Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 6.10 P.M.
Gwyn stared up at Thorne’s stony profile. ‘Tell them or I will.’
His jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. ‘That call to Bernice Brown’s friend and the message to Julie were made from my contact’s disposable cell.’
‘Well, fuck,’ Frederick spat angrily. ‘Were you going to tell us, Thorne?’
‘Of course I was,’ he snapped. ‘I wasn’t going to tell them.’ He gestured to Gwyn and the two men who were by all rights his fathers.
Jamie huffed a sigh. Phil looked resigned. Gwyn bit her tongue, because the temper she felt bubbling was going to yield words she’d never be able to take back.
‘So your contact harassed Bernice Brown’s friend?’ JD clarified.
‘Or at least someone used the contact’s number to do so,’ Alec challenged. ‘There are spoofing sites that will allow you to mask your call with another number. They didn’t have to have his actual phone.’
‘I know,’ Thorne said. ‘That’s how I message him. His returned texts are forwarded from my disposable cell to this phone.’ He held up his smartphone. ‘I got a message from him while you all were gone. He says he’s fine and asks why I’m asking.’
‘Tell him you want to meet,’ Frederick ordered.
Thorne nodded stiffly. ‘That’s what I was planning to do.’
‘But you’re not going to the meeting place,’ Paige said, watching him. ‘Because whoever made that call might be there waiting. You’re going to his house.’
‘That was my plan, yes.’
Everyone went quiet, considering it.
Finally JD spoke. ‘Send your message, Thorne. I’m going with you to the contact’s house.’
Thorne surprised Gwyn by nodding again. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell Joseph and Hyatt to have boots on the ground at the meeting place, just in case we luck out and Tavilla shows up. They’ll want to be sure they have surveillance and enough cameras to film anyone passing through the meeting area. If it’s not Tavilla but one of his goons, we’ll want to capture their faces.’
‘Good plan,’ Clay said. ‘What can we do?’
‘Just . . .’ Thorne’s voice went husky. ‘Just don’t get killed. Please. I can’t live with that. Not again.’
Gwyn knew he was thinking of Sherri, his first love, killed because she’d stood with him when nobody else had. And of course he was thinking of the shootings today. Even if the shooter had missed, he’d come so very close to both her and Stevie. ‘We’ll be careful,’ she insisted.
He nodded once, unconvinced. ‘Okay.’
She lowered her voice, leaning in to whisper in his ear. ‘And we will talk about this. Later. In private. You will not keep things from us. From me.’
She watched the clench of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed convulsively. And she sighed. This need to keep them safe was ripping him apart, and that was the last thing she wanted. ‘Look,’ she whispered. ‘You are important, Thorne. To me. I promise not to get myself killed, if you do the same. Can we at least agree on this?’
She felt his small shudder and suddenly wished they were alone so that she could put her arms around him and give him what he needed. Whatever that was. But he’d already pulled away, physically and emotionally, and the knowledge . . . hurt.
Rubbing his hands down his thighs, he stood up. ‘I’m going to text him now. I’ll be back.’
Fuck, she thought miserably. He could text from right here. Next to me. But he was practically race-walking from the room. Away from me.
Could she blame him? He’d declared his . . . feelings, whatever label they bore. She’d pushed him away, then told him he was important to her. The lamest thing ever. And she still expected him to share with her?
Well . . . yes. I do. Because we’re still friends. But the words echoed dully in her head, and her throat thickened. Aren’t we? Can we be?
She was terrified that she already knew the answer to that question. Remaining where she was, she watched him leave the room and felt a piece of her heart crumble.
She glanced over at Lucy, who looked sad. Their eyes met, Lucy’s full of sympathy and helplessness. Gwyn looked away, focusing on the handgun she still held but feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. All on her.
A strong arm slid around her shoulders. Sam. ‘Give him a few minutes to get his head on straight, Gwyn,’ he murmured kindly. ‘You know this kind of shit is hard on him. He feels like he has to be Superman. This has got to be his worst nightmare.’
Carefully she flipped the safety on the handgun. ‘I know.’ Pointing the barrel down, she slid off the arm of the loveseat and gave the gun back to Clay. ‘What will you do about your fence?’ she asked him.
‘We repaired it already,’ he told her, but there was sympathy in his eyes too. ‘And now we know where we need to beef up security.’
‘The woods gave us a false sense of safety,’ Stevie added. ‘We’ll be installing more cameras. We tried motion detectors once, but that was hard because we have deer back there and they kept setting them off.’
