Annapolis, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 11.15 A.M.
He hit the button on his intercom when it buzzed. ‘Yes, Jeanne?’
‘Mr Patton is on line one, sir.’
He pressed the blinking button. ‘Yes, Mr Patton? What news do you have for me?’
‘I did what you said to do,’ Patton said, his confusion still evident from his tone.
‘Excellent.’ He consulted the notes on his desk. ‘Your next mark will soon be leaving a Greek restaurant at the corner of Old Georgetown and Wisconsin. The place is called Kaia’s Kouzina.’
‘Same instructions?’
‘Yes. Call me when it’s done. I’ll have the next mark and the next location.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He hung up the phone, pleased. Patton was following his orders without question. Finally. The man was also acquiring manners. It was about time.
A soft knock on his door had him looking up. And then smiling. His daughter-in-law stood in the doorway, her blond hair shining like gold in the light coming through the porthole window. ‘Margo. What can I do for you?’
She didn’t smile back. In fact, she looked very worried. ‘I got a call from the babysitter. Benny is running a slight temperature, just a degree.’
He straightened. ‘He was fine last night!’
‘Yes, he was, but sometimes babies get fevers. He could simply be teething. But I’d like to go home, if it’s all right. I can take care of your to-do list from home if you grant me remote access to the office network.’
‘Of course.’ He had to tell himself not to panic, that she was right, that all babies got fevers sometimes. ‘Should we take him to the doctor?’
‘No, Papa. But if this continues, I promise I’ll take him in.’
‘Of course you will,’ he murmured. It was just that the thought of losing Benny . . . The boy was all he had left of his son. ‘Call me and let me know how he’s doing.’
‘Of course I will.’
He frowned at her, because she looked a lot more worried than was warranted by a teething toddler. ‘What are you not telling me?’
She drew a breath. ‘You’re not going to like it.’
He forced himself to remain calm. ‘It’s not just a teething fever, is it?’
‘Yes! It really is. Benny will be fine. This is something else.’
‘That I will not like.’
‘Right.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘You remember Bernice Brown?’
‘Yes. That was only two days ago, Margo. I’ve not become forgetful in my dotage,’ he added, his lightly mocking tone carrying a definitive warning. Just because she was his daughter-in-law and the mother of his grandson didn’t mean she could treat him with disrespect.
She blushed, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’
‘Good. So. Bernice Brown? The woman who supposedly called Thorne to lure him out of his home on Saturday night.’ It would have been far simpler to attack him in his home. Except getting into his home had proven difficult. The man had an excellent security system. So they’d decided that luring him out was more effective.
‘Yes, her. Well, one of the things we did before using her name was to find her and make sure she couldn’t tell anyone that she hadn’t made the call.’
‘Exactly. Patton located her and eliminated her.’
She winced. ‘Well, he thought he had.’
He came to his feet, his fury white-hot. ‘What? What do you mean?’
‘He set fire to the trailer she was living in. Or so he thought. But she’d moved, and the trailer he burned wasn’t hers. She and her cousin had relocated to a new park. It wasn’t Patton’s fault,’ she added quickly. ‘He contacted her best friend, posing as a cop. She gave him the address, but it turned out it was the wrong one.’
‘And how do you know this?’ he asked coldly.
‘Because we have eyes on Thorne’s nightclub, and the friend – Sally Brewster – met with one of Thorne’s attorneys this morning. I don’t know what they discussed, but I was concerned that they’d connected at all. I checked the victims of Patton’s fire. They were not Bernice Brown and her cousin. The occupants were a professor on sabbatical and her husband. They’d just arrived at the park.’
He lowered himself back to his chair. ‘I see.’
Her eyes were wide and full of entreaty. ‘Please, Papa, if you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. Patton thought he was doing the right thing. I should have visited and made sure it was the right address.’
He nodded slowly. ‘It was an honest mistake,’ he said stiffly. Mistakes happened. He’d even made one or two himself. Million, he added bitterly. ‘Does Patton know of his mistake?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘I just told him. He is understandably concerned about your reaction.’
As he should be. ‘All right.’ He quickly considered his options. He could eliminate Patton and move to the next person in his organization. He’d reminded Patton of the cost of failure just hours before. It was reasonable to believe that the man would be even more vigilant – and obedient – from here on out.
‘What would you do?’ he asked Margo, curious to know her thoughts. She might sit behind this desk someday. It was time to begin her training.
She bit her lip. ‘I think mercy in this situation would create an even more loyal employee. I like Patton. He’s smart and ambitious. I think he’s keen to take on more responsibility. I’d leave him in place. He’ll work harder to please you.’
‘My thoughts exactly. You mentioned that Mrs Brown’s friend met with one of Thorne’s attorneys. Which one?’
‘Frederick Dawson. He’s new to Thorne’s firm, recently relocated from California.’
His brows lifted, the name all too familiar. ‘Dawson?’
She nodded, immediately understanding his question. ‘He’s related to the woman who was involved in the Jarvis case. Dawson’s daughter, Taylor, was providing equine therapy to Jarvis’s daughter, Jazzie.’
