Annapolis, Maryland,
Tuesday 14 June, 11.00 P.M.
He lifted his gaze from his computer lazily, or at least it would appear so to his guest. He’d intentionally made the judge wait, stewing the arrogant man in his own juices.
‘Can I help you, Judge Segal?’ he inquired politely.
The judge took an angry step forward, but was halted by Patton’s grip on his arm. He attempted to shake Patton off. The two were well matched in terms of size and muscle, but Patton was twenty years younger and armed.
The judge was not armed. Patton had searched him thoroughly.
‘You may let him go,’ he told Patton.
The judge adjusted his suit coat with the air of a man who’d been wronged. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ he hissed.
He folded his hands atop his desk. ‘Cesar Tavilla. President and CEO of Los Señores de la Tierra.’
Segal shook his head, like that didn’t matter. But it would matter. By the time this was done, it would matter a great deal.
By the time this is done, I will own the man.
Segal leaned across his desk to loom over him. ‘You killed my wife.’
He blinked up at Segal. ‘I did, yes.’ He gave his wrist a shake and the blade he’d hidden in his sleeve came sliding into his hand. With a flick of his thumb, he opened the switchblade and jabbed it within a centimeter of the jackass’s snarling face. ‘With this very knife. Are we done now?’
Segal paled and took a step back, hands fisted at his sides.
He had to admit to reluctant admiration. He’d expected the judge to go running. The man was not a coward.
‘That was not our agreement,’ Segal gritted out.
Conscious that Patton had crept close enough to rip Segal away if necessary, he regarded the judge soberly. ‘You would have had me murder a young man instead? The best friend of your son? A young man whose only crime was to believe your wife when she promised him a fairy-tale ending?’
Segal’s jaw clenched. ‘That was our agreement.’
‘No, that was your agreement. Our agreement was that if you provided me with information with which I could discredit Thomas Thorne, then I’d refrain from reporting your judicial indiscretions to the bar.’
‘But you were never supposed to kill my wife!’
He lifted his brows. ‘You want me to believe you loved her? Truly?’
Segal swallowed hard. ‘She was drinking herself to death. She didn’t need your help.’
For a split second, he had some sympathy for the man’s loss. Then he remembered with whom he was speaking. ‘So you would have been fine with your wife killing herself and possibly someone else’s loved one when she drove drunk?’
The judge looked away, swallowing again. ‘No.’
‘Because you weren’t going to be able to hide her DUIs forever, Judge Segal.’
‘I know that.’ Segal’s gaze returned, his eyes blazing. ‘But you didn’t have to rape her too,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘She didn’t deserve that.’
His mouth fell open. ‘What are you suggesting?’
Segal’s mouth twisted. ‘I’m not “suggesting” anything. I’m telling you what was on the autopsy report. She was sexually assaulted. And I know it wasn’t by the kid, because I know where he was all evening. He was waiting for her in the fucking park, which was where you were supposed to collect him.’
He sat back in his chair, horrified by Segal’s accusation. Horrified by what – according to the ME – had happened. ‘You think I did that?’
‘Who else could have done it?’ Segal pointed to the knife he still held. ‘You carved her up just like . . .’ He cut himself off, looking away again.
‘Like what, Judge Segal?’ he asked quietly. ‘Like her brother was carved up by his killer?’
Segal jerked a nod. ‘She didn’t deserve that.’
‘Probably not. But she was unconscious at the time. She didn’t suffer. Unlike her brother.’
‘I don’t care!’ Segal cried, his eyes filling with what appeared to be honest tears. ‘She was a horrible wife. She was a horrible mother. But she did not deserve to be raped. Again. And she did not deserve to die that way. I had to tell my son what had happened to his mother, because I knew the media wouldn’t keep quiet. I had to tell my son that his mother was raped.’
A glance from the corner of his eye showed Patton to be as confused by the news of the sexual assault as he was. ‘Must have been Harrelson and Schwab,’ he said quietly. ‘They brought her to me already drugged up.’
He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Judge Segal. This was not done on my command. If it helps, the men who abducted your wife are dead.’
Segal closed his eyes, sending the tears streaking down his face. ‘Of course it doesn’t help. Patricia’s still dead. My son is still grieving.’