Gwyn felt her stomach lurch. These people – good people – felt the need to take such drastic measures simply to protect themselves and their families. And why? Because they’d stood up against criminals. And now they were threatened again. Because of their friendship with Thorne.
Sam was right. This was Thorne’s worst nightmare. And I’m being selfish, my feelings hurt because he walked away from me. Because he needed more from her than demands that he be upfront with information.
He needed more than her assurances that he was ‘important’ to her. Because he was. He was . . . he was everything.
She wanted to say something to him. She needed to say something to him. But no words would come.
Then make the words come, girl. And do it fast. He’s hurting, and . . .
And God only knew what he was planning. The man truly did believe that he was Superman. Because he usually is. Bigger than life, he always seemed invincible. But he’s not. He’s just a man. An amazing man. A handsome, strong man who made her feel safe and warm and . . . loved. He loves me. And somehow she’d always known that, down deep where it was . . . what? Safe?
Yes. Safe. And loving him back? Not so safe.
But you do love him. You know you do. You always have.
Yes, yes, she had. She’d also known that. Also down deep where it was . . .
Safe? the voice in her head mocked her. She had learned that there was no such thing as true safety. There was hiding and there was living. And through all of it, there had been Thorne. So tell him, for God’s sake. Don’t be such a fucking coward.
She felt lightheaded at the notion. Why is this so hard?
‘Gwyn, honey.’ Lucy’s voice was soft in her ear, but the smack to Gwyn’s back wasn’t. Her best friend had thwacked her a good one with the palm of her hand. ‘Breathe, girl. You need to breathe.’
Gwyn sucked in some air, then realized she’d been standing in the middle of the room staring at Clay and Stevie but not hearing a word they’d said. Nobody was saying anything now. The room had grown painfully quiet.
Her cheeks were suddenly on fire. ‘I hate this day,’ she muttered.
Lucy huffed a chuckle. ‘I know. Me too. Come. Let’s go somewhere quiet.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 7.00 P.M.
‘Hey,’ Kathryn shouted.
He held the phone away from his ear with a wince. Kathryn always had to yell over the pounding beat of the music. He hated her job. Hated that she had to be there night after night. ‘Are we ready?’
‘Absolutamente,’ she said.
He could hear the grin in her voice and it made him smile. ‘Excellent. Patton has completed his task.’ His aide had dropped the carved-up bodies at the Circus Freaks’ front door, just as he’d asked. ‘Let me know when everything is complete.’
‘I will. See you tonight if I’m lucky.’
‘You will be lucky,’ he said firmly. There was no way he was allowing her to spend the night in any jail. Her place at night was with him. Soon her job would be over and she’d be back in his bed every night, just as nature intended.
‘Then open a bottle of wine and run me a bubble bath. I’m going to need it.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 7.15 P.M.
Lucy led Gwyn into the Maynards’ dining room and pulled at the pocket door, sliding it closed as Gwyn sank into a chair and covered her burning face with her hands. ‘God. How long was I standing there like an idiot?’
Lucy drew a chair close and stroked her hair. ‘Not like an idiot. You suddenly looked so . . . sad. Unbearably sad. You . . .’ She let the thought trail and huffed out a sigh. ‘You used to do that after . . . well, you know. Evan. Zone out, with that expression on your face. I was afraid you were back . . . there.’
There. Back in the huge deserted factory where she and Lucy had been held for hours. Where Evan had intended for them to die. Both of them.
Gwyn wrinkled her nose. ‘It smelled like fish.’
Lucy snorted a surprised laugh. ‘Yeah, it did. Fish factories usually do.’ She gave Gwyn’s hair another stroke, her voice softening. ‘Are you okay?’
Gwyn considered the question carefully and was relieved to discover that yes, she really was okay. ‘I am. About Evan, I mean. About all this? Probably not, but mostly because . . .’ Closing her eyes, she leaned into Lucy, taking comfort from her solid frame. ‘I’m so worried about him, Luce.’
‘I am too. What did you say to him, right before he left the room?’
Gwyn sighed. ‘Basically that he needed to keep himself alive. Because he was important to me.’
‘Ouch,’ Lucy murmured, her hand going still in Gwyn’s hair.
‘I know,’ Gwyn said miserably. ‘I need to fix this.’
Lucy resumed her stroking. ‘Not unless you mean it. Do you?’
Gwyn didn’t pretend to misunderstand, but the word was so damn hard to say out loud. Yes. Just say yes.
‘It’s acceptable to feel however you feel,’ Lucy said when Gwyn still hadn’t said anything after a minute of silence. ‘Thorne will . . . He’ll be okay.’
