Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(77)

He watched the water slide down her shoulders and into the valley at the base of her spine. “I was running some leads down. I’m back on shift in the morning.”

She looked away, and he didn’t know what she thought of that. Did she want him to spend the night here? Or was it easier if he didn’t? For him, it was hell spending the night at his hotel. But it would be worse here, passing the night on her sofa while she was in a bed only footsteps away.

“Why was it a long day?” he asked.

She shifted to face him, propping her knee up and resting her arms on it. “Trial stuff. Trust me, you don’t want to hear it.”

She was wrong, but he let it go.

“How was Ross? You stopped by there earlier?”

She frowned. “He’s tired. He looked okay, though. Better than I expected. I didn’t tell him about Mark’s theory.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. He was all pale and hooked up to an IV. I just didn’t want to lay anything new on him right then.” She reached for a water bottle beside the chair, and he handed it over. “Anyway, where were you?”

“I interviewed that janitor at the Ames Theater. He stands by his first statement. It was a black Honda he saw in the parking garage. Dented back bumper, like the one Corby used Friday. But we haven’t been able to track down any black Hondas registered to an Ann Johnson.”

She swigged her water. “Who is ‘we’?”

“The task force.” Not that he was a part of it formally, but they were cooperating.

She held his gaze, and he let himself look at her, all flushed from her swim, her hair slicked back from her face. His eyes went to the bead of water sliding between her breasts.

“Texas only?” she asked.

“They’re expanding the search. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks. Can you hand me my sweatshirt?”

He glanced around, then snagged the gray sweatshirt off the chair next to his and reluctantly handed it over. She pulled it on and stood up.

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

She put on flip-flops, and they rode the elevator down to her floor without talking. The new camera they’d installed beside the elevator doors was up and running, Erik noticed.

He used his key to open the apartment, and the unmistakable smell of bacon made his stomach growl.

“Wait here,” he said, leaving Brynn beside the door while he did a quick walk-through. When he was finished, she went into her bedroom.

Erik dropped his keys on the counter and glanced at the TV, which was muted and tuned to a local news broadcast. Nothing about Corby. But it was the end of the hour, and the manhunt had been the top story all weekend.

Brynn returned to the living room, still wearing the sweatshirt, but she’d changed out of her swimsuit and put on the frayed cutoffs she loved to wear.

“Someone make breakfast for dinner?” he asked.

“We had BLTs.”

She had to mean Trent, and Erik ignored the twinge of jealousy.

“Want one?” she asked. “I made extra bacon.”

“I’m good.”

“You ate dinner?”

“I had a protein bar.”

She rolled her eyes and walked past him into the kitchen. “So your team is working with the marshals now, I take it?”

“We’re cooperating.” He went into the kitchen as she took items from the fridge: beer, mayo, a cellophane-covered plate. She grabbed the loaf of bread from the basket on the counter and took out several pieces.

“Is this willingly or . . . ?” She trailed off as she dropped the bread into the toaster.

“We don’t mind cooperating. They’ve got the best databases, so it makes sense to share intel.”

She nodded, quickly slicing a tomato. She put the plate of bacon into the microwave. When the bread was finished, she slathered mayonnaise on it and assembled the sandwich—three layers tall—and Erik’s mouth watered just looking at it.

“Get me a couple of plates, would you?”

He turned to the cabinet behind him and took down two small plates. She cut the sandwich into neat triangles, then arranged the sections on a plate and handed him one.

“Thanks.”

“Bon appétit.”

The dining-room table was blanketed with paperwork. Brynn set her plate on the coffee table. Erik took a seat on the sofa and left room for her beside him, but she took the armchair.

She grabbed the remote and turned up the volume as she chomped into her sandwich.

“Why was your day frustrating?” he asked again.

“Oh, you know. Work stuff.” She shrugged.

Erik eyed the dining table as he ate. She worked harder than any client he’d ever had, going at it evenings and weekends. And if her house was any indication, she worked in her downtime, too.

Brynn’s home had surprised him. He wouldn’t have expected her to be a do-it-yourselfer. But he was learning that despite having read her file, there were plenty of things he didn’t know about her.

She filled her time with work. Erik did, too, so he understood. The less time on his hands, the better. When he had a lot of free hours, it was too easy to think about everything lacking in his life. Such as a life.

“You really want to hear about my day?” she asked.