He tilted his head, considering. He’d been following Segal’s career for years. The man was canny, never doing anything without a damn good reason. ‘Your wife has been dead since late on Saturday. It is now Wednesday. Why did you wait more than three full days to confront me?’
‘Because I’ve been busy,’ Segal snapped. ‘My son has been a wreck. I’ve had to reschedule my court calendar and arrange a funeral, on top of dodging cops and reporters.’ His throat worked as he swallowed yet again. ‘It was the autopsy report. I was furious that you’d killed her, but when I was told that she’d been raped too, I just . . . I had to do something.’
‘This time, you mean?’
‘Yes,’ he hissed. ‘This time. But just like before, there isn’t anything I can do.’
‘I understand that helpless feeling,’ he said coldly. ‘I felt it when my wife died after my son was incarcerated. And when my son was murdered in prison.’
Segal shook his head. ‘That was not my fault.’
‘That is still debatable, sir.’ He steepled his fingers, considering what he’d do with the man. Segal had contacted him through Margo, and Patton had blindfolded him when he’d brought him here. That Patton had done so without his approval was a separate topic, and his assistant would be dealt with severely. ‘I could kill you right now, you know,’ he said to the judge.
‘I know.’ Segal lifted his chin and met his gaze squarely. ‘But I wasn’t completely stupid. I left a document in my safe deposit box, detailing what I’d done and the deal I’d made with you. And that I planned to see you tonight.’
Well, if he was bluffing, he was good at it. And there was really no reason to believe he wasn’t telling the truth. The man had very little to lose at this point.
If I kill him, I risk being linked to Patricia’s murder. Of course, Thorne already suspected as much, but the man had no evidence. There was no tangible connection. The police hadn’t even sniffed his way. And he would know. He had resources in BPD, at all levels of the organization.
If I kill him, I lose a valuable resource on the bench. And those were alliances that took much longer to build.
If I let him live, he is a loose thread. Unless he is discredited for something entirely different before he can begin pointing fingers. Which I can do. Easily.
Decision made. ‘You came to avenge your wife’s honor,’ he said finally. ‘I can respect that. I won’t kill you.’
Segal’s laugh was darkly sardonic. ‘Thank you ever so much.’
He bit back the temptation to bury his blade in the man’s throat and kept his expression coolly neutral. ‘You’re welcome. Now, if you ever try to contact me again, by any means, you will regret it.’
Segal’s nod was disrespectful. ‘Same song, second verse. You kill me, I release my documents. It’s called leverage.’
He smiled, the chilling smile that usually made men quake in fear. He was happy to see Segal was not immune. ‘You still have someone to lose, Mr Segal.’
Segal paled. ‘No. You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Dare? That is the wrong word to use.’
‘My son is not part of this.’
‘Everything that is dear to you is part of this. You upped the stakes. You can’t whine when the house wins. Because the house always wins. If you ever contact me again, or if I hear the slightest whisper of my name in connection to yours, the boy dies. But first I will tell him exactly who he is. Are we quite clear?’
Segal ground his molars. ‘Crystal.’
‘Good.’ He gestured to Patton. ‘Please see that Judge Segal is returned to his vehicle, and make sure he goes directly home. It’s late and the streets are dangerous. I’d hate for something to happen to him.’
Patton looked stunned, like he’d expected to be told to kill him. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And then come back here.’
Patton swallowed. ‘Of course.’
He watched Patton blindfold Segal and lead him away, none too gently, then picked up the phone and dialed Margo.
‘It’s late,’ she said sharply. ‘Benny is asleep.’
‘I apologize,’ he said stiffly. And he was sorry. In his anger, he’d forgotten about his grandson. ‘But this is urgent. Segal has papers in his safe deposit box implicating me. I’d like you to get them.’
‘That’s not so simple, Papa,’ she said doubtfully.
‘But it is crucial that you do it. Use whatever resources I have at my disposal.’
‘I will try.’
He drew a breath, irritated. He’d been too lax with her. She took advantage of her relationship to his son. And to me. Her obedience was not situational. He inserted cold iron into his reply. ‘You will succeed.’
A beat of hesitation. ‘Yes, sir.’
That was better. ‘Thank you.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 12.15 A.M.
They’d finally left Clay’s very crowded house, and Gwyn was grateful for the quiet of her condo. She loved all of their friends, but she’d felt ready to bolt from the moment Lucy had basically outed her as a victim of sexual assault in front of them.