Because the child had seen her mother murdered. Jarvis had tried to murder the therapist, but Taylor Dawson had shot back, wounding him. That had been the moment his relationship with Jarvis had ended. Unfortunately, not before he’d been linked to the despicable man. By Thomas Thorne, of course. Thorne had provided photographic proof to the police that Jarvis had dined with him in his favorite Italian restaurant.
He’d been furious at the time. He still was. But his confusion over how Thorne had obtained that photograph had led him to an investigation of all of his employees, which had revealed Ramirez to have been the traitor. Now Ramirez was dead. But it had given the police cause to watch him. He’d had to be careful where and when he appeared in public ever since. He always had a tail he needed to lose.
It was the reason he now did business on his yacht. The police didn’t know of its existence, so he was left free to conduct himself as he saw fit.
That anyone connected to the disaster of the Jarvis case was now poking around in his business was extremely annoying.
‘Do we know where to find Mr Dawson?’ he asked, his tone clipped.
‘I’m sure I can find out.’
‘Please do. You may do that from home, once you’re certain that Benny is all right. Go now. Call me if he worsens.’
She nodded once. ‘I will. I’ll send you Dawson’s address and I’ll keep you updated.’ She closed the door behind her as she left.
Margo was a good mother. He should trust her. Still, he’d have his personal physician look in on the baby this afternoon. Because she should have checked the address before Patton torched a perfectly good trailer. He’d be second-guessing her decisions for the foreseeable future, but she had a good head on her shoulders. She’d make a worthy successor, given the proper training.
She was young. They had lots of time.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 12.45 P.M.
This is all my fault. All my damn fucking fault. Thorne paced back and forth in the small ER cubicle. The beds here were separated only by curtains, unlike the hospital where he’d been taken yesterday, where there were rooms with physical walls. And doors.
That could stop bullets. Or at least slow them down. He gave the curtain a smack and a curse. Which was met with an aggravated sigh from the woman sitting on the bed.
‘Thorne, stop it,’ Gwyn snapped. ‘You’re driving me nuts. It’s going to make my blood pressure go up and they won’t let me fucking leave.’ She drew in a breath that flared her nostrils. ‘Come here. Now.’
Grudgingly he obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed when she patted it. ‘Jamie and Phil are in that cubicle right next to us, and Phil’s health might depend on you staying calm. Okay?’
He closed his eyes. ‘You’re almost as good at guilting me as they are.’
‘I watch and learn,’ she said wryly. She took his hand and squeezed it hard. ‘I’m fine. I have a few bruises. You’re fine. Those two over there are shaken up, but they’re fine too.’ She hooked a finger in his collar to pull him closer, smoothing her palm over his cheek. He leaned into the caress, drinking her in. ‘You saved my life. You did good.’
He let her voice soothe him. ‘You’re not going out with me again.’
‘Oh yes I am,’ she said in a murmur. ‘The faster we figure this out, the faster we can get back to our lives, currently in progress.’
He huffed a low chuckle, then once again remembered the terror of hearing that glass break behind her. It had been the plate-glass window of the building’s lobby, shattering into a million tiny fragments. He probably still had glass in his hair. Which didn’t matter. Gwyn was safe. That was all that mattered.
She was safe. But she’d been targeted. Shot at. Dammit. Because of me.
‘Not your fault,’ she murmured, as if reading his thoughts. ‘But do the others know? They should take precautions.’
The others. All of their closest friends. The people who’d banded together to save his sorry ass. If one of them got hurt, lost a single drop of blood . . . I’ll never forgive myself.
‘They need to go under,’ he muttered. ‘Into a fucking bunker.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Gwyn said pragmatically. ‘Look at me.’ She tapped his cheek with one finger until he obeyed, meeting her gaze. ‘They want to help you. Clay, Stevie, Paige? Sam and Ruby? All of them investigate crime for a living. The others have done so as part of their jobs, risking their lives – and for strangers, Thorne. People that walk in off the damn street. You’re family. They are going to help you. I am going to help you. So just accept it and we’ll go on.’
Family. His heart squeezing hard, he closed his eyes and savored the feel of her palm on his cheek, her soft words in his ears.
The curtain beside them opened, revealing Phil and Jamie. Awkward to be caught in such an intimate position, Thorne lurched back and Gwyn dropped her hand to her lap. Ignoring the heating of his cheeks and the amused surprise in Jamie and Phil’s eyes, Thorne studied his old teacher carefully. Phil looked so much better that he shuddered out a relieved breath.
‘You’re okay,’ he murmured.
‘He is,’ Jamie confirmed. ‘We’re lucky.’
Phil ignored them both with an irritated wave of his hand. ‘Gwyn speaks good sense. You’re going to have to let us help you, Thorne. Are you okay, Gwyn?’
Her smile was downright sunny. ‘Right as rain. You?’
He looked annoyed. ‘Fine. But now you know my secret.’
‘We knew last night,’ Gwyn said with a shrug. ‘Nobody told me, if it makes you feel better. I’m a dirty rotten eavesdropper.’
