Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 11.55 P.M.
Gwyn was staring at Thorne. ‘It was just . . . gone? How could a medal have just disappeared from a dead body?’
Jamie set the magnifier aside, his hands trembling.
Patricia Linden Segal’s murderer was no ordinary copycat. It was somebody who knew details that weren’t public.
Jamie rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘We thought at the time that one of the EMTs or morgue employees took it. We never knew why. We didn’t press, because it was better for Thorne that it disappeared.’
Gwyn’s frown deepened. ‘Why?’
‘Because I had one of those medals,’ Thorne said. He swallowed hard, forcing back the bile that burned his throat. ‘They were given to everyone on the soccer team for making it to the state championships that year. I put mine with all my other trophies in my bedroom, but Richard had a hole bored in his and made it into a key ring. That’s what I saw shoved into his gut. It still had a key on it.’
‘But it disappeared,’ Jamie reiterated. ‘And so had Thorne’s.’
Phil stood behind Thorne, hands covering his shoulders. ‘Thorne’s mother and stepfather cleared out his room when he was arrested. By the time we got him out on bail, they’d put all this things on the curb and the garbage truck had come by and taken them.’
Thorne watched Gwyn’s expression morph from shock to sympathy to rage.
‘Everything?’ she asked.
‘Everything,’ Thorne confirmed. ‘Every photo, comic book, piece of clothing. All my CDs. All my trophies. All my notes from classes. My bicycle. Everything.’
Jamie’s voice was bitter. ‘When he came to us, he didn’t even have the shirt on his back, because he’d used it to try to stop Richard’s bleeding.’
Gwyn swallowed hard, her expression going carefully neutral. Which meant her temper was boiling. ‘So you didn’t know where your medals were. Which meant that you couldn’t prove it wasn’t one of yours in the body.’
‘Essentially,’ Thorne said quietly.
‘So who did know about the medal in Richard Linden’s body?’
Jamie sighed. ‘Thorne knew. And the real killer, obviously, assuming he was the one who’d put it there. The EMT would have seen it. Possibly the morgue tech, if it was still there when the body was cleaned up. Whoever plucked it out of the body knew about it.’
‘The cops knew.’ Thorne’s jaw tightened, remembering. ‘Because I told them. I told Detective Prew. I don’t think he believed me.’
Jamie looked sick. ‘I advised Thorne not to press it. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.’ He ran a shaking hand through his hair. ‘Shit.’ But then he looked up and over Thorne’s shoulder, meeting Phil’s eyes. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he promised, making a visible effort to be calm.
‘I know,’ Phil said unsteadily, his hands clenching on Thorne’s shoulders protectively. Almost painfully.
‘It means that whoever killed Patricia Segal did not get all his info from court transcripts,’ Thorne said, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
‘But it would have been in the police report.’ Gwyn cocked her head. ‘Right? If you’d told the police you’d seen it, the detective would have listed that in the report. Patricia’s murderer could still have gotten the info that way.’
Thorne shook his head. ‘No. It didn’t end up in the police report either.’
She blinked. ‘Why not?’
‘Don’t know.’ He closed his eyes. ‘But I saw the report, and it wasn’t there. There were moments when I thought I’d fabricated it in my mind. That I was delusional.’
‘I imagine it’s normal to second-guess yourself in that situation,’ she said quietly. ‘You were so young and under so much stress. Grieving Sherri.’ A beat of silence. ‘Did Sherri see it?’
Surprised at the question, he opened his eyes to see hers narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see it until right at the end. Just before the cops showed up. I’d been using my shirt as a makeshift bandage, so that I could put pressure on the wound. But it was so huge, the wound. It soaked my shirt, so I took off my T-shirt to use, and when I removed the first shirt, that was when I got a glimpse of the medal with the key in the wound. Sherri was on the phone up by the office by then. Seconds later, the place was swarming with cops. So if you’re wondering if she was killed for seeing that, no. Unlikely anyway.’
‘That was what I was wondering. What was the key to?’
It was Thorne’s turn to blink. ‘I have no idea. Never even thought to wonder.’
‘You’re wondering if the key itself was the reason it was removed from Richard’s body?’ Jamie asked, respect in his tone.
Gwyn shrugged. ‘It just seems like a weird thing to steal off a body. It didn’t have any real worth. Not like Richard was a celebrity or the medal was from the Olympics or anything. The medal wasn’t diamond-encrusted and . . . I mean, ew. They had to stick their hand in a frickin’ body to get it. That’s just gross.’
Jamie seemed to be considering the notion. ‘Not if the EMT took it, or someone in the morgue. EMTs get bloody on a routine basis, and morgue employees can’t be too grossed out by bodies or they wouldn’t last long. We need to add the names of the EMTs and the morgue personnel to our list of people to interview.’