No. Not a victim. At least that wasn’t all she was. A survivor. Who was finally living again. No way would she go back into the dark. It was too lonely there.
She removed the weapons she’d been wearing all day, placing the knives and one of the guns in her nightstand drawer before stepping around Tweety to lay the remaining gun on the nightstand on the other side of the bed for Thorne’s use.
‘Just in case,’ she murmured to the dog, talking to him as she did every night. Except this night wasn’t like any other, because this night she wasn’t alone.
Through every thought, every movement, she remained acutely conscious of the huge man watching her from the doorway. ‘I was lucky today,’ she said conversationally, because she really wanted to stutter and pull a blanket over her head. She knew what he wanted to know. She knew she’d have to tell him, sooner or later.
Thorne was watching her with a combination of want and a kind of desperate trepidation. The want made her feel desirable, but the fear welling up within her was beating it down pretty damn well.
There were shadows on his face and questions in his eyes. The questions had been there off and on for most of the day, but after Lucy’s little gaffe in front of everyone tonight, neither the shadows nor questions had faded. He wanted to know what had happened to her. With Evan.
And she was trying to think of any conceivable way to tell him without either of them falling apart. And failing miserably.
‘How so?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble that did things to her. Such wicked, delicious things.
Shivering, she threw a look over her shoulder. He’d taken off his shirt, and his biceps were straining as he gripped the sides of her door frame as if it was the only thing holding him upright. Her mouth went dry at the sight of all that beautiful skin. ‘What?’ she asked, having totally lost the thread of the conversation.
One side of his mouth lifted, but sadly. ‘You said you were lucky today.’
She blinked before remembering. ‘Oh. Right.’ She turned to the safe, keying in the combination, but her fingers faltered midway. Her combination was a set of numbers, a birthday whose importance no one knew about. Nobody but me.
Well, her and the boy himself, along with his adoptive parents and anyone else in his world who’d attended his birthday parties over the years. Which does not include me.
She needed to tell Thorne about him too. But one big disclosure at a time. Tackle the Evan shit. Then figure the rest of it out. Briskly she re-entered the combination, because the safe had already reset itself. Popping open the door, she removed her larger .45 with the extended magazine and laid it on the nightstand. It was far too large and heavy to conceal comfortably under her clothing, but it was the weapon she felt most comfortable firing. And if they were surprised in the night, she wanted every advantage.
Leaving her other three handguns in the safe, she closed the door. ‘I was lucky that Rivera was there today,’ she said. ‘He took my guns and held onto them until Joseph got there. Joseph gave them back to me. I mean, I have more handguns, but those conceal the best.’ She turned to face Thorne, her smile firmly back in place. ‘Joseph checked me for a concealed carry permit first, though.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘I wondered about that,’ Thorne said. He shrugged, then dropped his hands from the door frame to his sides. ‘Gwyn. I need to . . . we need to talk. I need to understand.’
She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly naked even though she was still fully clothed. ‘I know. But I think I need some wine for this conversation.’ She opened her eyes and found he’d moved out of the doorway. Silently he followed her to the kitchen, opening the bottle she handed him as he’d done hundreds of times before over the twelve years they’d been friends.
She got the glasses from the cupboard, then turned to him. ‘Would you mind putting on a shirt?’
He took a step back, guilty apprehension in his eyes, and too late she realized that he thought she was afraid of him. ‘No, not that,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just that I’d be able to concentrate better.’
Visibly relieved, he nodded and disappeared back into the bedroom while she filled the glasses. When he returned, buttoning a clean shirt, she’d put the glasses on the coffee table and switched on the gas fire.
He frowned. ‘Are you cold?’
Which was fair, because the evening was warm and humid. ‘No. But the fire is calming. Don’t worry,’ she added, when he looked abruptly worried. ‘I’m not a pyro or anything. Some people find watching waves soothing. But for me, it’s flames. It’s meditative.’
‘All right.’ He sat on the sofa and didn’t complain about its size for what might have been the first time. ‘Tell me what you can,’ he said gruffly. ‘And if you can’t, just tell me what you think I absolutely must know so that I don’t hurt you.’