Phil’s lips twitched. ‘You’re absolved. These two, not so much.’
‘Absolved my fucking ass.’ The curtain behind them parted, revealing a furious JD Fitzpatrick.
Gwyn winced. ‘Go easy on us,’ she whined. ‘I have a headache.’
‘You’re right as rain,’ JD parroted sarcastically. He whipped the curtain closed. ‘What the ever-lovin’ fuck, Thorne? You were specifically told not to go investigating this on your own.’ He held a finger to his lips, then pointed over his shoulder. ‘Hyatt,’ he mouthed.
Fan-fucking-tastic, Thorne wanted to growl, but he kept his mouth closed because he understood. JD was playing a part, acting angry in front of Hyatt.
He frowned. But that made no sense, because JD wasn’t supposed to be on his case at all. Conflict of interest and all that. Unless Hyatt had instructed him to get information. Thorne wouldn’t put it past the lieutenant.
But you trust JD. He’s earned it. Which was true. Hell, JD had just warned them that Hyatt was listening. So he tamped down his anger and paranoia. For now.
JD lowered his voice. ‘Seriously, guys, what the fuck?’
‘You knew what we were doing,’ Gwyn whispered, eyes narrowed.
JD rolled his eyes. ‘Not exactly,’ he whispered back. ‘Lucy and I agreed she shouldn’t tell me. Plausible deniability and all that.’ He gave all four of them the once-over. ‘You’re okay? Really?’
Gwyn shrugged. ‘A few bruises, that’s all.’
Because he’d slammed her into the ground, Thorne thought regretfully. Then tossed her into Jamie’s van like she was a sack of potatoes.
‘Stop,’ she snapped again, but less fiercely. Clearly his poker face was nonfunctional at the moment. ‘You saved my life, Thorne. A few bruises is a small price to pay.’
‘You’ve given your statement to the locals?’ JD asked.
‘Kind of,’ Thorne said with a shrug. ‘We told them we were visiting an old friend and that we got shot at.’ He pursed his lips, fighting hard against the guilt threatening to suck him back into the irrational desire to grab Gwyn, Jamie and Phil and hide on an island for the rest of their lives. ‘But it wasn’t “we”. It was Gwyn. Once I’d covered her’ – with my body, but he wasn’t going to think about that now, even though she’d felt so damn good against him – ‘there were no more shots.’
Gwyn’s eyes widened, as if the reality had just suddenly hit her. ‘You believed they’d shoot at you. But you still . . . Goddammit, Thorne. You believed you’d be hit and you made yourself a giant target?’
‘What would you have had me do?’ he snapped back. ‘Let you die?’
She inhaled sharply, her lips quivering, her dark eyes growing abruptly shiny. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But . . . dammit, Thorne. I don’t want you hurt. I don’t take up much space. Your back is a target they could see from space.’
That was true. But that wasn’t his point. What was his point? He blinked hard, then forced himself to look at JD. ‘They stopped shooting when Gwyn was covered. They could have shot me, but they didn’t. They could have killed me Saturday night, but they didn’t.’
‘They nearly killed you Sunday morning,’ Gwyn retorted.
‘That was probably an accident,’ JD murmured to her. ‘They gave him too much GHB.’ He turned to Thorne, his face growing pale as understanding dawned. ‘I think you’re right. They don’t want to kill you, Thorne. They wanted to kill Gwyn. Because she’s important to you.’
As is Lucy went unspoken. As was everyone who’d sat in Gwyn’s living room promising to help him stay out of prison.
This . . . sucks. Suddenly exhausted, Thorne let his head fall forward. ‘I’d just give myself over if I thought it would make this stop.’
‘Thorne,’ Phil gasped. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Shh,’ Jamie soothed. ‘He won’t. He won’t even think about it again. Will you, Thorne?’
Thorne didn’t have the energy to argue. He went still as Gwyn’s hand smoothed over his hair. ‘No, he won’t,’ she said quietly. ‘And if he does, we’ll hide him in a bunker.’
‘I don’t think it would help anyway,’ JD said with grim resignation. ‘Whoever’s doing this is trying to fuck with your life, Thorne. Killing you is not the priority. So the only way to make it stop is to make them stop.’
Thorne didn’t look up because Gwyn was still stroking his hair and it felt so damn good. But he was listening, and he knew JD was right. ‘Then that’s what I’ll do,’ he said quietly.
Gwyn stopped stroking his hair and gave it a gentle tug. ‘Not alone, Thorne. You are not going to face this alone. The rest of us have a stake in it. I, for one, am not going to abandon you because some asshole wants to hurt you. Besides, JD’s right. That wouldn’t help anyway, because as long as you still care about us, you have a vulnerability. We’re in this with you. So suck it up, Buttercup.’
The snort of laughter escaped him before he could contain it. ‘Buttercup.’ He glanced up to see her smirking at him. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really.’ She looked up at JD. ‘What did they find at the scene?’
‘Your purse,’ he said. ‘It’ll be held for a while as evidence. You should probably cancel your credit cards and get a new driver’s license.’
