“Crap,” she muttered. “We’re going to be late.”
She spied Conlon up ahead, talking and laughing with one of the courthouse security guards. The guard handed Conlon’s briefcase off to the woman manning the X-ray machine and then waved the prosecutor through.
Brynn strode across the lobby, trying to remember the guard’s name. Steve? Stan?
“Jeremy’s at the back entrance,” Hayes informed her. “There’s no line at the checkpoint there.”
“We’re going this way.” She cut a glance at Hayes. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked stressed. If she’d gotten him in trouble, she’d smooth it out.
Brynn looked ahead and caught the guard’s eye. “Sam, how are you?”
He smiled. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How you doing this mornin’?”
“Late for court, I’m afraid.” She held out her attaché case, and he put it on the X-ray machine. “He’s with me,” she said, nodding at Hayes.
“Your bodyguard, huh?” Sam’s jovial expression faded. “I heard about all that.”
A barricade made of two metal poles and a nylon strap prevented people from walking around the metal detector. Sam unhooked the strap and waved them through.
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Y’all take care now.”
Brynn collected her attaché off the X-ray machine as Hayes glanced around anxiously. Not a rule breaker, this guy.
At the far end of the hallway, Brynn spotted Ross and Nicole and a pissed-off-looking Jeremy. She hurried to catch up to them. They had exactly four minutes to get to Linden’s courtroom on level two, and the judge was a fanatic about punctuality.
Ross stood tapping his foot at the base of the marble staircase. “What the hell? Why’d you go through the front?”
“Conlon was out there.”
His eyebrows arched. “Any reporters?”
“Two. We got a good sound bite.”
He smiled. “All right. Off to a good start, then. You ready, tiger?”
She started up the stairs. “Let’s go.”
Lindsey found Max in the police department garage, hosing down the back door of his unmarked Taurus. She got a whiff of vomit as she approached him.
“Ew. Drunk suspect?”
“Shit-faced.” He looked at her. “I heard about those shell casings. Good find.”
“Thanks. Any word back from the lab?”
“Not yet.” Max closed the car door and stepped over to shut off the hose. “I don’t expect much, though, do you?”
“Not if Mick kept the gun loaded.”
“How many cops you know keep an unloaded weapon around?”
“None,” she said.
“Exactly.” Max rolled up the hose, taking care not to get his slacks dirty. Judging from his dress shirt and tie, he probably had to testify later today.
Lindsey studied her former mentor, who’d been through three marriages, two since she’d known him. He was pushing fifty, but he looked good, and he knew it, too. He kept himself in shape, and his salt-and-pepper hair made him appear experienced rather than past his prime.
“So we know for a fact the gun came from Mick?” Lindsey asked.
“Looks that way.” Max leaned a hand on the roof of his vehicle. “’Course, we don’t know for sure, because the weapon’s still missing, but the casings and slugs fit that scenario. Why? What’s on your mind?”
“A lot.”
“Good. That’s why I brought you in on this.”
“Okay, here’s one thing bugging me,” she said. “No fingerprints at the judge’s crime scene.”
“He’s careful. Didn’t you read about him? He raped and murdered four women without leaving behind prints or DNA. The guy’s meticulous.”
An unmarked unit pulled into the garage, and Lindsey stepped out of the way.
“Yes, but why now?” she asked. “He’s on a revenge spree, right? Everybody knows it’s him, so what’s he trying to hide?”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe it’s his MO at this point. No trace left behind. And I’m not holding my breath on lab work, because odds are Mick McGowan loaded that gun himself, so Corby’s prints won’t be on the shell casings. So once again, no physical evidence linking him to the crime.”
“Here’s something else bugging me,” she said. “Where the hell is he?”
“Think the marshals are wondering that, too.”
“Obviously. But I mean, where the hell is he, like, right this minute? Eight forty-six on a Monday morning. Where’s he sleeping? Eating? Taking a leak? Where’s he parking this old truck everybody assumes he stole from Mick McGowan? It has to be inside a garage, or we would have spotted it by now.”
“You think he’s staying with someone?”
“It would make sense. We’re talking about a guy who escaped from prison, traveled three hundred miles north, killed a cop and a judge, and then dropped out of sight. Someone has to be helping him.”
He watched her, and she couldn’t tell whether he liked her theory or not.
“Corby’s been sitting in prison for three years,” she pressed on. “This whole thing has been planned out, right down to the last detail. We need to understand him if we’re going to get a step ahead of him and figure out his next move.”
“I like the way you’re thinking, kid.”
The term irked her, which was why Max used it. She did better work when she was out to prove something.
“I want you to be my partner on this,” he told her.
“But I’m buried with cases. I thought you wanted me to weigh in?”
“I talked to the LT. You’re with me until we wrap this thing.”
Lindsey watched him, flattered that he’d asked for her and annoyed at being treated as a rookie. She’d learned a lot since her uniform days when Max had been her training officer.
“One condition.”