He looked up then, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were filled with so much pain. So much fear. But there was more there. Something sweet and lovely. Tender. And loving.
Toeing off her shoes, she sat beside him, as close as she could without sitting on his lap, waiting until he put his arm around her to snuggle her cheek into his hard pec. This would be easier if she didn’t have to actually look at him.
‘You won’t hurt me,’ she said quietly. ‘I know that. I always knew that.’
‘Then . . .’ he cleared his throat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, and suddenly she needed to see his expression. Twisting to her knees so that they were face to face, she cupped his jaws in her hands. ‘It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, so if you’re thinking that, don’t. Please.’
‘Okay.’ He turned his head so that his lips were on her palm and kissed her there. ‘Then why?’
She sighed. ‘You were my safe place, Thorne. I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to look at me like you were afraid of me. Like you pitied me. Like you knew. Because then I’d have to think about it all over again. He was dead. Gone. It was over. Everyone told me it was over.’
He lifted careful hands to her face, swiping tears from her cheeks that she wasn’t aware she’d shed. ‘But it wasn’t over for you,’ he whispered.
‘No,’ she whispered back. ‘It wasn’t. I tried to forget it. I did. But the only thing that helped was blocking it out. I’m good at blocking things out.’
‘Join the club. You, me and Lucy. All champion blockers.’
‘Until we can’t anymore,’ she said sadly.
He kissed her palm again. ‘It’s not like we’re sharers, not voluntarily anyway. Lucy didn’t tell us her story until she was forced to because she was being chased by a killer. I never told you about my trial. Or Sherri. I might not have ever done so, but you found me with a dead woman in my bed and I was kind of forced to.’
‘Did you love her?’
‘Sherri? Yes, I did.’ His lips tipped up, the picture of melancholy. ‘We’d talked about getting married when we finished college. We had a plan, most of which involved me doing things for her father so he’d accept me.’
Gwyn rested her forehead against his. ‘I’m so sorry she died.’
‘Me too.’ He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry that I never pursued any of this nightmare before. I just let her killer go because it was . . . easier.’
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ he whispered back. ‘It was easier to change my name to Thorne and start out fresh and never look back. I should have kept searching until I found her killer. I should have gotten her justice.’
‘Baby.’ She kissed his brow, then his eyelids, then his cheeks. ‘You survived. You went through hell and came out the other side. Do you think she’d want you to suffer?’
Another melancholy smile. ‘No. But she would have wanted me to fight for justice. The last day we had together, she was trying to get me to sue the school, to force them to let me back in after I was expelled.’ His chuckle was watery. ‘She wanted to contact the ACLU.’
‘Sounds like she was a spitfire. What did you say?’
‘About suing?’ He chuckled again, this time fondly. ‘I told her nothing good ever came of going to court.’
Gwyn grinned. ‘Oh, wow. And look at you now. She would have been so proud of you, Thorne.’
He swallowed hard. ‘I hope so. I really hope so. But I didn’t mean to make this about me. I just meant that I don’t blame you for keeping things to yourself. I’d be a hypocrite if I did.’
She kissed him again, softly. ‘I know. I get it. I might have never told you about . . . what I’m going to tell you. But I did tell someone, and it did help.’
‘Who?’
‘My therapist. I’ve been seeing her for over a year, and I don’t think I could have ever been here, taken this step with you, without her. But I didn’t even tell her what really happened right away. I didn’t have the words for months.’
‘What made you seek her out?’
‘I woke up one morning and my life was a mess.’ She remembered the morning specifically. February seventeenth. Seventeen years after she’d given birth to a beautiful boy. For the past sixteen years, February seventeenth had been the day she’d woken to cry over the one photo she had of her holding her son. Knowing that he’d be eighteen in a year and that he’d be told of her existence was the motivation she’d needed that particular day. ‘I needed to fix my life, but by then I didn’t have the first idea of where to start. I went online and started researching therapists who worked with PTSD. I figured that was what I was experiencing.’
‘And was it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, and the underlying reason was . . .’ She closed her eyes, unable to look at him when she whispered the words. ‘Being raped. By Evan.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 12.40 A.M.
Patton had actually returned. He hadn’t expected him to, but the man now stood in front of his desk, feet spread, hands clasped behind him, expression one of grim determination.
‘I have to say, you continue to surprise me, Mr Patton.’