‘Fuck,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘Pain in the ass. What else? Did they find the bullet?’
‘Yeah. It was embedded in one of the concrete walls inside the lobby. We got lucky. The concrete stopped it. Had it gone through, its next stop was a living room where kids were playing.’
Thorne’s blood ran cold. ‘Oh my God.’
‘But it did not breach the concrete,’ Gwyn told him sternly. ‘Nobody got hurt. Right, JD?’
‘Right,’ JD said decisively. ‘Hyatt’s taking the case from Montgomery County PD, because it’s being linked to the murder of Patricia Linden Segal. I can’t tell you much right now except that nobody saw anything. Of course.’
‘Does this help clear Thorne?’ Phil asked hopefully.
‘Right now? No,’ JD answered. ‘But in the longer term it should. That’s only my opinion. Who knew you all would be at that apartment building?’
Thorne’s gaze met Jamie’s troubled one. ‘Detective Prew did,’ Jamie said.
‘He said he didn’t know the EMT,’ Phil whispered.
Jamie shook his head. ‘He saw our list. He knew we’d be contacting him eventually.’
‘Who is Prew?’ JD asked sharply.
‘The detective who handled the murder of Richard Linden,’ Jamie said. ‘He’s retired now.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘Not much,’ Jamie replied non-committally, making JD scowl at him. Jamie glanced over JD’s shoulder, focusing on the curtain. Where Hyatt was probably listening. He mouthed his next words. ‘What we did hear, we’ve passed on to Lucy.’
JD’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. ‘So then you went to the apartment to see Brent Kiley. Why?’
Thorne answered this time. ‘He was the EMT who responded to the scene of Richard Linden’s murder. He was belligerent. Didn’t tell us a thing.’ Then he mouthed, ‘Later.’
He’d tell JD everything, but he didn’t trust Lieutenant Hyatt. Not with the lives of his friends, anyway.
JD nodded. ‘How long were you there?’
‘Only a few minutes,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s unlikely that was long enough for him to summon a shooter.’
‘Probably not,’ JD agreed. ‘Who else knew?’
The four of them stared at each other for a long moment before Jamie sighed. ‘I thought I’d lost all the tails this morning, but it’s possible we were followed. A few news vans, a few unmarked cars. One was Hyatt’s man, I’m sure of that.’
‘Yeah, you lost him,’ JD confirmed. ‘Hyatt was pissed.’
Jamie looked pleased. ‘Yesss. I’ve still got it. The ability to lose tails, I mean. I never lost the ability to piss off cops.’ He sobered. ‘I called everyone who’s helping out to warn them, just so you know.’
Thorne stared at him, surprised. ‘You did that? Already?’
‘He needed something to do,’ Phil said indulgently. ‘So I gave him the task.’
JD checked his phone. ‘Lucy texted me about it. She says for you to be careful.’ One side of his mouth lifted fondly. ‘And that she loves you guys.’
Thorne rubbed a palm over his chest. That was bittersweet. He loved that Lucy loved him. He could only pray her love didn’t get her killed along with Gwyn and all the others.
‘We need to get out of here,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We have things to do.’
The curtain opened, revealing a very irritated-looking Lieutenant Hyatt. ‘Yes, you have things to do, Mr Thorne. Like talking to me. Come with me, please. We’re going to a secure location.’
Thorne didn’t immediately move and the others followed his lead. ‘What will we talk about, Lieutenant?’
Hyatt met his eyes directly. ‘About all the people who hate you.’
‘That’ll take a week,’ Gwyn snarked.
Thorne glared at her, then at Hyatt. ‘Am I under arrest?’
‘Not yet,’ Hyatt replied, just as he’d done in the hospital the previous day. This time, however, the expression on his face was quite different. Yesterday he’d been frustrated and angry that Thorne wouldn’t talk to him. But now . . . There was something sharper in the man’s eyes. It looked like fear. ‘But we need to discuss your friends.’
Yes, Thorne thought, and once again his blood ran cold, because it was fear in the lieutenant’s eyes. Somehow he managed to keep his voice level. ‘What about them?’
‘At least four people in your little vigilante posse are important to me,’ Hyatt responded, shocking him. ‘And one of those people was just shot at. Not hit, because her husband’s reflexes are as quick as yours were today.’
‘Oh God,’ Gwyn gasped.
‘Stevie,’ Thorne whispered. She was the only person that made sense. She had worked for Hyatt for years.
‘Yes. She’s on her way into my office.’ The lieutenant drew a careful breath. ‘So you will talk to me, Mr Thorne.’
Thorne closed his eyes. ‘Yes. Let’s go.’
Wight’s Landing, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 1.30 P.M.
Frederick double-checked the contents of Julie’s suitcase. He thought he’d packed everything. If not, he could come back for it, but he was getting Julie out of this house and somewhere she’d be safe.
Behind him, he heard the whir of her motorized wheelchair as she entered her bedroom. ‘Where are we going, Dad?’ she asked, her words labored but understandable. She’d made great strides since Frederick had moved them to Maryland. Back in northern California, they’d lived in an area so remote that there hadn’t been adequate physical or occupational therapy.