Thorne suddenly felt a million years old. ‘I don’t remember their names.’
‘Neither do I,’ Jamie said. ‘But they’re listed in the court transcripts because they testified for the prosecution. I’ve got all those files in a box in the basement.’
‘I can fetch it for you,’ Thorne offered, but Jamie shook his head.
‘That’s okay. I know exactly where it is.’ And he had a small elevator that transported him to the basement and back again.
Thorne knew better than to argue, so he just nodded.
‘Well,’ Gwyn said on a sigh, ‘the ME is going to find the medal in Patricia’s body, if he hasn’t already. He’ll tell Hyatt’s detectives and they’ll ask you questions about it. What will you tell them?’
‘The truth,’ Thorne said without hesitation.
Phil’s hands clenched again, and Thorne winced but said nothing because he sensed that Phil was holding on by a thread.
‘I think that’s the wisest thing at this point,’ Phil murmured. ‘Offer nothing. Answer what you can when asked. Besides, many of us saw Richard with the medal after he’d made it into a key ring. Your coach thought he was a total dickhead for drilling a hole in it, by the way. Any one of the old teaching staff still around can ID it as belonging to Richard.’ Giving Thorne’s shoulders a final pat, Phil moved away, clearing the mugs from the table to the sink, and Thorne noticed with a start that the older man’s face had grown gray. ‘Phil? You okay?’
Phil smiled. ‘Of course. Just tired.’ He pointed to the clock on the wall. ‘We’re seeing Prew at nine thirty tomorrow morning, so we should get some sleep. Rush hour’s a bitch. I’ll get you some sheets and blankets, Gwyn.’ He moved slowly, and Thorne was distressed to realize that age was creeping up on the two men who’d taken him in when he’d had no one.
On Phil, at least. Jamie still looked ten years younger than his partner. He always had. He’d been nearly forty that day in the jail, but Thorne remembered thinking he looked about thirty. Which had seemed ancient at the time.
He stayed Phil with a touch to his arm. ‘I’ll take the sofa,’ he said. ‘Gwyn can sleep in my room.’
Gwyn frowned. ‘No, I’m taking the sofa. You’ll never fit.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I’m not planning to sleep.’
Three sets of eyes now frowned at him. ‘Thorne,’ Jamie said with a shake of his head. ‘Please. Don’t do this to yourself.’
‘I have to,’ he murmured. ‘They could come after any of you. All of you.’ Because of me. It was too overwhelming.
‘And you’re our guardian?’ Gwyn asked, a thread of annoyance in her voice that Thorne hadn’t expected, and he jerked around to stare at her.
‘Yes,’ he snapped back. ‘You have a problem with that?’
Her chin went up. ‘Yeah, I do. I never asked you to be my guardian. I don’t want you to be my guardian. There is a good security system here and a cop sitting out on the curb. What I want is for you to be well rested so that when we leave this safe place tomorrow, you can be on your guard in case someone tries to hurt you in the light of day. I want you well rested so that you can listen to what people are telling you and what they are not saying. Because if you think they’re just going to fess up like you’re some Perry-fucking-Mason, you have another think coming.’
He found himself snarling at her. ‘Back off, Gwyn. You’re the one who said everyone in my fucking sphere is in fucking danger. You’re the one who said you’d be safer with me. That all of you would be safer with me.’
She straightened in her chair. ‘No, I didn’t.’
From the corner of his eye he saw Jamie blanch, as if realizing that his own words were at fault. But Thorne’s attention was riveted once again by Gwyn, who pushed to her feet, leaning across the table until he was breathing in the scent of lavender and vanilla.
‘What I said was that I wanted you safe, with people who care about you.’ She gestured to Jamie and Phil. ‘I wanted these people who care about you to benefit from the cop on the curb. Yes, I did say that everyone in your sphere was in danger, but I never said you were responsible for guarding anyone other than yourself.’
‘That was me,’ Jamie said quietly. ‘And I was wrong to have said it. I’m sorry, son.’
Helpless fury surged in Thorne’s chest and he heard himself utter a frustrated growl. ‘Don’t apologize. You were right,’ he snapped at Jamie, then pointed at Gwyn. ‘And you’re wrong. This is happening because of me. That it’s not my fault doesn’t matter. What does matter is keeping you safe. All of you. So I will sit on that fucking sofa and keep watch.’
Her jaw tightened, but she kept her voice calm. ‘I am not sleeping in your bed, Thorne.’
That she managed to stay calm when he wasn’t . . . it just made him angrier. Which he knew was ridiculous, but damned if he could stop himself.