He smiled and shook his head. “You’re setting conditions now?”
“That’s right. You’re not my TO anymore. You want a partner, you’ve got one, but we get equal say and equal credit.”
“Done.”
“Good.” She checked her watch. “Let’s go. We need to canvass the neighborhood. We’ll interview those residents, see if anybody saw someone in a white Dodge pickup near Jen’s house on the day of the murder.”
“It’s been done.”
“We need to do it again.”
He smiled. Max knew her because he’d mentored her. And he knew that once she got her claws into something, she wouldn’t turn loose.
“What?” she asked. “Are you with me or not?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m with you. You drive.”
Hayes picked up Brynn and Trent at the back entrance. As soon as they were moving, she dug her phone out from her attaché case. She’d kept it on silent all afternoon, because the only thing Linden hated more than tardiness was a cell phone going off in his courtroom.
Brynn had two messages from Reggie and called him back without listening to them.
“How’d we do?” he asked eagerly.
“Eight women, four men, two female alternates.”
“That’s good.”
“I know.”
She gave him a rundown of everyone, including race, education, and occupation.
“Two teachers. I like that,” Reggie said. “Any moms?”
“Seven of the eight.”
“Even better. So opening statements tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan,” she said. “Although Conlon’s already started his show. He was grandstanding in front of the courthouse this morning.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Reggie said. “You both had nice sound bites, but his was longer.”
“Big surprise.” Brynn peeled off her jacket and tossed it over the seat. “How’d it go with Sheffield today?”
Daniel Sheffield was a major league baseball player facing assault charges after punching a photographer outside a nightclub.
“I’m still
working on him,” Reggie said.
“Really? I thought his agent recommended us.”
Her phone beeped with a call from Erik, but she let it go to voice mail.
“He did, but you know how it is with these guys,” Reggie said, meaning athletes with huge egos. “I’ll let you know how it develops. Any updates on Jen’s case?”
Brynn’s stomach knotted. She’d managed to get through eight hours without thinking about the murders. When she was in court, her case had her undivided attention.
“Nothing new,” she said. “But I’ll give you a call if anything comes up.”
“Okay, keep me in the loop.”
“I will.”
Hayes turned into the Atrium’s driveway and parked right in front of the door. Brynn slid from the SUV. Jeremy stood beside the Expedition talking on his phone. No sign of Erik. No Ross, either, so he must have gone up already.
Trent followed Brynn to her apartment without conversation, and she wondered if she might be getting the cold shoulder.
“I’m going to change and work out upstairs.” She tossed her attaché case onto the sofa. “I’ll just be a sec.”
He nodded and stood silently beside the bar.
Brynn went into her bedroom. She kicked off her heels and sank onto the bed to massage her sore feet. It had been a good first day, better than she’d expected. Jack Conlon wasn’t happy with the jury, which made Brynn happy.
She changed into a black Speedo swimsuit and threw on some sweatpants before grabbing a towel and heading up to the fitness center with Trent at her side. All the treadmills were full. She pushed through the glass doors and stepped onto the blessedly empty patio.
Brynn closed her eyes and stood there, letting the sun warm her shoulders. She tuned out the traffic noise at street level, the distant clamor of a construction site, her hovering attendant. She dropped her sweatpants and towel onto a lounge chair and stepped to the pool. The concrete apron felt hot beneath her feet, and she gripped the edge with her toes as she gazed at the shimmery blue. She pulled her arms back and drew a deep breath of chlorine-scented air. Then she plunged.
The first silent moment was her favorite—the cool glide, the nothingness. She broke the surface with a smooth stroke, reaching and pulling as she set a rhythm. She timed her breaths, then curled tight for the turn, pushing hard off the wall with the balls of her feet. She torpedoed through the water and broke the surface again.
She thought of Erik. She hadn’t seen him all day. She hadn’t really been looking, but she’d thought she might catch a glimpse of him, maybe on her lunch break. Could be he was mad at her.
Brynn wasn’t sure what he thought of her. There was the buzz of attraction, yes, but beyond that. What did he think of her as a person? She sensed an underlying disapproval that seemed to go hand in hand with the attraction thing, and she couldn’t figure it out. Not that she wanted to. She was slammed with work and had plenty of things that needed her attention more than he did.
Which explained why her love life had been nonexistent since her breakup with Adam. She’d been buried with work. All the time. Every weekend. She’d made sure to be so she wouldn’t have to think about her woefully empty personal life.
It wasn’t that she wanted Adam back. But their breakup had shattered her illusion that she could have normal things. Lasting things. A regular relationship, like her sister had with Mike. Sure, it had been a bit . . . flat. But it had been stable. As stable as a relationship between two self-absorbed workaholic lawyers could be, which wasn’t stable at all, as it turned out.
So maybe Brynn wasn’t meant for normal or lasting. Even when she had a boyfriend and a steady paycheck and a nice car in the driveway, she was still a pretender.
