all too real.

“What?” Ross demanded.

“James Corby is out.”

Brynn’s eyebrows shot up. “Out?”

Beside her, Ross made a strangled sound.

“He escaped.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ross clutched his head with his hands. “How do you escape a fucking maximum-security prison?”

Reggie’s gaze locked with Brynn’s. “I don’t know.”

But he did know. And so did Brynn. As an assistant prosecutor, Brynn had tried James Corby’s case alongside then-lead prosecutor Jen Ballard. Brynn had learned that James Corby was not only violent and sadistic but also smart. Frighteningly smart. And the prospect of him slipping out of prison had lurked in the darkest corners of Brynn’s mind for years.

Her chest felt tight. She placed her hand on her sternum and tried to breathe. But it was Ross who bent at the waist and looked like he was going to puke.

“Shit!”

“Hey,” Reggie snapped. “Don’t throw up in here.”

Ross straightened and shook his head. “This is insane. Where the hell are the marshals?”

“They’re on it,” Reggie replied. “That, I do know. Nate tells me they’ve been working this thing from the beginning.”

“And when was that?” Brynn asked.

“Wednesday.”

“He escaped Wednesday, and we’re just now hearing about it?”

Ross let out a blistering string of curses. He was starting to grate on Brynn’s nerves.

“What does this mean for us?” Ross demanded. “Our trial begins in Dallas in three days, right down the goddamn road from Jen’s murder—”

“It means we have to take action,” Reggie said. “I’ve already started.”

“What do you mean?” Brynn couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice. She’d dealt with plenty of criminals and considered herself fairly streetwise. But what kind of “action” did Reggie think they were going to take here? Was he planning to jump in his Mercedes and hunt down an escaped convict?

“I’m hiring protection,” Reggie said. “The best money can buy.”

“Bodyguards?” She blinked at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He checked his watch and picked up the phone.

“Wait, stop.” Brynn held up her hand. “Before you rush off and hire anyone, we need to talk to the sheriffs up there about protection. This falls on them, doesn’t it? Our courthouse is in their jurisdiction.”

Reggie gave her a dark look. “This law firm doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends up there. As you well know.”

“Yes, but . . . it’s their job.”

“Yeah, and it’s our job to win this trial. I won’t have my two top attorneys worried and distracted.”

Brynn was still in shock. But not so much that she couldn’t imagine the major pain in the butt that having a bodyguard trailing her around was going to be. This was the biggest case of her career. Reggie had put her in charge of everything, from jury selection to the closing statement. She’d spent countless hours preparing and still had work to do.

“Yes, but . . . bodyguards? As in plural?” She played the money card. “That sounds expensive.”

“It is.”

“Listen, Reggie, I appreciate the thought—” She glanced at Ross. “We both do, but—”

“No buts. And it’s not a thought. I already made the call.” He looked at Ross. “Now, about this Perez thing, did you get Bulldog on it?”

Ross shook his head, and Reggie jabbed at his desk phone.

Bulldog, aka Bull, aka John Kopek, was the private investigator Reggie kept on speed dial. Brynn shook her head. She felt like she’d been sucker punched, and her boss was already back to business.