But the unspoken truth hung in the air between them and Gwyn felt her eyes sting. He wouldn’t be okay. Neither will I. ‘Why is this so hard?’ she whispered.
‘Because you feel how you feel,’ Lucy murmured, ‘even though you don’t want to. You care for him. We both do. But that’s not the same as loving him.’
‘I know that,’ Gwyn bit out, feeling Lucy flinch. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
‘It’s okay,’ Lucy said with a hint of humor. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘You shouldn’t be. Nobody should. Goddammit, I’m . . . I am not a good person, Lucy. I’m mean and selfish and . . .’ She halted abruptly when her voice broke. ‘Dammit, I do.’
‘Do what?’ Lucy asked cautiously.
‘Love him,’ Gwyn choked out, so glad her face was hidden behind her hair.
‘Okay.’ Lucy drew the word out, making it more of a question. ‘How so?’
Gwyn jerked her chin up, peering at Lucy through narrowed eyes. ‘How do you think?’
Lucy shrugged, exasperated. ‘I don’t know. You haven’t actually told me anything.’
Which was true. And the admission made her eyes sting again. ‘Why can’t I just say it? Other people just say it. All the fucking time. Love you, love you, love you,’ she sing-songed mockingly. ‘What the hell is wrong with me that I can’t just say it?’
Lucy drew a breath. ‘Okay. Let’s step back here. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not abnormal. You’ve had a trauma. Tell me something, honey. Did you ever tell Evan that you loved him?’
Gwyn reared back as if Lucy had slapped her in the face. ‘What? No.’
Lucy lifted her hands in a placating gesture. ‘Okay. Asked and answered.’
Gwyn looked away. ‘But I was about to.’
‘Ah.’
She glared at her friend from the corner of her eye. ‘What does “ah” mean?’
‘It means that the last time you felt this way, it ended really shittily.’
‘You can say that again,’ Gwyn mumbled. ‘So, what do I do?’
‘How should I know? I’m far better with dead people.’
Gwyn chuckled, just as Lucy had intended. ‘You liar. You love JD. You love your kids. You even love my sorry ass.’
Lucy smiled. ‘I do. All of the above. It wasn’t easy for me to say the words either, you know. At first. To JD. Now, to my babies? I tell them every day how much I love them. They’ll probably get tired of hearing it at some point. I’m not going to be my parents. That abusive cycle stops with me.’
‘Why wasn’t it easy?’ Gwyn asked, suddenly brutally aware that whatever issues Lucy had been having at the beginning of her relationship with JD had been dealt with alone. Because I was deep, deep in the fog. God, what a shitty friend I am.
‘Stop it,’ Lucy warned. ‘I can see what you’re thinking and it’s not true.’
‘What am I thinking?’ Gwyn challenged.
‘You’re feeling guilty because you weren’t there for me when JD and I first started out. Ha! I knew it,’ Lucy crowed when Gwyn rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘So you weren’t there for me. It turned out okay, I swear. I understood. I was in that smelly fish factory too. Remember?’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn bit out. ‘I remember. And yet you got over it.’
Lucy laughed, then stopped and blinked. ‘Wait. You don’t really think that, do you?’
‘Well, yeah. You’re . . .’ Gwyn waved a hand from Lucy’s head to her toes. ‘Well adjusted.’
‘I guess it’s nice I appear that way, but I’m not, not really. I still have nightmares.’
Gwyn blinked up at her. ‘You do?’
‘Of course I do. JD does too. He wakes up screaming sometimes,’ she added in a whisper. ‘But keep that to yourself. He has a reputation to protect.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ Gwyn whispered back seriously. Because this was serious.
‘Thanks.’ Lucy smiled sadly. ‘Maybe the difference is that coming out of the fish factory, I got my Prince Charming and you got . . . the memory of Evan.’
‘I’m glad you got your Prince Charming,’ Gwyn whispered fiercely, because she was. ‘This isn’t me being jealous of you.’
‘Oh, I know that.’ Lucy sighed. ‘I kept hoping that you’d be okay, you know? Because you were asleep for most of it. He’d drugged you and you were still asleep when he got me.’
Gwyn drew in a breath, forced her face to appear calm, even though she was screaming inside. No. I wasn’t asleep. She exhaled slowly. Not thinking about that. Not happening anymore. It’s over. It’s not happening anymore. It was the mantra her therapist had drilled into her over and over. It stopped the downward spiral into panic. Most of the time.
‘Gwyn?’ Lucy said very quietly. ‘What have you not told me?’
Gwyn shook her head, slow wags back and forth. ‘Don’t ask me. Please. I can’t go there. Not right now.’
