The doors opened, and the woman in scrubs was back, followed by a man in a white lab coat. The stethoscope around his neck told Erik he was a doctor, but the zits on his face suggested otherwise.
“I’m Dr. Heuer.” The young man looked from Brynn to Erik. “What seems to be the problem?”
Brynn stepped closer. “The problem is that you have a twenty-six-year-old patient back there who was the victim of a vicious stabbing. His face is sliced open, he’s heading into surgery right now, and I’m being told there isn’t a plastic surgeon on staff in this entire hospital! How can that be possible?”
He turned to the nurse, and she stood on tiptoes and whispered something in his ear.
“There are, in fact, several on staff,” the man said, “but no one on call at the moment—”
“That is unacceptable.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Do you mean to tell me, if your wife was in there under the knife, you couldn’t find a plastic surgeon to come stitch up her face? We are in Dallas, Dr. Howser.”
“It’s Heuer.”
“There is a country club ten minutes from here, and I bet I could find half a dozen plastic surgeons on the nineteenth hole! You get on the phone and get someone over here. Now.”
He frowned at Brynn. “I’m sorry, and you are . . . the patient’s wife?”
“I’m his lawyer! And I guarantee we will be suing this hospital if my client receives substandard care while in your facility. Now, do you want to get on the phone before one of your first-year residents botches up this man’s face?”
The doctor started to say something, then changed his mind. He turned to the nurse. “Page Dr. Glenn. Tell him it’s urgent.” Another glance at Brynn, and he went back through the doors. Brynn turned to the nurse, who walked off in a huff.
“I swear to God, I’m going to punch someone.” Brynn turned to Erik. Tears welled in her eyes. “Erik, I hate it that he was hurt protecting me.”
He pulled her into his arms. He wanted to know what happened. But first he needed to hold her and convince himself that she was really okay.
Erik kissed the top of her head and looked around. Keith stood in the hallway, talking on his phone—probably to Jeremy, who was on his way over with Skyler. The rest of the team was stationed in another wing of the hospital with Ross.
Brynn pushed away and looked up. “What happened to you? Where’s Corby? Keith said something about an arrest?”
“Corby’s in custody.”
She stared up at him, those blue eyes swimming with angry tears. “You’re sure?”
Erik could tell she didn’t believe she was safe and probably wouldn’t for a very long time.
“I’m sure.”
Brynn refused to leave the hospital until Hayes was out of surgery and in recovery. The ER doc had tracked down a plastic surgeon, who put fifty-two stitches in Hayes’s face between his forehead and his left ear. Brynn felt sick just thinking about it but also deeply grateful that Hayes had pulled through the surgery and hadn’t lost an eye.
At the insistence of a tall, extremely pushy U.S. marshal, Brynn had then gone to a DPD substation with Erik for a debriefing with various investigators whose names she was too tired to remember.
It had been more of an interrogation than a debriefing. Brynn had sat alone on one side of a table for nearly three hours, recounting the same series of events. Fortunately, she was good at dealing with people who covered the same ground repeatedly, trying to ferret out inconsistencies. But being good at it didn’t make it any less of a pain.
She stood in front of a vending machine now, hungry, thirsty, and too bleary-eyed to even read the labels on the buttons. She fed a few dollars into the machine and gave the top button a jab. Nothing happened.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
She glanced up to see a marshal she recognized from several interviews ago. He was young and had a buzz cut, and he’d spent most of the interview staring at Brynn’s bloodstained blouse.
“Deputy Caldwell is ready for you now.”
“Who?”
“Deputy Caldwell. He’s in charge of the task force. He’s ready to hear your statement.”
“I already gave a statement. Twice.” She tried another button on the machine, to no avail. “I’m waiting for my friend to finish his statement, and then I’m going home.”
“Ma’am, Deputy Caldwell—”
“—can read the report,” Erik said, stepping up to them. He looked at Brynn. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
“But sir—”
“It’s after one,” Erik said, taking Brynn’s arm. “She’s done.”
They headed for the exit at the end of a long corridor. Brynn glanced around and noticed a woman in handcuffs being led from an interview room. She had frizzy brown hair and a marshal on each arm, and uniformed cops were moving aside to let her pass.
Erik pushed open the door, and they stepped into the humid night.
“Who was that?” Brynn asked.
“Ann Johnson.”
“They found her?”
“She has a house in Fort Worth. They think Corby’s been shacking up with her.”
“She talking?”
“Not yet, but she will. She needs to explain Mick McGowan’s truck in her garage.”
Brynn looked back at the door, a glowing rectangle against the dark backdrop of the police station. They were well into the graveyard shift now, and even the employee parking lot had mostly cleared out.
Erik led her to the Tahoe and opened the passenger door before she could do it herself. He helped her in and buckled the seat belt around her like she was a child. She must really look bad.
She tipped her head back against the seat as Erik went around and hitched himself behind the wheel. The SUV felt hot, and she buzzed the window down as Erik exited the parking lot. Warm air swept through the Tahoe, whipping her hair around her face as Erik picked up speed.
