Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(33)

“Yes, but her killer didn’t just shoot her,” Max said. “He cut out her tongue.”





AFTER THE detectives left, Erik reviewed the new camera setup with Jeremy and then went across the hall to look for Brynn.

“Where is she?” he asked Hayes.

“In her bedroom.”

Brynn stepped into the hallway. She wore jeans and a white T-shirt now, and her damp hair was loose around her shoulders. She walked into the living room and grabbed a pair of sandals from under the table.

“Going somewhere?” Erik asked.

She slipped her feet into the shoes. “Getting some dinner. Who’s coming with me?”

Erik nodded at Hayes. “Bring the car around.”

“Sure.”

“It’s right next door,” Brynn added.

“Which place?” Erik asked. “One of us can run out for you.”

“No, I can run out.” She picked up her purse. “I refuse to be a hostage here.”

Erik looked at Hayes. “They need you at Ross’s to review the new camera setup.”

“Got it,” Hayes said, looking all too relieved to duck out the door.

Brynn grabbed her cell phone off the counter and tucked it into her back pocket. Erik followed her out and waited while she locked the apartment. Then she headed for the elevator and jabbed the button before he could reach for it.

They rode down in silence.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“About what?”

“What’s bothering you.”

The door slid open, and she stepped out.

“Brynn?”

“I’m fine.”

She headed for the back exit. Erik strode in front of her and pushed open the door, scanning the surrounding area before allowing her to step out.

“Bamboo Palace,” she said. “It’s just past the yogurt shop.”

Farther than next door, but Erik let it go. She was already in a pissy mood. He skimmed the street as they walked without talking. They passed shoppers, dog walkers, even a few joggers, although the pavement was still hot enough to fry an egg.

The restaurant was sandwiched between a chiropractor and a pet groomer. A swag of red paper lanterns hung over the hostess stand. Beside the register sat a happy Buddha statue and a bowl of fortune cookies.

“Two for dinner,” Brynn told the hostess.

Erik had assumed they were picking up food, but Brynn had other plans, apparently.

The hostess showed them to a red vinyl booth next to a fish tank. Erik took the seat facing the door, and Brynn slid in across from him. Erik noted people and exits. An elderly couple had a booth beside the window, and a lone businessman sat at the bar near a line of to-go bags waiting for pickup.

Brynn already had her nose in a menu.

“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Erik asked.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re upset.”

She slapped the menu down. “How the hell would you know?”

“You get snippy when you’re upset.”

“Don’t you mean ‘bitchy’? How original. That’s definitely something I haven’t heard in my seven years as a female practicing law.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you meant.”

The hostess reappeared with a notepad in her hand. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and looked at Brynn. “Something to drink?”

“Two Tsingtaos.” She gave Erik a sharp look, daring him to object.

The woman jotted it down and walked away.

Erik rested his arms on the table. “You’re under a lot of stress. I get it, Brynn.”

She stared at the murky fish tank. “What they said about Jen . . . I had no idea.”

Erik watched her, wishing she didn’t look so anguished.

“I’ve been kidding myself. All this time.” She looked at him, and the vulnerability in her blue eyes put a pinch in his chest. It was such a contrast to her usual brash confidence.

“I thought maybe it wasn’t him.” She shook her head. “I know—crazy, right? Who else would it be? But I didn’t want to believe it. And I didn’t, not really. Not until they said that about him cutting her.”

“People don’t want to believe threats against them are real,” he said. “I see it all the time. It’s a natural response.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s so awful. Poor Jen.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him. No tears in her eyes, but he saw the pain there. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but that was the last thing he could do. She was his client.

“Corby’s trial was a bad time for me,” she said. “There was so much pressure . . .” She trailed off. “It was big news here in Dallas. Four women raped and murdered over an eighteen-month period. The college campuses were practically on lockdown. Police were under a lot of pressure to arrest someone, and they did, which was good, except—between you and me—I think they may have rushed things. When it got handed over to the DA’s office, it was disorganized, and it fell to Jen and me to pretty much piece everything together.”

“What, you mean the evidence?”