Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(93)

Molly just looked at her.

“Reggie’s not really a hard-ass,” Brynn added. “Not as much as they say, anyway.”

“Reggie’s not the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could never work with Ross.”

“Why not?”

Molly looked at her for a long moment. “Never mind. You don’t want to know.”

Surprise and intense curiosity buzzed through Brynn. “What? You can tell me. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Molly seemed to be debating. Then she glanced under the stalls. “I never told you this, but . . . a few years back, I went out with him one night. I woke up with a monster hangover and some ugly bruises. And I’d only had one drink. Or so I thought.” She gave Brynn a meaningful look. “I have no idea what happened, but I know it wasn’t good. And given the place I was in then? It could have been anything. Mitch had just moved out, and I was going through a wild phase. So I’m not accusing anyone, but I’m saying I don’t remember a goddamn thing. And I don’t know why I don’t remember.”

Brynn stepped closer. “Molly—”

She held up her hand. “Look, I heard about his attack. I know he’s in bad shape, and I don’t want to kick someone when they’re down, but really, he’s an asshole. I could never work around him. If he quits the firm? Then give me a call.”

The door whisked open, and a bailiff walked in. She nodded at Brynn and Molly before going into a stall.

“Congrats again on your trial.” Molly reached for the door. “Let’s do lunch when things slow down.”





BRYNN WATCHED in a daze as buildings and storefronts raced by. Her mind was spinning.

I don’t remember a goddamn thing. And I don’t know why I don’t remember.

Was she saying Ross drugged her and raped her? Ross?

It seemed impossible. Brynn had known Ross for years. She knew he was a player, but she couldn’t imagine him being capable of something like that.

Molly thought he was, though. She was so sure of it that she’d turned down a lucrative job offer with one of the state’s top defense attorneys.

Brynn’s stomach clenched, and she closed her eyes. Ross. Ross. The idea of him drugging and raping someone . . . And the implications . . .

Brynn’s taxi pulled into the driveway of the Atrium. Her hands were clammy, and she wiped them on her skirt before taking out several bills for the driver.

“Keep the change,” she told him, sliding from the cab.

She took out her key card and swiped her way into the building as wild thoughts raced through her head. She had to be wrong. It was lack of sleep. And the roller-coaster morning she’d had. Her brain wasn’t functioning right. She pressed her hand to her stomach, wishing it would calm down, as she rode up the elevator to her floor. She let herself into her apartment and went straight to the dining-room table.

Mug shots of Corby stared up at her. His booking photo, his prison photo, an array of computer-generated drawings showing him in various disguises. Brynn had memorized all of them, and she swept them aside now as she searched through the paperwork. For days, she’d been culling through trial notes and transcripts and case-related documents Lindsey had sent her. She found what she was looking for: the search warrant for the initial suspect police had zeroed in on after the third murder, the meter reader who had been at all three of the victims’ houses. Investigators had executed a search warrant at the suspect’s apartment but had come up empty.

She skimmed the document, including the list of items investigators had told the judge they were looking for. The list included a heart-shaped locket, an ankle bracelet, a lock of human hair—all the souvenirs Corby had taken from his first three victims. Brynn flipped to the attached affidavit and scanned the legalese: Affiant requests that a Warrant be issued forthwith to permit the search . . . Brynn read the name of the officer requesting the warrant.

She whipped out her phone and looked up the number for Dallas PD. Her stomach did a nervous dance as she waited for the operator to put her through.

“Martinez.”

“Hello. Is this Detective Jorge Martinez?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Brynn Holloran, formerly with the DA’s office. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“I remember you.”

Brynn closed her eyes with relief. At least his voice sounded friendly. “Good. Listen, I’m checking up on some details related to the James Corby trial, and I see here that you were the officer who requested the initial search warrant?”

“The initial one, yeah. Mick McGowan handled the search warrant for Corby’s place.”

“Yes, I understand. I’m talking about the first search warrant for the suspect who didn’t pan out.” She took a deep breath. “I remember you guys used to call us sometimes, to give you a hand with the affidavits? I was wondering if you remember asking for help with this one?”

“Yeah, you know, I’m not much on paperwork. Truth is, I hate it. All that legal speak isn’t my thing.”

“I understand. So did you get anyone’s help writing the affidavit?”

“Yeah, one of your guys over there. Foley.”

“Ross Foley?”