He zipped up the suitcase. ‘You’re going on a little vacation, to Clay and Stevie’s house.’ The couple had generously offered one of their spare rooms when Frederick had shared what Sally Brewster had told him. He was doubly grateful for it after he came home and found the caregiver parked in front of the television, just as Julie had told Sally.
He’d fired the woman on the spot. He still wanted to flinch at the raw hatred that had filled her eyes. So much for recommendations. He’d been sequestered in California for so long, his people-judging skills had grown rusty. I used to be so much better at this. He’d had to be, for his job. He’d have to be again, both for the work he did for Thorne and to protect his family.
Regardless, next time he hired a caregiver, he was installing a nanny-cam.
Julie’s blue eyes lit up. ‘To see Taylor?’
Julie and Daisy had inherited his first wife’s blond hair and blue eyes. Only Carrie had looked like him. The familiar pang of guilt and grief hit him hard and fast, then dissipated because Julie was smiling at him.
‘To see Taylor,’ he confirmed. ‘She’s got a new cart for one of the horses at the farm. She’s looking forward to taking you for a ride.’
Taylor was actually chomping at the bit herself, wanting to take a swing at the supposed ‘caregiver’ who’d been neglecting Julie. She’d missed her baby sister, so this visit would be a good thing. He wouldn’t have to worry about Julie with Taylor on point.
‘Yay!’ Julie clapped her hands, the movement perhaps appearing awkward to some, but it filled Frederick with joy. He loved seeing his baby girl so happy.
He sat on the edge of her bed so that they were eye to eye. ‘We need to have a little talk, honey.’
Julie’s gaze dropped. ‘Are you mad at me?’
‘Of course not,’ he said softly. He tipped up her chin. ‘But I was a little scared today. I talked to Miss Brewster.’
Julie smiled. ‘She was nice.’
‘She seemed so. But she’s a stranger, Jules, and you gave her our phone number.’
Julie’s eyes flickered with trepidation. ‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No, baby. But you can’t do that again. Miss Brewster was nice, but some people might not be.’
Her eyes clouded with confusion. ‘But Taylor’s dad turned out to be nice.’
He understood the connection she’d made. And she was right to challenge him on this. He’d assumed terrible things about Clay and his children had suffered because of it.
‘Yes, he did. But there are some really awful people in the world, who might try to . . .’ He searched for the right words, finally deciding on the simplest. ‘Hurt you.’
‘All right,’ she said, not sounding entirely convinced. ‘Will I still be able to go to the center?’
‘Yes. Maybe not for a few days, but yes, you’ll go back to the center.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘You want to tell me about Stan?’
She blushed so prettily. ‘Daddy.’
He leaned in to kiss her cheek. ‘I’d like to meet him. You know,’ he added teasingly, ‘to make sure he’s good enough for my little girl.’
‘He’s very good,’ Julie assured him. Then she waggled her brows, startling him into a laugh.
Miss Brewster had been right. His baby girl wasn’t a baby. God. Am I ever going to get this right?
He loaded up the car, then secured Julie’s chair in the back. His land in California hadn’t sold yet, but he’d had enough investments that he’d been able to outfit her with all the things she’d needed when they moved. He was grateful for that.
He had so much to be grateful for. He had a new life here. Good friends. A job he really enjoyed.
‘Daddy?’ Julie said, as he got behind the wheel.
‘Yes, honey?’
‘I got another message. From Miss Brewster.’
He twisted in the driver’s seat, frowning. What the hell was the woman doing contacting her again? Julie shrank back, her grip on her tablet faltering – the tablet he hadn’t known she owned.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘From Miss Selma,’ she said, eyes wide.
The caregiver. She’d probably given it to Julie to keep her quiet. That had not been their agreement. Good riddance to the woman, then. He’d need to make sure the tablet was safe, that any harmful Internet sites were blocked.
‘Okay,’ he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. ‘What does the message say?’
‘She wants to call me again. But I’m not at home.’
‘I’ll call her,’ he assured his daughter, immediately dialing Sally Brewster’s cell phone. ‘Miss Brewster,’ he said sternly when she answered.
‘Mr Dawson?’ she replied cautiously.
He was going to dive right in. ‘Why did you message Julie again?’
Julie looked up from her tablet, where she was now watching a video of cats sitting in small boxes.
‘But I didn’t,’ Miss Brewster exclaimed. ‘I swear to you.’
‘Oh.’ He felt curiously embarrassed. But terrified. All at once. Because . . .
‘Somebody messaged her?’ Her voice became alarmed as well. ‘Pretending to be me?’
Smart lady, cutting right to the chase. ‘Yeah.’
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Like someone called Mr Thorne pretending to be Bernie? Or like someone called me pretending to be a cop?’
An unpleasant chill ran down his spine. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, maintaining his calm for Julie’s sake. ‘I’m going to check into this. Where are you right now?’
‘I just walked into work. I’m on second shift.’