A long, long silence stretched between them before Lucy cleared her throat. ‘Does Thorne know?’
‘No.’ Gwyn choked out the word.
‘Then you need to tell him.’ Lucy’s voice had grown impossibly gentle. ‘At least tell him that there are things he doesn’t know. He’ll give you time.’
‘He’s wasted years on me already,’ Gwyn said bitterly.
‘He doesn’t see it that way.’ Still so damn gentle. ‘You know that.’
‘I don’t know anything. Except that . . .’ She closed her eyes, because they burned. Two tears escaped and she quickly dashed them away.
‘Except that?’ Lucy prodded.
‘I don’t want him to hurt.’ Gwyn swallowed hard. ‘I don’t want him to think it’s him, when it’s really me. I’m broken.’
‘No, honey, you’re not broken. You’re healing. There’s a difference.’
Gwyn opened her eyes to stare at Lucy, her vision blurred. Healing. Not broken. That too was true. That too she knew deep down in her bones.
Lucy was appraising her thoughtfully. ‘Do you love him that way? You know?’ She waggled strawberry-blond brows and made kissy noises.
Gwyn snorted, grateful for the subject change. ‘Are we twelve?’
Lucy smiled. ‘Maybe. So? Do you? Do you think of him that way?’
Gwyn huffed a breath. ‘Of course. Doesn’t everybody?’
Lucy pursed her lips, eyes now sparkling with either amusement or mischief. But at least it wasn’t that gentle compassion, because that was like a knife in the gut. ‘I can honestly say that while I’ve appreciated Thorne’s very fine form, I have never thought of him that way.’
Gwyn frowned. ‘You are lying to me.’
‘Nope.’ She held up three fingers. ‘Scout’s honor. And yes, I was a Girl Scout, so it’s a valid vow.’
‘Never? Not even once?’
‘Nope. Not even once. He’s always been like a brother. And I would never think that about my brother.’ She shuddered. ‘That’s just . . . so wrong.’
Gwyn considered it. ‘Not even one time? Not even to wonder how it would be?’
‘Gwyn, I have never once thought about Thomas Thorne in any sexual position. Whatsoever. Although I take it you have?’ she added slyly.
Gwyn rolled her eyes again. ‘Yeah. God. I really can’t believe you haven’t. He’s . . .’ She made an amorphous gesture with her hands. ‘Like . . . wow.’
Lucy laughed, and it was a beautiful sound after the heaviness of their conversation. ‘Yes, dear. Very articulate. Now, JD?’ She hummed. ‘Like . . . wow.’
Gwyn felt her own laugh all the way to her gut, and it felt so good. Like an icy bottle of water on a really hot day. A relief.
Lucy’s brows arched. ‘Although I have to wonder how that will . . . you know. Work. You’re . . . you.’ Her hands made a ‘small’ gesture, then widened comically. ‘And he’s . . . him.’
Gwyn’s cheeks burned again. ‘It will be fine. I’ve been with men nearly his size.’ Like Evan.
No. She visualized pushing that shit into a closet and locking the door. I am not going there.
Lucy had sobered as well. ‘Thorne is not Evan.’
‘I know. I guess I need to make sure that he knows that I know.’
Lucy leaned forward until their brows were touching, the gesture one they’d learned from Thorne. ‘Then I’d say you have some work ahead of you. These conversations are not the most fun to have, but the rewards are pretty damn awesome.’ She pulled back to kiss Gwyn’s forehead. ‘Good luck.’
‘Yeah. I’m going to need it. Because I have to do something big before he does something stupid.’
She stood up to go, but Lucy gently gripped her wrist, holding her in place. ‘No,’ she said, very seriously. ‘You don’t have to do “something big”. You just have to let him know that he’s yours.’
Gwyn nodded once. That didn’t sound so very difficult. Because he was. Mine. He’s always been mine. ‘I can do that.’
‘Good.’ Lucy released her. ‘Go, break a leg.’
Gwyn managed a small grin, then frowned slightly when her phone began to buzz. It was Mowry, who managed the club when she wasn’t around. Normally he called her much later. They had a standing time to talk at two a.m., after last call.
She was debating declining the call because she needed to talk to Thorne. But then a text popped up, also from Mowry.
Answer your damn phone!
New dread descended as she answered. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Thank God,’ Mowry said, breathless. ‘I tried to call Thorne, but he’s not picking up. Is he okay?’
‘He’s . . . okay, yes,’ Gwyn said, not wanting to explain the entire situation to their club manager. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘You know how I told you about the two guys who tried to deal from the club last night?’