‘I know what you think. And it isn’t true.’
He leaned back in his chair, giving Patton a serious study. ‘What do I think?’
‘That I was careless and brought the judge here on my own.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. Your daughter-in-law told me to. Sir.’
He frowned. ‘Margo wouldn’t have done that.’
‘She did. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s the truth. She said you’d told her to send him over.’
His frown deepened. ‘What I said was that I would come to the office downtown.’ Which was where the judge had shown up demanding to see him.
‘She must have misunderstood. She looked . . . tired. I think the baby is teething. Maybe she hasn’t gotten enough sleep.’
‘That could be true. Thank you for telling me the truth, Mr Patton.’
The man narrowed his eyes. ‘You believe me?’
‘You’re here. If you’d been lying, you would have run. Or maybe you are lying and trying to employ reverse psychology?’
Patton shook his head. ‘I have enough trouble with straight psychology.’
His lips twitched, certain that Patton was much smarter than he wanted anyone to believe. ‘Well, I’ll talk to Margo about getting more sleep. In the meantime, I have another assignment for you.’ He handed him a list of names and phone numbers, each with a single sentence that would bring that person the most fear. ‘Starting in the morning, call each of these people and read the sentence next to his or her name, then hang up. Use a throwaway phone with a voice-altering app so that each person hears a slightly different voice, just in case they get brave and go to the cops. I don’t think they will, though.’
‘Who are they?’
He smiled. ‘The less you know, the less you can mistakenly tell them.’
Patton folded the paper and put it in his pocket with a shrug. ‘Yes, sir.’
The man was learning.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 12.40 A.M.
Being raped. By Evan.
Thorne had thought he was strong enough to hear the words. I was wrong.
Bile rose in his throat and he began to tremble where he sat, white-hot fury rendering him helpless as she knelt beside him, pressed against his side, her hands still holding his face like he was precious to her.
But her eyes were closed and she’d whispered the words as if they still shamed her. Being raped. By Evan.
‘You don’t have to tell me any more,’ he choked out.
She opened her eyes and they held mild challenge. Milder reproach. ‘You asked, Thorne. Which is it? Do you want to know or not?’
This was important. His answer was important. But he felt paralyzed, unsure of what to say. ‘Do you want me to know?’
‘No. But now that you’ve opened the box, you need to look inside or you’ll always wonder. I’ll know you’re wondering and it’ll make me crazy. So let’s look in the goddamn box, then close it again.’
Her voice was calm. So calm. It unnerved him. ‘All right.’ If she could tell it, he could listen.
She nodded once, then slid back down to sit beside him, her head tucked against his chest. The two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table untouched, but he didn’t think he could choke down a single sip.
‘If you want both of those, you’re welcome to them,’ he said, pointing to the glasses.
‘No. I . . . um . . . I pour it and usually end up dumping it down the drain.’
He hadn’t known that. ‘I think I’ll buy you cheaper wine, then.’
She chuckled. ‘Fair enough. Once the fire is going and I get into meditating, I don’t want it any more. And tonight I’m thinking about Patricia, drinking too much. I don’t want to fall into the same trap.’ She sighed, her breath warm on his chest. ‘My dad was a mean drunk. When I’m centered, I remember that. I don’t want to go there.’
She’d not spoken of her father, not in a long time. All Thorne knew was that her parents were very strict and she’d run away to join the circus. He wondered now how much of that story was true.
But first things first. ‘So. Evan. You said you weren’t drugged.’
‘Not the whole time, no. I don’t think he meant to kill me. Not at first. At least that’s what he said when he . . .’ She trailed off and he felt her body shift. ‘I figured out who he was, you know. That he was the killer. He’d put a tracker in Lucy’s purse.’
‘I remember that.’ He’d been so fucking angry. He was so much angrier now.
‘Well, he put one in mine too. When Lucy told me about hers, I got curious and checked, and sure enough, he’d been tracking me too. But he came in and found me looking for more.’
‘In your purse?’
‘No. In his gym bag. I’d seen something like the one in my purse before, but I didn’t know it was a tracker. I found five more in his things. I think I just stared at them for the longest time. I wish I’d acted more quickly, looking back. I’d just started to dial Lucy when he came in. He was . . . not pleased.’