Brynn closed her eyes, and Corby’s face flashed into her mind—the instant before Keith’s bullet had missed him and Hayes had tackled her to the ground, saving her life. She thought of Hayes in the hospital with his head wrapped in gauze.
“You tired?”
She looked at Erik. “No.” She glanced out the window. “More like wired.”
She couldn’t even think of trying to sleep now. Each time her eyelids drifted shut, all she saw was Corby, with those cold, dead eyes. She shivered.
Erik glanced at her and buzzed up the window.
Brynn didn’t want to go home. She pictured the dining table in her apartment with all her trial notes from the Corby case spread out across it.
“Let’s get drunk.”
Erik looked at her. “What, now?”
“Why not? Oh, I forgot. No drinking on duty.”
“I’m not on duty.”
She stared at him. Nerves flitted to life in her stomach, and she had to look away. Of course, he wasn’t on duty. Not anymore. Not with James Corby safely in custody.
Tears burned her eyes, and she clenched her teeth with frustration. What the hell was wrong tonight? She was so damn emotional, it was embarrassing.
She felt Erik’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t look at him. He and his teammates had risked their lives today. Hayes was seriously injured, and Erik easily could have been, too.
Erik had gone way beyond the job Reggie had hired him to do. He’d not only protected her, but he’d eliminated the threat against her so she could feel safe again.
Well. As safe as it was possible to feel in a world where men like James Corby existed.
Erik had risked everything for her. He’d given her so much. But now the job was over, and he’d be leaving soon. And the mere thought of it put an ache in her chest.
“Brynn?”
She looked at him.
“I’d take you to a bar, but it’s last call by now. You want to go home?”
“No,” she said before she could think it through. “I mean, yea
h, eventually. Not yet, though.”
He just looked at her.
“Corby’s mug shots are all over my dining table, and—”
“I get it.”
“I know it’s silly, but—”
“I get it, Brynn.”
Silence settled over them, and she stared out the window. He was off duty now. Soon he’d be leaving. A few minutes ago, she’d been dead on her feet, but now she felt a surge of energy. Or maybe it was nerves.
They neared the turn for the Atrium. But Erik didn’t put on his turn signal and sailed right past it.
She looked at him. “Where are we going?”
He hung a right on the next street.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He pulled into the parking lot of the two-story business hotel. It was definitely nerves, not energy, making her jumpy now. Erik cut the engine, and Brynn slid out before he could say anything that would make an awkward moment even more so.
He came around and retrieved the attaché case from the back seat. She’d tossed it there hours ago on the way to the police station.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her. Her phone was inside, but she refrained from checking it. Today she’d done enough talking to last two lifetimes, and the only person she wanted to think about was standing beside her, digging a room key from his pocket. Silently, he led her through the lobby to a first-floor room, then opened the door and let her inside.
The room was dark but smelled clean. He switched on a lamp, and she surveyed the space in the dim glow. Two queen beds. Table. Chair. Dresser and television. She noted the army-green duffel bag on the floor in the corner.
Brynn set down her attaché case. “Is it just you?” She looked at him as he tossed his suit jacket over the chair.
“Just me.”
He removed his holster and set it on the dresser, and for a moment they just stood there, watching each other, a few short feet and miles of distance between them.
She glanced at the beds again and felt another flurry of nerves.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.” He took the key card off the dresser and walked out.
Brynn glanced around the room again, and her gaze landed on the duffel. It wasn’t even full, and she thought of the ridiculous number of suitcases in her apartment a few blocks away. He traveled light, which didn’t surprise her. He was on the move constantly, going from place to place with his job.
She heard the traffic outside and the faint hum of pipes upstairs, and a wave of sadness hit her as she checked out the dull space. She stepped into the bathroom and switched on a light. Glancing in the mirror, she was stunned by the reflection looking back at her.
Her hair was windblown—but not in a good way. Her blouse was missing a button and stained with blood from when she’d held Hayes’s head in her lap until the paramedics arrived. Around them had been chaos, but Hayes had lain there, blinking up at her and gurgling his own blood as it seeped into his throat.
Brynn switched on the faucet. She washed her face and her neck, then noticed the blood on her bra, too. She kicked off her shoes, took everything else off, and turned on the shower, casting a furtive glance through the door to see if Erik was back. She kicked the pile of clothes into the corner and stepped into the tub to stand under the hot spray.
It felt good, but she didn’t linger. She rinsed off and then grabbed a too-small towel from the rack. The towel didn’t even begin to cover her as she wrapped it around her body and stepped out of the bathroom.
She spotted some of Erik’s clothes hanging in the closet. Dress shirts, mostly, and a pair of dark slacks—attire for his shifts at the courthouse. One of the white shirts was wrinkled and had clearly been worn recently. She grabbed it off the hanger and slipped into it.
Erik’s scent enveloped her, and she soaked it up as she stepped into the bedroom to snoop again. She glanced around, buttoning the shirt as she surveyed the place he’d called home all this time he hadn’t been with her. She felt deeply lonely for him, living this way.
