Baltimore, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 1.45 P.M.
Gwyn’s mood was dark as Thorne parked their borrowed SUV in front of the crab shack that acted as the Circus Freaks’ front office. It was really old. Paint peeled, shutters were missing, and windows had been boarded up. Perched on the banks of the Patapsco River down by the docks, the place was definitely ramshackle. But not abandoned. Twenty motorcycles were parked outside. And amazing scents wafted through the SUV’s air vents.
Steamed crabs with Old Bay seasoning, one of the few pleasant memories of Gwyn’s childhood. It was almost enough to make her sigh happily. Except she wasn’t happy. At all.
‘I want to say again that this is a stupid idea, Thorne.’
He glanced over at her, his expression equally dark. ‘So noted, but it’s too late for you to change your mind. I don’t have time to take you somewhere safe, and there is no fucking way that I’m leaving you in the SUV.’
‘I didn’t say I’d changed my mind,’ she said tersely. She was going in with him, no matter what. Didn’t mean she had to like it.
His reply was equally terse. ‘Good.’
They sat in silence for a full minute before he blew out an angry breath and voiced what was worrying them even more than their meeting with the leader of the Circus Freaks. ‘How did we miss this thing with Laura? I thought she was happy and honest.’
Gwyn pinched the bridge of her nose. Their missing bartender had proved to be an even bigger issue than they’d feared. Not only had she quit, but she’d cleaned out her apartment. And not only had she done that, but her neighbors hadn’t seen her in a month, and none of them had seen her with a baby. Ever.
The woman they’d hired and nurtured and treated as one of their own had truly gotten one by them. A big one. How big was not yet known.
Gwyn did not have a good feeling about any of this. ‘I don’t know. We put her through the same hiring process we’ve used for years. The same background check. I mean, I didn’t do it, but you did.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Thorne murmured. ‘I was busy with a case. Anne did it.’
Anne Poulin, Thorne’s beautiful, tall, willowy French receptionist who Gwyn had disliked on sight. Well, French Canadian anyway. Didn’t matter. The woman still oozed sex.
Gwyn frowned. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to . . .’ She let the question trail off, because she knew the answer. She’d always done Thorne’s hiring at the firm. Until four years ago. But Laura had been hired six months ago. ‘I was better when we hired Laura. Why didn’t you ask me?’
‘You might have known you were getting better,’ he said wearily. ‘I didn’t know any such thing and I didn’t want to push you.’
‘Next time, push me,’ she said.
‘So noted,’ he replied once again, and she sighed.
‘I’m sorry, Thorne. I shouldn’t have questioned you on that one. I’m upset.’
‘I know.’ Taking her hand, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. ‘In hindsight I probably should have pushed you. I let you stew too long.’
‘I told you that you were more patient with me than I am with you.’
‘Well, that’s true.’ He checked his phone. ‘I left a voicemail for Anne, asking her about Laura’s background check, but she’s never called me back. You?’
‘She wouldn’t call me. She doesn’t like me.’
She thought he’d deny that, but he shrugged lightly. ‘She’s jealous. Everyone compared her to you and it annoyed her.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘We should go inside and talk to Alistair.’
‘Who is that?’
Thorne’s smile was wry. ‘The boss of the Circus Freaks.’
‘And his name is Alistair? Why didn’t he change it to Rocco or something?’
‘Rocco was taken. Plus . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Nobody ever makes fun of him. Let’s just leave it at that.’
‘Lovely.’ She patted her stomach, comforted to feel the handgun holstered in the girdle she wore. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Gripping his hand tightly, she entered the shack, blinking to get used to the darkness. It was a familiar sight, picnic tables covered with newspaper and piles of crab shells – the only way to truly enjoy blue crabs.
Thorne bent down to whisper in her ear. ‘If we don’t die, let’s get a bushel to go.’
That made her laugh, so when they came face to face with the biggest, burliest man she’d ever seen, she was still smiling. The smile faded away as she craned her head back to see his face.