Thorne’s stomach heaved, because he remembered visiting both Gwyn and Lucy in the hospital after their rescue. Lucy had a broken nose and a broken leg. Gwyn had two broken ribs, a broken finger and bruises. All over.
He clearly remembered the bruises in the shape of fingerprints around her throat. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to think about how she’d received them.
He didn’t want to think about it now. But she was right. He’d always wonder, and that wasn’t fair to either of them. So man up and deal with this shit now.
‘What did he do?’
‘Well, he grabbed me and shook me, so hard I saw stars. I tried to run, but he caught hold of my hair and pulled me back. That was at three a.m.’
Thorne forced himself to breathe. Evan hadn’t kidnapped Lucy until around eight the next morning. ‘So he had you alone for hours.’
‘Yes. I think it was at about seven thirty that he finally drugged me. I fought him, Thorne. I promise you I did.’
He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pressing her closer to him, his other hand stroking her hair, still in Angie’s updo. ‘I know you did,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I remember the bruises.’
‘By the time we got to the hospital, it was more than twelve hours later. They . . . did a rape kit as a matter of procedure, but I told them I hadn’t been raped. That it was . . .’ She trailed off, her swallow audible. ‘Consensual.’
‘Why?’ he murmured.
‘Because by then he was dead and JD had saved Lucy and I was just a footnote to the whole nightmare. I was the “girlfriend of the serial killer”, the woman who’d believed his lies. Who’d invited him into her bed. I felt stupid enough, Thorne. I didn’t want to rehash what had really happened.’
‘I understand.’ He really did. ‘It was like me changing my name to Thorne and moving on with my life.’
‘Exactly,’ she said, sounding relieved. ‘For the record, he was pretty vanilla in his physical technique, but he made sure he humiliated me. Made sure it hurt. He was big, so it kind of hurt a lot.’
He was big. Evan had been six-four at least. Big like me.
Thorne thought he was going to throw up.
His hand tightened reflexively in her hair and she flinched. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, immediately loosening his grip. ‘Can I take these pins out? I like your hair down.’
‘If you want,’ she said, but not unkindly. ‘They were giving me a headache anyway.’
‘Why didn’t you take them out earlier?’ he asked, deliberately chasing this new topic, just to give them both a moment’s respite.
‘Because my hair was pretty and princessy.’
He huffed a chuckle and kissed the top of her head. ‘I never quite get over what you women do to look pretty. Just looking at your shoes is enough to put me in traction.’
‘Hey,’ she protested, but there was no heat behind it. ‘Don’t diss the heels. Without them, I’d be staring at your belly button.’
He pulled out a hairpin. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Although she likely would. ‘But I can appreciate your legs in heels, so whatever floats your boat, babe.’
She worked a few of his shirt buttons free and pressed a kiss to the middle of his chest. ‘I like looking here. You are a beautiful man, Thomas Thorne.’
He’d been called beautiful before, in dozens of ways by dozens of other women, but never had it given him the pleasure that Gwyn’s simple words did. ‘Thank you.’
She kissed his chest again. ‘You’re welcome.’ She drew a breath and let it out. ‘You ready for round two of the painful info dump?’
He hadn’t thought she’d been fooled by his timeout. He concentrated on finding the pins in her hair, forcing himself to answer. ‘Yes.’
‘All right. Most of his abuse was focused on making me record a message he could play to lure Lucy. I refused.’ She paused for a moment that seemed to drag on for hours, but it was less than a minute. ‘I refused several times.’
His chest constricted painfully. ‘Baby,’ he whispered, and she patted his chest comfortingly.
‘It was kind of empowering, telling him no,’ she mused. ‘I couldn’t get away, couldn’t even scream because he’d taped my mouth shut while he did his worst, but I could tell him no when he took the tape off and demanded I record the message. I wasn’t going to help him kill Lucy, that was for damn sure. No reason she should have to pay for my stupidity.’
No. No fucking way. ‘You weren’t stupid,’ he growled. ‘He fooled all of us.’
She patted his chest again. ‘I know that now. I even believe it sometimes. But that’s certainly not what I was believing then. I was kicking myself for letting him use me. Which was what he reminded me of over and over during those hours. How he’d used me. How he’d manipulated me. How stupid I was to have believed his lies. How he’d laughed to himself every time he fucked me.’