‘Stay there, please. Around a lot of people. Don’t leave, even to take a break.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised, sounding appropriately afraid. ‘Call me to let me know that Julie is okay.’
‘She’s with me now. We’re temporarily relocating.’
‘Good. Just let me know how you are.’
‘Call me as well.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
They ended the call and Frederick drew a breath. ‘Julie, honey, can I see your tablet?’
She frowned at him. ‘You’ll give it back?’
‘Yes,’ he promised.
She handed it to him. He opened her messaging app and looked through her communication.
‘How are you reading this?’ he asked. Julie’s reading comprehension was not this advanced.
‘VR, Daddy.’
He lifted his gaze to hers. ‘What is that?’
‘Voice . . .’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘It talks to me. I tap it.’
He tapped the message and a computerized voice read the message. ‘From Sally: Can I call you again?’
Again. Dread was like a live wire, shocking his body from the inside out. If Sally Brewster was telling the truth, someone knew she’d called Julie already. He thought back to when he’d dropped her off at her car. Still shaken by their conversation inside the club, he’d asked her to contact him if Julie called her again and she’d agreed. If someone had been following them, they could have overheard. They would have known Julie would respond to a message from Sally. Or, if Sally was lying, she could have set it up. Either way, he needed to get to the bottom of this.
He typed into the messaging app: I’m not at home. Why do you want to call?
A new message popped up. I have a present for you. I want to know where to send it.
His hand shaking, Frederick clicked on the information button, to see from what number the message had originated.
He couldn’t control his gasp. The message was from the same number that had called Sally Brewster. The number used by a man who’d posed as a cop.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 1.45 P.M.
This is a fucking nightmare, Gwyn thought as she, Thorne, Phil and Jamie followed Lieutenant Hyatt through the maze of desks leading from the elevator to Hyatt’s conference room at the Baltimore PD headquarters. They were a depressed-looking bunch, all worried expressions and plodding steps. Even Jamie’s wheelchair seemed to be moving more slowly than usual.
Thorne was on autopilot, and Gwyn hated seeing him like this. His face was stark, his shoulders slumping wearily. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the moments after Hyatt told them that Stevie had been shot at too.
It was as if all the fight had been drained from him.
‘This will not do,’ she muttered. Gesturing Jamie and Phil into the conference room ahead of her, she grabbed a handful of Thorne’s suit coat and yanked until he stopped walking and stared down at her.
She stared back up at him, wishing for the millionth time in her life that she were taller. ‘Come here.’ Keeping hold of his jacket, she led him to the nearest desk with an empty chair and pushed him into it. That he made no complaint, uttered not even one question, told her how utterly defeated he was. This won’t do. At all.
She stepped between his spread knees, now face to face with him. Cupping his jaw in her palms, she tugged until he looked at her numbly.
‘Thorne, come on,’ she whispered fiercely, acutely aware that several detectives at nearby desks were watching their every movement.
‘And do what?’ he whispered back, so bleakly it was like a knife to her heart.
‘Do you remember the day you brought me out of the hospital? After Evan?’
He nodded slowly. ‘That was a shitty day.’
‘Why?’ she asked, knowing how he’d answer.
‘You were alive. But your light was gone. I couldn’t find you.’
‘But you didn’t give up. You let me grieve and mourn and heal. And it took me four and a half years.’
His eyes slid closed. ‘Longest years of my life.’
‘Yeah. Mine too.’ She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, his stubble lightly scratching her skin. But in a welcome way. She loved touching his face. She always had. ‘You let me sit in your bed and rock, and you held me until I fell asleep.’
‘You remember that?’
‘I remember everything,’ she said quietly. Everything Evan had done to torture and hurt her. And then everything Thorne had done to help heal her.
His eyes flew open, his distress apparent. ‘I hoped you hadn’t. I couldn’t reach you. I hoped that meant you’d escaped someplace nicer in your mind.’
‘No, I was with you every moment. And I appreciate everything you did for me, every kindness.’ She sighed. ‘Today is another shitty day, but I’m not going to be as patient with you as you were with me. I’m going to tell you to get your head back in the game. Now. Because if you don’t, we’re never going to figure out who the hell hates your guts enough to try to pick us all off.’ She gave his cheeks a light squeeze and a pat. ‘I can’t give you time to feel like shit and get all morose. We need you now, Thorne. So stop moping. Stop dragging yourself around like you’re a fucking zombie. We need you.’ She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his, their noses lightly touching. ‘I need you.’
He let out a shuddering breath, his hands reaching for her hips to hold her close. ‘All right.’
It felt so good, so natural to be held by him this way. Like it always had, except . . . not. This moment was far more intimate than mere friends might share. And it wasn’t awkward, not at all. It was right. She hesitated for a moment, then went with her gut and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
His gaze was searching, but he said nothing, just let his hands drop from her hips when she took a step back. Again going with her gut, she extended her hand, breathing a sigh of relief when he took it. She gave it a tug and he came to his feet.
Drawing a breath, he squared his shoulders and held her hand tightly. ‘Let’s go figure out who hates me.’ But he didn’t move just yet. Hesitating much like she had done, he kept his eyes on her as he brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers. ‘Thank you.’