‘Holy motherfuck,’ she muttered under her breath. Alistair was enormous. He towered over Thorne, for God’s sake, with a bald head and a handlebar mustache that would have made him look comical had it not been for the wicked scar that ran from his left eye to disappear beneath the facial hair. His eyes were blue. And cold. His leather vest was covered in gang patches, his skin in tattoos. It was only the steady pressure of Thorne’s hand on the small of her back that kept her from turning to run for her life.
Keeping a firm hold on her, Thorne stuck his free hand out for the gang leader to shake. ‘Alistair. It’s good to see you again.’
The man shook Thorne’s hand. ‘Likewise,’ he said in a voice that was more growly than any one of the motorcycles out there. He eyed Gwyn. ‘I didn’t know you were bringing your lady friend. I’m afraid these benches are the only seats we’ve got.’
‘It’s all right,’ Gwyn said. ‘I grew up on a crab boat. I’ve sat on much worse.’
He tilted his bald head, studying her. ‘You’re Gwyn Weaver. You manage Thorne’s club.’
‘I am.’ She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. ‘It’s my club too. You’re Alistair. I’m afraid I don’t know your last name.’
His mustache twitched. ‘Nobody does. Let’s sit down.’ He waited until they were seated – Alistair on one side of the table, Thorne and Gwyn on the other – before leaning forward. ‘Where was your crab boat?’ he asked, his tone challenging.
‘A little nothing town called Anderson Ferry on the Eastern Shore.’
‘I’ve been there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied without missing a beat. She’d run away at sixteen and had only been back once. And that had ended very poorly.
His mustache twitched again. ‘Crabs were good,’ was all he said, then sat back, his palms flat on the newspaper. ‘So, Thorne. You’ve got yourself a situation.’
‘That I know. Do you know anything else? Something that would be news to me perhaps?’
Cold blue eyes regarded them. ‘I owe you a debt,’ Alistair said. ‘That is the only reason you’re still breathing.’
Gwyn drew a breath and let it out slowly.
Thorne was as steady as he’d been with that douchebag Chandler Nystrom just hours before. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with your boys getting killed. I hope you know that.’
‘I do. But it wouldn’t have mattered. If I hadn’t owed you anything, I would have been . . . remiss had I not avenged my brothers. But I do owe you. Because of you, my son has a life. Avery’s doing well, by the way.’
Ah, Gwyn thought. Avery was the young man that Thorne had represented in court – and the one he’d encouraged to testify against Tavilla’s son, Colin. Now a few things made more sense.
Thorne’s lips curved. ‘I know. I get a card every Christmas.’
‘His mama raised him right.’ Alistair drummed his fingers on the table briefly, then stilled them. ‘Once we’re done here, my debt is paid.’
‘Understood. And thank you for not killing us,’ Thorne added dryly.
Another mustache twitch. ‘You’re welcome. Your bartender was a plant.’
Gwyn blinked, stunned. A quick glance up showed Thorne doing the same.
‘What do you know about our bartender?’ she asked, because Thorne was still blinking. ‘We’re talking about Laura, right?’
A single nod. ‘She didn’t go by that name when she tried to infiltrate the Freaks. She introduced herself to us as Bianca. She attached herself to Bart and for a while she fooled us. Luckily for us, Bart was a jealous bastard and followed her one night because he suspected her of cheating.’
‘Bart was?’ Gwyn asked.
‘He was one of the young men found stuffed with your matchbooks,’ Alistair said, his eyes growing even colder, something Gwyn hadn’t thought possible.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. That meant Bart had been at Sheidalin on Sunday night. ‘Did she recognize him?’
‘He recognized her,’ Alistair corrected. ‘But she must have seen him too, because he’s dead.’
‘Where did she go the night Bart followed her? Back when she was trying to infiltrate the Freaks?’ Thorne asked, but his tone said that he already knew the answer, and in that moment, so did Gwyn.
‘F—’ She broke off the curse, unsure about biker gang etiquette. ‘No way. Are you saying that Bianca, Laura, whoever she was, was working for’ – she lowered her voice – ‘Tavilla?’
