Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(27)

“On the other hand,” Skyler continued, “he’s paying for Ross, too, so maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Reggie Gunn strikes me as a businessman, so could be he’s just protecting his investment.”

Erik looked up. “Is there a point to this?”

She smiled sweetly. “Just giving you a hard time. And reminding you to keep your eye on the ball.” Her look turned serious. “I heard about Otto’s. How bad was it?”

“Minor.”

“Hayes said Brynn was pissed.”

“She’ll get over it.” Erik held up the stack of papers. “We need to show these to her and Ross. They need to memorize these faces. We all do.”

“That’s why I made copies. Those are yours.”

He folded the papers and tucked them into his back pocket. “And my eye is on the ball, Sky, but thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime.”





BRYNN WAS dressed for battle.

She slipped on the jacket of her favorite Armani suit, midnight blue. The silk lining was like a whisper against her skin. Whenever she wore Armani, she felt wealthy and successful but also a touch guilty. She adjusted the jacket and then slid her feet into Louboutin pumps that cost more than the weekly paycheck her mother had used to raise two girls.

Mary Holloran had spent thirty-two years at a Houston law firm, starting as a receptionist and retiring as the legal secretary to the firm’s senior partner. Brynn had worked in the soaring glass building as a temp in the summers and learned all the most important things about being a lawyer. Her mom taught her how to be cool under pressure and handle calls from assholes and deal with handsy men. She also taught her how to look good on a shoestring budget. Brynn remembered nights up late in their little apartment, watching her mother fix runs in her panty hose with nail polish and color her roots with Nice’n Easy.

Brynn leaned toward the mirror and smoothed Chanel lipstick over her mouth. She’d come a long way. She didn’t wear panty hose, but spike heels that made her legs look miles long and the amount she paid to have her hair done would leave her mother speechless. But Brynn gladly shelled out the money. She knew the importance of not just looking good but feeling strong. Confidence was everything, especially in a courtroom and especially on day one.

Brynn checked her watch. She took a last slug of coffee and grabbed her leather attaché case. She rode the elevator down with Hayes, who wore a dark gray suit. The Tahoe was waiting, and Trent—also in a suit—opened the door for her, looking remarkably alert for a man who hadn’t slept last night.

Brynn had barely slept, too. She’d been up most of the night, tossing and turning and thinking of Mick McGowan.

“Where’s Ross?” Brynn asked as Trent got behind the wheel and Hayes took the shotgun seat.

“They just left,” Hayes said.

“And Erik?”

“At the courthouse with Joe.”

Who’s Joe? she wanted to ask. But she couldn’t worry herself with the security details—she had her hands full with the case.

Trent eased into downtown traffic, and Brynn spotted Ross’s SUV several stoplights ahead.

She nestled her attaché case beside her. The accessory served the dual purpose of toning down her stilettos and making her look prepared. Which she was. She knew all the evidence inside out. She knew every deposition inside out. She knew her case strategy inside out, starting with voir dire. The only wild card, at this point, was Robert Perez, her missing witness. She was putting her faith in Bulldog. He’d sworn he’d take care of it, and he’d never let her down.

She took a deep breath and tried to relax as Trent navigated the morning rush hour. She stared through the tinted window, feeling more disconnected from the city than usual. Whenever she came here, she always felt like a visitor, and she knew she wouldn’t feel at home until she stepped into the courtroom.

The bright green foliage of the park across from the courthouse came into view. She recognized the shiny silver Airstream, where a long line of people stood waiting for breakfast tacos.

Several news vans were parked nearby, and a police unit was stationed at the corner. Brynn’s nerves fluttered as she spotted Jack Conlon on the courthouse steps. The assistant district attorney was surrounded by a scrum of reporters, and they moved with him en masse as he made his way up.

“Damn it, Jack.” She gripped her briefcase.

Up ahead, Ross’s driver put on his turn signal.

“Where are they going?” Brynn leaned forward.

“Around back,” Hayes said. “Erik’s arranged for us to drop you guys off in the prisoner bay.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s a concealed entry point.”

“Stop the car.”

Trent glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“I don’t want a concealed entry point.”

He ignored her and started turning.

“Stop, God damn it, or I’m jumping out!” She clutched the door handle, and Hayes reached back.

“Ma’am, you can’t—”

Brynn shoved open her door. Trent screeched to a halt. Horns blared as she jumped out, followed by Hayes.

“This way,” she told him, dashing across the street just in time to miss a speeding car.

“Wait!” Hayes yelled.