Her throat grew thick and a shiver rippled down her back. ‘You’re welcome.’
When he walked into Hyatt’s very crowded conference room, it was with his back straight and his head high. Until he saw Stevie. She held an icepack to one hip and clutched her cane so hard that her knuckles were white. Her face was tight with pain, one cheek scraped and raw.
‘Oh, Stevie,’ he murmured. ‘I’m—’
Stevie glared at him. ‘If you say you’re sorry, I will kick your ass, Thorne. I swear to God.’
That made his lips twitch. ‘You can’t kick that high.’
That earned a snort from Clay, who stood behind Stevie, his hands on her shoulders. Both of them were pale but steady. ‘You’d be surprised what she can kick when she puts her mind to it,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t push her, Thorne. Plus, she’s right. This isn’t your fault and we’re going to make it stop.’
‘Damn straight.’ The declaration came from Hyatt, who sat next to Stevie, arms crossed over his barrel chest, his face set in his trademark scowl.
Gwyn blinked a little to see Special Agent Joseph Carter sitting on Hyatt’s other side. His expression was unreadable, but then it always was. The man was a damn enigma. Joseph led a joint task force comprised of BPD detectives and federal agents. JD was often on loan to his organization, so Gwyn supposed it made sense that the Fed had become involved.
JD sat at the far end of the table, looking appropriately grim. Lucy was at his side, giving both Gwyn and Thorne worried looks.
‘We’re fine,’ Gwyn assured her, then frowned. Another detective stood leaning against the wall, glaring at them with contempt and suspicion. Gwyn glared right back, because the man was a fucking asshole. His name was Brickman, and he’d been the one to handcuff Thorne to his hospital bed the day before.
Thorne either wasn’t aware of this fact or he was ignoring the sour-faced man, because he drew a breath and gave Gwyn’s hand a squeeze. ‘Okay. Let’s figure this out.’ He pulled a chair out for Gwyn, took the one next to it himself, then focused his attention on Stevie. ‘What happened?’
Stevie glanced at Hyatt from the corner of her eye. The man appeared carved out of stone. ‘Lighten up,’ she said to her old boss. ‘Nobody’s dead.’
‘Yet,’ Hyatt growled. ‘I should have locked you all up last night.’
‘And then you’d have nothing,’ Stevie countered. ‘Thorne, he had tails on all of us today. It was one of the reasons you were allowed to leave the hospital so freely.’
Sonofabitch, Gwyn thought, but bit it back. ‘I knew that felt too easy.’
Thorne had stiffened. ‘I knew you’d have surveillance on me. But on all my friends too? Why? Because you thought I was guilty?’
Hyatt rolled his eyes. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Because I’m pretty sure you’re not, and I knew your friends would gather round like . . .’
‘Friends?’ Stevie supplied helpfully when Hyatt was unable to find the right word.
Clay coughed to disguise a laugh. Lucy covered her mouth and JD pursed his lips, hiding their smiles. Joseph Carter didn’t even bother to hide his chuckle. ‘It was a fair prediction, Peter,’ he said to Hyatt. ‘You guys kept us busy today, I have to say.’
Gwyn bit back another curse. ‘You were in on this too?’
‘It was my idea,’ Joseph said mildly. ‘And before you go off on a rant, listen. I know Thorne’s not guilty of this. I also knew that you weren’t simply going to sit still and wait for us to investigate. So we let you do what you were going to do anyway. We just made sure you were protected as you did so.’
Gwyn had to concentrate on not grinding her teeth. ‘And that you got a bird’s-eye view of the action was a pleasant by-product?’
‘Hell, no,’ Joseph said. ‘A view of the action was the primary goal of the plan. Your protection was a pleasant by-product. Well, not yours specifically because you shook your tail this morning.’
Gwyn’s gaze shot to Jamie, who looked very pleased with himself. The asshole detective’s face, though, had grown dark with anger.
Thorne was frowning. ‘I thought Stevie was saved by Clay’s quick reflexes.’
‘She was,’ Clay replied, grim again. ‘I heard glass shatter from the missed shot and shoved her out of the way.’
‘Which is how I got scraped up,’ Stevie said. ‘Clay threw himself on top of me, but unfortunately we were on asphalt.’
Gwyn looked up at Thorne just as he looked down at her. ‘Sound familiar?’ she murmured.
Thorne nodded. ‘Yeah.’ To the group he said, ‘That’s what happened to us, except for the asphalt. Was it just the one shot fired?’ he asked Clay and Stevie.
Stevie nodded. ‘Yes. I was terrified that Clay was about to get shot.’ She aimed a glare over her shoulder at her husband. ‘Again.’
‘It was the same with us,’ Thorne said quietly. ‘I was sure another bullet was coming, but none was ever fired.’
‘What was different,’ Joseph said deliberately, ‘was that Clay and Stevie had not shaken their tail, who was one of my best agents. He was able to get the make of the shooter’s van and a partial plate, but the shooting occurred in a crowded shopping area and he couldn’t return fire. It was a white panel van. Did you see anything that looked like that?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘I didn’t, but I also didn’t stop to look. I just wanted to get us all out of there.’