Thorne leaned his head back against the sofa cushion, counting his breaths. Breathing in, six, five, four, three, two, one. Hold for four. Breathing out, six, five, four, three, two, one. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Until you no longer want to dig him up and rip his corpse to shreds. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
He heard a choked sound and knew it had come from his own throat. But he couldn’t make it stop. Couldn’t swallow it back. Breathe. Breathe.
Hold it together. But he couldn’t. He was flying apart, molecule by molecule.
‘Thorne? Oh, honey.’ Gwyn straddled one of his thighs and wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him to her breast.
Because he was crying, weeping like he hadn’t done in years, not since Jamie had told him that Sherri was dead.
She rocked him, murmuring comfort into his ear that he couldn’t hear because the dam had broken and he was sobbing loudly, holding her so tightly that he was sure she couldn’t breathe. But she never asked him to let her go, so he held on.
She was dropping kisses on top of his head, pressing them to his temples, all while she rocked him, whispering to him. Comforting him when he was supposed to be comforting her.
He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, fought to control himself. ‘God,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’
‘For what?’ she asked reasonably. ‘For not stopping him? For not reading my mind afterward? For not killing him yourself?’
‘Yes.’ The word came out on a rush of air. ‘All of the above.’
She released him only enough to kiss his forehead, his swollen eyes. ‘You know what? If you’d known, you would have. I have not a single doubt.’
And somehow, that helped. ‘What do I do now? For you?’
‘Be here. And do what you did yesterday morning and again in the afternoon. Show me that you think I’m worth it.’
Worth it, worth it, worth it. He’d chanted the words as he’d claimed her as his own, as he’d made love to her, though inside his mind he was chanting love you, love you, love you. ‘You are worth it,’ he whispered. I love you. So goddamn much. But he didn’t say that, because he didn’t want to be feeling gutted and sad when he finally spoke those words. He wanted it to be perfect. Like she deserved.
‘You make me believe that.’ She kissed him again, this time sweet and sexy all at once. ‘You make me believe that I can have forever, Thorne. And last week I would have said that wasn’t possible. But now, I . . . I want that. Forever. With you.’
He opened his eyes to find her staring down at him, her hair half up, half down, smiling at him like he’d hung the moon. ‘I love you,’ he said, because the words simply wouldn’t be silenced.
Her mouth dropped open, her eyes filling with tears.
He touched her lips, his fingers trembling. ‘You don’t have to say it back.’
She took his fingers, kissing them before wrapping her hand around them. ‘I love you too. I think I always have. I was just too scared to admit it.’
He thought he might actually cry again. ‘You’re not scared now?’
‘Of you? No. Of this? No. That I might mess it up? Hell, yeah.’
‘You can’t mess it up. Just be here. With me.’
‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘There’s one more thing you can do for me.’
‘What? Name it.’
‘Don’t let what I’ve told you stop you from touching me. You would never hurt me, Thorne. It’s not in your nature. You’re a protector.’ She leaned in, pronouncing each word with emphasis. ‘You would never hurt me.’ She nuzzled her cheek against his, whispering in his ear. ‘I liked sex before Evan. A lot. I like it with you. A lot. He tried to steal that from me, and for four years I let him. Don’t let him steal it from me any longer. From us.’
Exhausted, Thorne could only nod, but she seemed satisfied, because she smiled at him again. ‘We’ve had a long-ass day. I’m ready to sleep. You up for that?’
‘With you? Always.’ He stood, hauling her up with him, pushing up her skirt so that she could wrap her legs around him.
‘Just so you know?’ she said as he carried her to the bedroom. ‘I could totally get used to this.’
‘Then that’s my new goal.’
‘What was your old goal?’
He nuzzled his face into her neck. ‘Hearing you say that you love me.’
She went silent, then expelled a shaky breath. ‘That was a good goal, Thorne,’ she whispered, her voice thick with tears. ‘A damn good goal.’
He sat on the bed, lowering her to her feet so that she stood between his knees. ‘I thought so. Say it again. Please.’
Her eyes were shiny. ‘I love you, Thomas Thorne.’
Hands on her hips, he pulled her closer so that his cheek rested against her breasts. The world might be going to shit around them, but for this moment he was content. Happy in a way he couldn’t ever remember. ‘Love you too.’