Alistair nodded once. ‘She left Bart’s bed and went to the restaurant Tavilla enjoys.’
‘Bruno’s,’ Thorne said flatly.
‘High cuisine,’ Alistair sneered. ‘He’s an arrogant prick. Thinks because he wears two-thousand-dollar suits and sips champagne with his pinky out that he’s some kind of gentleman.’
‘When he’s just a common thug,’ Thorne murmured, even though he also wore an expensive suit. ‘Like the two of us.’
Alistair grunted. ‘Not as good as the two of us. Smarmy little punk.’
Thorne chuckled. ‘I wish you were legit, Alistair. I’d invite you to my poker game.’
The mustache twitched again, this time revealing a glimpse of white teeth. ‘I’d rob you blind.’
‘I know.’ Still gripping Gwyn’s hand, Thorne raked his other hand through his hair. ‘We missed something on the background check.’
Alistair nodded. ‘I’d have to agree with that.’
Gwyn cleared her throat. ‘How did your guys end up at Sheidalin on Sunday?’
One massive tattooed shoulder lifted. ‘I sent them there. I’ve had my eye on your club for years. Too bad it’s closed. Really. Even if we weren’t able to strike a deal with you on the inside, we’ve made a mint selling to your clients as they leave.’
Thorne winced. ‘I don’t want to know that. Now I have to stop you when we open again. Because we will open again.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to get bored, Thorne,’ Alistair drawled. He pulled a piece of paper from a pocket inside his vest and handed it across. ‘Final payment on my debt.’
Thorne unfolded it and frowned. ‘Who is . . .’ He squinted. ‘That’s Laura. Bianca. Whoever.’
‘Her real name is Kathryn. She’s worked for Tavilla for years. What’s wrong?’
Thorne had grown very, very still. At last he seemed to shake himself, then he refolded the paper and slid it into his own pocket. ‘Thank you, Alistair. Truly.’
Alistair looked like he’d press the issue, and Gwyn sensed that this was a topic Thorne would not discuss. She leaned forward, catching the biker’s eye. ‘If I may . . .’ she began, encouraged when he nodded. ‘Why is your club named Circus Freaks?’
‘Because I come from a circus family,’ he answered, surprising her. ‘My grandfather was a strongman. So was my father. He was even bigger than me.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ she said sincerely, and it was true. ‘I know sideshow performers, and they’re salt of the earth. I’m glad you’re not just using their name.’
Alistair studied her. ‘You were a contortionist.’
Again he’d surprised her. ‘Everyone always remembers that,’ she grumbled. ‘I was also a tightrope performer.’
‘Not such a good one, since you got hurt. Which is why you left the circus.’
It was a fair assessment. ‘You really did your research.’ That factoid wasn’t in the bio posted on the club’s website.
‘Of course. I figured he’d bring you. You’ve been joined at the hip for days.’
‘You’ve been watching us,’ she said, injecting just a tiny bit of challenge.
‘And I’m not the only one. Be careful, little contortionist,’ he said very seriously. ‘Some of the people watching you are not as nice as I am.’
‘We will.’ She offered her hand. ‘Thank you again for not killing us.’
He took her hand in his meaty paw, shaking it gently. ‘You’re welcome. Now go. My hospitality only extends so far.’
Gwyn rose, tugging Thorne with her. He followed, his brows knit. Clearly troubled.
She waited until they were in the SUV before asking, ‘What was that?’ He gave her the paper and she scrutinized the photo of Laura, aka Bianca, aka Kathryn, apparently. ‘She looks really different. Not just hair color, but she wore facial prosthetics or something when she worked for us. Her face is almost like a stranger’s.’
‘Not so much,’ he said. He opened his phone, swiped and tapped the screen, then handed it to her. ‘This is a photo Ramirez sent to me last August.’
A tanned man in a suit and tie sat next to Cesar Tavilla, who had a pretty young woman perched on his knee. ‘Is that Gage Jarvis?’