She did another flip turn, and a pair of shiny black shoes caught her eye. Trent? As she surfaced, the shoes followed her. It wasn’t Trent but Erik, keeping pace with her along the side of the pool. He looked like 007 today in a black suit.
Brynn reached the side and stopped. “Hi,” she said, gasping for breath.
Erik glared down at her, arms crossed, blocking out the sun with his big shoulders. “I need to talk to you.”
“Four more laps.”
“Now.”
She dipped under, pushing off the wall. When she reached the other end, the shoes were waiting.
“Now, Brynn.”
“In a minute.”
She ducked down. Two big hands like shovels scooped under her arms and lifted her from the water. Erik plunked her down in front of him, dripping and sputtering and blinking water from her eyes.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait a damn minute?”
“No.”
She squeezed the ends of her hair, drizzling water all over his shoes. “What?”
“You know damn well what.”
She crossed her arms, refusing to feel self-conscious about standing there in front of him in a swimsuit.
“I spent half my day on damage control because of your little publicity stunt this morning.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your press conference in front of the courthouse,” he said. “Not only did I get my ass chewed out by my boss, but I also had to deal with a pissed-off security chief who staffed an extra man at the prisoner bay this morning, at my request, to deal with your arrival.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t have to. We’re professionals. That means we plan these things without being asked, because we know what constitutes good security.”
“Well, I never agreed to all this.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your boss agreed when he hired us and tasked us with the job of keeping you safe.”
“Um, wrong.” She fisted a hand on her hip. “It absolutely does matter. It’s called consent, and I didn’t consent for you to interfere with my job.”
“You’re interfering with my job. You think fifteen seconds of publicity for your law firm is worth some nutcase taking a shot at you?”
“Maybe.”
His eyebrows arched. “Are you freaking insane?”
“No.”
Erik looked around and seemed to notice that they were attracting attention from the treadmill hamsters. He took her by the elbow and steered her away from the windows.
“It’s not just about the firm,” Brynn said, shaking her arm free. “It’s about my client. His entire future’s at stake, and he’s been sitting behind bars for five months. This kid has no voice, and it’s my responsibility to make his case not just in the courtroom but in the court of public opinion.”
Erik didn’t respond, just glowered down at her.
“I’m his spokesperson. It’s my job to make a positive impression on the public to help offset all the negative things the prosecutor’s already planted in people’s minds through all his leaks to the media!”
“And it’s my job to keep you alive.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Come on, Erik, let’s be real. I researched you guys. You work for celebrities. Do you tell your NFL clients they can’t sign autographs outside the stadium? Do you tell your pop divas they can’t walk the red carpet at the Grammys? Do you tell your senators they can’t give stump speeches? My job is every bit as important as theirs—I’d say more so—and I can’t do it effectively if you make me invisible.”
Erik stared down at her. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then you can listen.”
“I—”
“Hey.” He held up his hand. “I listened to you.”
She huffed out a breath and crossed her arms.
“We are not a PR firm,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You didn’t hire us to put you in front of a camera.”
“I didn’t hire you at all.”
“Are you saying you want to fire me? Because I strongly don’t recommend it.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m s
aying I want input. I told you in the beginning, I don’t like being bossed around. It pushes my buttons.”
Erik clenched his teeth. Drops of water slid down her neck, disappearing between her breasts, but he managed to keep his focus on her face.
“I’m saying we need to talk about things ahead of time,” she said, “instead of just springing things on me in the moment.”
“I agree.”
She blinked. “You do?”
“Yes. I’m willing to explain our security plans ahead of time and the rationale behind everything, and you can weigh in. But what you can’t do is change the plan and threaten my guys—”
“I didn’t—”
“If you have a problem with something, you take it up with me.”
“Fine.”
“Another thing? Your phone. I have to be able to reach you, so don’t ignore my calls. I won’t contact you unless it’s important.”
She looked suspicious, and he could see his willingness to compromise had caught her off guard.
“Do we understand each other?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She reached for the towel on the chair and patted her arms dry.
“So what’s wrong?” he asked. “You seem stressed.”
This, too, seemed to catch her off guard.
“I am stressed. It was a long, tedious day. I came up here to blow off steam and get away from annoying people.” She wrapped the towel around her waist and glared up at him.
Her skin was flushed, and it wasn’t just from exercise. She was all fired up, and maybe he shouldn’t have plucked her out of the pool, but he’d had it with her ignoring him. That shit was over, as of right now.
Brynn twisted her hair into a knot. “You said there was something important. What is it?”
“You have visitors downstairs.”
“Visitors?”
“Homicide cops,” he said. “They need to talk to you.”
LINDSEY WAS expecting business attire, but Brynn Holloran showed up in a damp swimsuit and sweatpants, with a towel around her neck and her supersized bodyguard trailing closely behind her.
Max tried to cover his surprise as he stepped forward to shake her hand. “Ms. Holloran, I’m Detective Gorman. We spoke on the phone the other night. Thanks for meeting with us.”
Desperate Girls Page 9