‘Yes.’ The same two men Prew had followed. The ones who’d hoped Thorne’s troubles were a green light for them to use Sheidalin as their own. ‘What about them?’
‘They just turned up dead.’
Gwyn’s legs turned to jelly and she sat back down blindly. ‘Where?’
‘At a warehouse near the docks.’
Relief whooshed out of her. ‘Oh God. I thought you were going to say they were found at the club.’
Lucy’s brows were winging up urgently, but Gwyn shook her head because Mowry was talking. ‘It would have been better if they had been. Gwyn, that warehouse is the headquarters for the Circus Freaks.’
It took her a moment to make the connection, but it still made no sense. ‘The motorcycle gang?’ She blinked for a moment, trying to process. She’d heard about the Circus Freaks on the news. They, along with a few other gangs – including Tavilla’s Los Señores de la Tierra – were jockeying for ownership of the city. Because of the harbor and shipping and . . . She was sure there was more, but she couldn’t remember it now. ‘How do you even know that? How do you know any of this?’
He huffed impatiently. ‘I know the warehouse is the Circus Freaks’ because I keep up with that shit. I know their colors, their members, their hotspots. So does Ming, and all the other bouncers too. Freaks come into the club sometimes, trying to deal, and I have to know who to boot.’
‘All right, that makes sense.’ She’d never even thought about that. She wondered if Thorne and Lucy knew. ‘Why didn’t I know this?’
‘It’s been within the last few years,’ Mowry said more gently. ‘So we didn’t drag you into it. But this is serious, hon, so you have to catch up, and fast. The bodies were found with their pockets – and their mouths and their wounds – stuffed with Sheidalin matchbooks.’
‘Oh shit,’ she breathed. That she understood. Another setup, this time implicating the club. ‘Mowry, Lucy’s with me. Can I put you on speaker?’
‘Is JD there?’
‘No. Just Lucy.’
‘Okay then.’ He repeated what he’d told her for Lucy’s benefit, then went on. ‘Both men were . . . eviscerated. Like the woman found with Thorne yesterday morning.’
‘Oh fucking shit,’ Lucy muttered. ‘How do you know about these bodies? I haven’t heard it on the news. And JD would know.’
‘Because I pay one of the Freaks for information,’ Mowry spat. ‘I don’t want to give a penny to those drug-dealing sons of bitches, but I do. It helps me keep this place clean. Just like Thorne demands.’
Gwyn closed her eyes. ‘Got it. Does that come out of club funds?’
‘No. Not exactly,’ Mowry admitted grudgingly. ‘It’s not a traceable thing. Just petty cash.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. That, in and of itself, was going to ring bells if the cops investigated. Best case, it would look like they were paying extortion money to organized crime. Worst case, it would look like Mowry had been embezzling. Or that I have, because I do the motherfucking books. Or worse still, that someone at the club was buying product from a drug-dealing gang. How did I miss this? Because she’d been in a four-year fog, that was how. Fuck.
She met Lucy’s eyes and saw that her friend had also connected the dots. ‘This is bad,’ Lucy murmured.
‘Y’think?’ Mowry snapped.
‘All right,’ Gwyn said calmly. ‘We’ll explain it to Frederick and Jamie and then we’ll come to the club. Because sooner or later the cops are going to show up.’
‘Ah, fuck,’ Mowry muttered. ‘Too late, sweetie. They’re here.’
In the background she could hear loud voices. Demands and shouted protests. Lucy dropped her head into her hands. ‘Oh my God.’
‘All right,’ Gwyn said again. ‘We’ll be there as soon as we can. Don’t say anything to anyone. None of you.’
‘I won’t,’ Mowry promised grimly. ‘I haven’t worked for a defense attorney for years for nothing.’
A much louder voice yelled, ‘I said, off the goddamn phone!’ The shout was followed by a sickening thud. The call ended.
Gwyn rose, feeling oddly . . . in control. ‘Let me tell Thorne. I’d like him to have a few minutes to process this before he has to be Superman in front of everyone else.’
Lucy nodded wearily. ‘Yeah. This is going to gut him. I swear to God, if this is Tavilla, I want to see him roasting on a spit.’
‘For hurting Thorne like this? I want him to roast alive.’ Gwyn stroked Lucy’s hair, returning the favor from before. ‘Don’t worry, Luce. We’ll figure this out.’
‘I know,’ Lucy murmured, but she didn’t sound convinced. She pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’ll bring everyone up to speed. You tell Thorne.’
They slid the pocket door open and every eye in the room cut over to stare. Ignoring her residual embarrassment, Gwyn left Lucy to brief the group.
She needed to get to Thorne.