The man who’d killed his wife and tried to kill his daughter because she’d witnessed the murder. Thorne had helped Joseph and JD catch him, and this act of decency had drawn Tavilla’s attention once again.
‘Yes. Look at the woman on his knee.’
Gwyn enlarged the photo and gasped. It was the woman they’d known as Laura. The woman who’d set them up on drug charges and who’d likely cleaned out half of their cash reserves.
‘She worked for us for six months,’ Thorne said. ‘And all the time he was waiting. Just waiting.’
Her blood ran cold. ‘He’s been planning to take you down for a long time then,’ she murmured. ‘He pulled the trigger when his son died in prison.’
Thorne started the SUV and pulled away from the crab shack. ‘Laura slipped right through the background check. We need to talk to Anne and find out how this happened. Can you call Jamie? He’s got all the employee files. He can give us her address.’
Gwyn started to do as he asked, then froze, her pulse leaping into the stratosphere. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. She enlarged the photo to maximum scale, her heart threatening to break through her ribs. ‘Thorne,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God. Pull over. Now.’
With a screech of brakes, he complied, pulling onto the shoulder. Wordlessly, her hand trembling, she handed him back his phone.
She knew the moment he spotted the woman standing in the back of the room, behind the seated Tavilla. Dressed in a simple white sheath dress, her blond hair in an elegant twist, she exuded wealth and dignity.
Thorne’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He swallowed, moistened his lips. ‘Anne,’ he said hoarsely. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’ But she did know that if she’d been halfway human for the last four years, Anne wouldn’t have been hired in the first place. ‘This is a problem.’
‘Yeah. She’s had access to all our client records at the law firm. She knows everything.’
They sat in silence, trying to absorb this new truth. The silence was broken by the buzzing of Thorne’s phone. Caller ID was Jamie. He put him on speaker.
‘I’m here with Gwyn,’ Thorne said, his voice still hoarse. ‘Is it Phil?’
‘No,’ Jamie said, his own voice tight. ‘Phil is fine. I’m standing outside his room right now. But we have some new developments.’
Thorne’s laugh was painful to hear. ‘So do we. You go first.’
‘I’ve gotten several phone calls from clients. Someone is blackmailing them with information that they swear was told only to you.’
Thorne closed his eyes. Again he tried to speak and couldn’t.
‘Are you there?’ Jamie demanded.
‘He’s here,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s Anne, Jamie. And Laura from the club. They both work for Tavilla.’
There was a moment of shocked silence. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. We have a photo showing them together. All three of them. Laura’s real name is Kathryn. We don’t know Anne’s yet.’
‘This is a nightmare,’ Jamie murmured. ‘I have to think. Is Thorne all right?’
Thorne was staring out the window, his normally dark skin gone gray.
‘No, he’s not all right, but I’ll get him safely to you.’ She checked the side mirror. JD had stopped behind them, but he hadn’t approached yet, which she’d expected him to do. Instead he was sitting gazing straight ahead. ‘What else has happened, Jamie?’
‘Stevie was shot at again. She’s okay, but the bullet grazed her arm. It was her cane arm and she lost her balance and went down. No more bullets were fired, even though she was a sitting duck at that point. She said the shooter was either incredibly skilled or incredibly clumsy.’
Thorne had grown deathly pale. Gwyn unsnapped her seat belt and twisted to her knees, reaching for his chin. ‘Thorne. Thorne!’
He stared down at her, devastated anew. ‘He’s taking it all apart. Piece by piece. My family, my friends, the club, the firm. Phil. Stevie.’ He seemed to age before her eyes. ‘You.’ He pushed her from her knees back to sitting, then kept pushing until she lay sideways, her head on the console. All the while his hands were gentle, but shaking. She allowed it, allowed him to get her out of view of the windows, not reminding him that Joseph’s SUV was nearly bulletproof because she didn’t think he would even hear her words.
‘I’m okay, Thorne,’ she said instead, keeping her voice calm. ‘Stevie’s okay. Phil is okay. We are all okay.’