Phil looked unsure. ‘I don’t think so. It happened so fast.’
Thorne shot Phil an it’s okay look before turning back to Clay and Stevie. ‘Where were you when the shots were fired?’
‘Coming out of a restaurant,’ Stevie said. ‘Kaia’s Kouzina. It’s an expensive place in Bethesda. Patricia Segal was supposed to have been there for a meeting today with one of her fund-raising committees. Clay and I went for lunch. I don’t recommend the place, by the way. Small plates started at fifty bucks.’
Clay winced. ‘Yeah. Man, that hurt. But we got an earful about Patricia. Seems like nobody on the committee liked her, although it took several bottles of wine before they loosened up enough to say so.’
‘And when they did, it was loudly,’ Stevie added. ‘She was having an affair. Maybe more than one.’
Just like Prew’s wife told him, Gwyn thought. ‘Did anyone say with whom?’
Stevie made a face. ‘Some guy half her age. And she was only thirty-four.’
‘Wonderful,’ Jamie muttered as Phil made a distressed noise.
‘No names?’ Gwyn pressed, forcing herself not to think about the sexual assault committed against a seventeen-year-old boy.
‘No,’ Clay said. ‘She’d bragged about him to a few of the ladies after too many cocktails. She was afraid her husband would find out, though.’
‘The thing is,’ Stevie added, with another glance at Hyatt, ‘Patricia has a son who’s seventeen going on eighteen. The young man she was . . . “seeing” might have been the same age. And she might have known him through her son.’
A son who’s seventeen going on eighteen.
Gwyn drew a quiet breath, focused on keeping her expression static while pain constricted her throat. Over the years she’d had a significant amount of practice at hiding her reaction whenever someone mentioned a son. Especially one who was the same age as her own. Eighteen years and four months to be exact. About the same age she herself had been when she got pregnant.
A moment later, the pain had passed, just as it always did. ‘She was a young mother,’ she murmured.
Hyatt’s scowl remained unchanged. ‘How do you know all this, Stevie? How did you know her committee would be meeting at that restaurant today?’
‘She and Clay Maynard probably hacked into the victim’s computer,’ Detective Brickman said suspiciously. He really was an asshole.
Stevie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re just mad because a minivan driven by a lawyer shook you off this morning, Brickman. You don’t know jack shit, so just chill with the insults.’
Brickman started to open his mouth, but Hyatt raised a hand. ‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘if you didn’t hack, how did you know?’
‘Facebook,’ Stevie answered testily. ‘Patricia’s account is not privacy-protected. Anyone can see it. Even cops like you, Brickman.’
Ouch. Stevie apparently didn’t like this guy any more than Gwyn did.
‘We checked her account,’ Brickman said stiffly. ‘She hadn’t posted anything about the lunch.’
‘No,’ Stevie said with exaggerated patience. ‘She hadn’t this month. But if you’d taken the time to go back a month or two, you’d have seen that she met with this group the second Monday of every month at the same restaurant.’
Brickman’s glare could have melted rock. Stevie looked away, unimpressed. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘the point is, there might be reasons why she was targeted, other than her connection to Thorne through her brother. There is the issue of the possible affair. These committee ladies were speculating that the husband might have ended her if he’d found out about the young man. They also speculated that she might have been having an affair with Thorne.’
Thorne’s jaw went so tight that it cracked. ‘I wasn’t,’ he said coldly.
‘I know that,’ Stevie said with a dismissive wave. ‘But they were what-iffing all over the damn place. And then they found your photo and all but swooned.’
Clay nodded. ‘They said they couldn’t blame Patricia for risking her husband’s fury for you. The media is speculating that this was a setup because you weren’t arrested and you were unconscious too. The ladies ran with that, wondering if her husband was responsible. If he was, then the kid could be in danger too.’
Stevie shot another irritated look at Brickman. ‘And because we haven’t hacked into her personal email or anything of that nature, we haven’t identified this kid. Yet.’
Gwyn was aware that Stevie hadn’t specified whether the ‘yet’ referred to her hacking or her identification of the young man. So, apparently, was Hyatt, because the lieutenant looked like he’d sucked on a lemon.
‘How were you planning to ID him?’ he asked.
‘The old-fashioned way,’ Stevie said sincerely. ‘By getting a list of Patricia’s son’s classmates and teammates – anyone she might have come in contact with.’
Thorne’s mouth had turned down doubtfully. ‘I’d love it if I weren’t the target here. But you and Gwyn were shot at today.’
‘And they missed,’ Stevie said pointedly.
Gwyn sensed where Stevie was going with this. ‘They missed us both, Thorne. They didn’t take the opportunity to hit either you or Clay. We’ve assumed this is a campaign to hurt you by hurting – or killing – your friends. But is it possible that they’re just trying to make it look like you’re the target? That they shot at us to shine the spotlight on you and away from whoever might have hated Patricia enough to eviscerate her?’