Brynn had no business getting attached to this man. But too late. She was already attached. And the bitter fact that he was leaving soon didn’t seem to matter to her heart.
She stepped to the dresser, flipping up the cuffs of Erik’s sleeves. His sleek black pistol was there in the holster. Brynn ran her fingertip over the grip, imagining him holding it in his big, capable hand.
The more you sweat in peacetime, the less you bleed in war.
She startled as the door opened and Erik stepped inside.
She smiled. “Hi.”
He stopped cold, looking her over.
He eased the door shut behind him and flipped the latch. He had a can of Coke in his hand and a bottle of bourbon tucked under his arm, and the heated look in his eyes sent a ripple of excitement through her.
Brynn summoned her confidence and sauntered over. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Jeremy’s stash.” He stared down at her. “You’re in my shirt.”
“You mind?”
“No.”
She took the Coke and the bourbon from him, then turned and set them on the table beside a pair of plastic-wrapped cups. She felt his gaze on her as she tore open the plastic.
He popped open the Coke.
“Straight for me,” she told him.
He poured a generous shot in each glass, then handed her one. She tossed it back, squinting her eyes shut as the liquid scorched her throat.
“God,” she said, choking.
He smiled and shook his head, then leaned back against the dresser as he drank his down in a smooth gulp.
“Pretty good at that for a teetotaler,” she said hoarsely.
“I never said I was a teetotaler.”
He set the cup aside and watched her, his heated gaze moving slowly from her bare feet to her freshly scrubbed face, lingering on everything in between. She recognized the look—she’d been dreaming about it, in fact, since their very first kiss—and anticipation rushed through her at the thought of what it meant.
Still watching her, Erik unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a snug-fitting white T-shirt. He tossed the dress shirt onto a chair and then paused to look her over again.
“What?” she asked.
“What?”
“Why are you staring?”
He shook his head. “Because.” He stepped closer. “I’m afraid if I touch you the way I want to right now”—he reached out and traced the back of his finger over her nipple, sending a jolt of heat through her—“I’ll freak you out.”
“You won’t freak me out.”
He eased closer. “I’ll scare you.”
“You don’t scare me.” She looked up at him, and his hand curved around her breast. His other hand slid around her waist and brought her in tight against him.
“Brynn?”
“What?”
“You are so fucking sexy. You have no idea.” He crushed his mouth down on hers before she could respond.
Her whole body caught fire. From his mouth and his hands and his hard body pressed against her. His kiss was hungry and insistent, and she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back the same way. He tasted like she remembered—that sharp, male Erik taste, only mixed with bourbon now. It reminded her of everything she’d been yearning for for days.
What had they been doing, wasting all this time? All these nights, they could have been together, and he’d stoically held her at a distance and kept all this delicious need locked up when they could have been enjoying it. Just the thought infuriated her, and she curled her nails into his neck and kissed him harder.
She bit his lip, and he jerked back.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” He kissed her again, harder and deeper, and his hands slid around to grip her butt. She rolled her hips against him, making him groan, as she scraped her nails down the back of his arm.
She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his neck, right under his ear. “I’m mad at you.”
“I can tell.”
He took her mouth in another searing kiss, lifting her up as he did and wrapping her legs around him. She thought he’d take her to the bed, but he turned her back against the wall, pinning her there as he pulled at her shirt. A quick yank of the fabric. Buttons flew, and then she was bared to him. He dipped his head down and cupped her breast, pulling her nipple into his hot mouth.
“Erik.” She tightened her legs around him. “Harder.”
Heat shot through her as he did what she asked. She reached down for the hem of his T-shirt, and he paused what he was doing to pull it over his head and toss it away. But then he was back again, stroking his hands over her breasts and making her crazy.
She loved everything he was doing to her, with his mouth and his fingers and the weight of his body. She reached between them, fumbling with his belt until she finally got it open. He shifted her in his arms and unfastened his pants, and she reached down to free him from his clothes. When she had him in her hand, she gave a hard squeeze that made him groan.
He took her mouth, delving his tongue inside her as he clutched her hips. She wanted him now, just like this. He paused to look at her and seemed to know what she wanted, because he adjusted her weight, leaning her back against the wall as he lowered her onto him. Pleasure blazed through her, and she tipped her head.
“Yes. More.”
He shifted her hips as she clasped her legs around him. And then he started moving, pushing into her over and over, pressing her against the wall.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
Only he was. But it was a good hurt. The more power he unleashed, the more she wanted. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as it went on and on, until she felt the room start to spin.
Was this what he’d thought would scare her? It didn’t. It felt so amazingly good, and right, and she couldn’t believe they’d resisted this. She kissed his shoulder, tasting his salty skin. Then she sank her teeth into muscle, spurring him on.
The tension inside her coiled tighter. She clenched herself around him, pulling him as close as she could, until she shattered and broke apart, and he seemed to know the instant it happened, because he went rigid, holding her through the aftershocks.
Desperate Girls Page 26