‘He could be out there. Anywhere. I should have shipped you off somewhere safe. Why didn’t I send you somewhere safe? Why didn’t I . . . I should have . . .’ His voice broke. ‘But it wouldn’t have helped,’ he whispered, sounding so damn vulnerable.
Fear skittered through her. This wasn’t Thorne. This wasn’t her Thorne. ‘What wouldn’t have helped?’ she asked quietly.
‘Thorne.’ Jamie’s voice cracked through the phone, filled with the same fear.
But Thorne didn’t answer. Gwyn grabbed a handful of his tie and yanked with all her strength. She tipped her head up, fixing her gaze on him. ‘What wouldn’t have helped? Offering yourself?’ she demanded when he continued to say nothing.
He nodded. ‘He doesn’t want me to die. He doesn’t want me to physically suffer. He knows this is worse.’ He swallowed. ‘So much worse.’
She tugged his tie, bringing him closer until his face was inches from hers. ‘We aren’t going to let him win.’ She glanced at the phone. ‘Right, Jamie?’
‘Right,’ Jamie said grimly. ‘Meet me at Clay and Stevie’s. We’ll figure out what to do.’
As soon as she ended the call, JD’s face appeared at the window, looking even more haggard than Thorne. New fear grabbed her throat, because JD was pale and shaking. Lucy. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, no, no.’
JD tapped on the window and Thorne seemed to wilt, his whole body shaking now as he popped the lock and opened his door. JD gripped the frame, his shoulders sagging.
‘She’s alive,’ JD rasped. ‘Lucy. And the kids. But our house is on fire. She got them out in time. They’re okay.’
Thorne turned in his seat, facing JD. ‘I’m . . .’ He didn’t say the word ‘sorry’. He just grabbed JD and pulled him into an embrace, taking the other man’s weight and holding him as he shook. Gwyn slid over the console, draping her body over Thorne’s back and holding them both. They clung that way until JD got hold of himself and pulled away, wiping at his wet cheeks.
‘Oh God,’ JD murmured. ‘This sucks.’
Gwyn snorted a surprised laugh, wiping away her own tears. ‘Yeah, it does. Where is Lucy now?’
‘On her way to the airport with Joseph,’ JD said.
‘Airport?’ she asked cautiously. ‘That was fast.’
‘Yeah.’ JD’s lips twisted. ‘She kept her head. Called Joseph first because she knew that once she called me, she’d have to stay on the phone to keep me from losing my shit. Joseph picked her and the kids up and took them straight to Martin State.’
The small airport served private jets, Gwyn knew. A few of the higher-priced bands that had played Sheidalin had flown into Martin State. ‘Does Joseph have his own plane?’ Joseph was rich, but she didn’t know he was that rich.
‘His father does. Joseph’s sent cars for Paige and Stevie too, to take them to the airport.’
‘And Julie?’ Gwyn asked, thinking of Frederick.
JD nodded, still shaky. ‘Yes. She’s still at Stevie’s. Joseph was pissed off at me for not telling him about the plan to drive them all to Chicago. He’s taking them there himself. He insists flying is safer.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I need to get to the airport. I need to see them before they go.’
Gwyn took a long look at Thorne. Giving JD comfort had seemed to bring him back from his own abyss. The haunted look was gone, replaced with the grim determination she’d come to rely on. ‘JD isn’t safe to drive,’ she murmured.
‘But I am. You take JD. I’ll follow.’ He kissed her, hard and fast. ‘I’ve got your back.’
‘I know you do.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 4.40 P.M.
He rewound the video and played it again, smiling as he thought of the way the former homicide detective had gone down with just one small bullet graze. His body camera had caught it all, so beautifully it was as if he’d hired a movie director. Stevie Mazzetti-Maynard had hit the ground without so much as a yelp, though, and for that he reluctantly admired her.
When she’d realized what had happened, she’d been more pissed off than hurt or even afraid. By the time she’d crawled across the pavement to get her cell phone, then crawled closer to the big black SUV she’d been driving, he’d had his rifle disassembled and in its case. By the time she’d called the police, he was in his own vehicle.
And by the time sirens could be heard, he was driving the other way.
He wished he could see Thorne’s face when he learned of the latest shooting. The last time, he’d trusted Patton with the job, because he was to have intentionally missed, which Patton had done. This time, though, it had required a little more finesse. He didn’t want to kill Stevie Mazzetti-Maynard. He just wanted Thorne to know that he could. He’d hit her just enough to cause pain, but not enough to cause serious injury.
And he could do it at any time to any of them. And he would. Tomorrow they were planning to leave. At least some of them. The most vulnerable. They were sending their women and children away in vans. Driving them to ‘safety’.
He didn’t plan to kill them. Not yet. But he would show them that they couldn’t escape him. Though if after he shot at their tires they crashed into a tree and suffered all kinds of injuries . . . that would be just fine.
He hoped they planned to properly secure the children in car seats.
He paused the video at the sound of a light knock on his office door. ‘Come in.’
Margo stuck her head in. She did not look happy. In fact, she appeared nervous. ‘Hi, Papa.’
He waved her in and pointed to the chair. ‘Is it Benny?’
‘No, he’s fine. Just teething and drooling.’ She glanced down at her blouse. ‘I changed twice before I left the house this morning.’ Squaring her shoulders, she folded her hands in her lap. ‘I have bad news for you. They’ve already gone.’
He froze. ‘Who?’
‘The women and children. They were flown out by private plane. About an hour ago.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You knew nothing of this?’
She moistened her lips. ‘No. I didn’t make any of the reservations. It was handled by the FBI. The shot you fired on the ex-cop this morning, followed by Patton’s arson at the Fitzpatrick home, prompted them to fast action.’
Rage flared within him, but he put it aside. They were protecting their most vulnerable. ‘Where will they go?’
‘I’m trying to get my hands on the flight plans. I can tell you that the plane is owned by Agent Joseph Carter’s father. The Carter family owns several pieces of property all over the country as well as abroad. I assume they’d go to one of those places.’
He drummed his fingers on the desktop, attempting not to feel like a child who’d had his favorite toy stolen. ‘I see. What about the fire? Patton left the box?’
‘Yes. When the fire cools, they’ll find it filled with matchbooks from the Crabshack and Circus Freaks patches. But I don’t think they’ll buy it.’
‘Why not?’ he snapped. ‘Alistair’s love of fire is well known.’
‘Because Alistair doesn’t believe Thorne is responsible for the deaths of his two gang members. He and Thorne met today at the Crabshack, right about the same time that Patton was setting fire to the Fitzpatrick home.’
Margo delivered the words with no emotion whatsoever. Still they felt like a rebuke. A reprimand. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Same way I know that they’d planned to ship everyone to Chicago by van. I can still hear every word they say in the Maynard home. The men, along with Gwyn, arrived moments ago. Thorne and Gwyn were arguing because Gwyn refused to get on the plane.’
‘So she’s still here? She’ll have to be good enough for now.’
Margo hesitated. ‘They also know about me.’
His hand closed into a fist. ‘How?’
She shrugged delicately. ‘I don’t know. But there was a lot of “Fuck Anne” and “If I get my hands on her . . .” You know. The usual. They don’t know who I am, but they know I work for you.’
‘You heard all this?’
‘Clear as a bell. The microphone I stuck in the box of client files broadcasts beautifully. And so far there’s been no attempt to block our signal.’
He blew out a breath. He hadn’t thought this would be easy. Thorne’s friends were a formidable group. He had, however, expected them to turn on the defense attorney, or at least abandon him. He had to admire their loyalty. ‘They don’t know that we can hear them?’
‘No. They think they’re arranging a temptation that you won’t be able to resist.’
‘The christening on Saturday.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Let’s let them keep thinking that. Let me know as soon as you find out where the women and children have gone. I haven’t finished playing with them yet.’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you found a way into the judge’s safe deposit box for that incriminating letter?’
‘No, sir. Not yet, but I’m still working on it.’
‘Work faster.’
She rose. ‘I will. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.’