‘Fine.’ He stood slowly and watched her eyes narrow, because in her bare feet she was a full foot and a half shorter than him. He leaned across the table, purposely looming over her, and watched her eyes flash with resentment. ‘Stay awake all night then, but stay out of my way while you do it.’ He grabbed the copy of the crime scene photo she’d taken and slapped it on the table between them. ‘This is what they’re capable of doing. Do you think I want that to happen to you? To any of you?’
She craned her head back to lock her gaze with his. ‘Of course you don’t,’ she said, still maddeningly calm. ‘Nobody said that. But there is a cop sitting out there on the curb and it’s his job to keep the bad guys away from us.’
She might seem collected, but her eye had started to twitch. He’d known her long enough to be aware that that was her tell. She was one tiny push away from losing her temper, and he suddenly needed her to. Needed to know he wasn’t the only one scared shitless by this whole situation. ‘Like the cops can be depended on to keep people safe?’ He hated the sneer in his voice, but he had to make her recognize that the threat was real. That four walls and a cop outside weren’t enough to ensure her safety. ‘How’d that work for you and Lucy four years ago?’ Because cops had been guarding Lucy, and Evan had still managed to get them both.
Gwyn flinched, growing pale, and Thorne instantly knew he’d overstepped.
‘Thorne,’ Phil murmured in shocked reproach. ‘Stop. Now.’
‘I’m s—’
She interrupted his apology with a raised hand. ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, but her voice cracked on the single word. She took a step away from the table. Away from him. When she spoke again, it was at a normal volume, but shaky. ‘Suit yourself. Stay awake all night. Then tomorrow, when you need decent reflexes and you have none because you are exhausted because you were fucking drugged last night and should still be in the goddamn hospital, your reflexes will say “Sorry, dude, we’re plumb tuckered” and you’ll get hurt. And then what? Who’ll have to bind you up and call 911 and hope you don’t fucking die?’ Her finger jabbed at the air between them and tears filled her eyes.
Her tears shocked him like none of her words had. ‘Gwyn, I’m sor—’ he started, but once again she swept her hand between them, silencing him.
‘Me,’ she spat. ‘I’m the one who’ll have to watch you bleed. Or lie so still that I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I had to call them this morning.’ Blindly she indicated Jamie and Phil, who watched wide-eyed. ‘I had to tell them that you were non-responsive. They freaked out because you were fucking non-responsive, Thorne. And because they love you like a goddamn son, which makes you lucky, because not all of us get that. So go ahead.’ She blinked and the tears streaked down her face. ‘Go ahead and stay awake all night worrying because you think that’s all we need you for.’
‘Gwyn . . .’ He wasn’t sure what else to say, but it didn’t matter because she’d already marched herself out of the kitchen.
‘I assume the room with all the posters of Pamela Anderson in a tiny Baywatch bathing suit is Thorne’s old room?’ she called behind her.
Phil coughed. ‘Yes,’ he called back. ‘That’s the one.’
Thorne rubbed his chest, because it physically hurt. She’d cried. Over me. And he’d hurt her when that was the last thing he’d really wanted to do. But he couldn’t put words to any of that now. He forced his eyes to roll. ‘Really, guys? I took those posters down years ago.’
Jamie’s eyes were still wide. ‘We put them up today because we assumed you were coming here to recuperate. We thought it would make you laugh.’
He blew out a sigh. ‘Sure,’ he drawled. ‘This is a laugh riot.’
Phil pursed his lips. ‘Gwyn’s right, you know. She was terrified for you this morning. I knew it was bad, because she was falling apart. In all the years I’ve known her, all the times we’ve talked, I’ve never seen her as scared as she was today.’
Thorne sank back into the chair, exhausted. ‘I know.’ He’d considered how she’d felt finding him in bed with another woman, but not how she’d felt at finding him near death. She was always so . . . strong. So Gwyn.
Except right after Evan, and even then she’d kept her trauma buried deep. Nobody knew that she’d sat in Thorne’s bed and rocked herself for hours after she was safe. Nobody knew but Thorne, because he’d held her every painful minute that she’d been lost in her own mind, reliving the worst experience of her life. He’d held her as she’d rocked, willing her to come back to him.
She’d never let herself fall apart in front of anyone else. Yet today, she had.
‘You were a dick to her,’ Jamie stated.
Thorne dropped his head in his hands with a groan. ‘I know. I’ll apologize when she cools down. I just . . . I lost it. Today’s been a shitty day.’
Phil was pragmatic as usual. ‘You may have to wait until morning to apologize, because she’s really upset. And now she’s taken the bed, so you’re stuck with the sofa. We do have an inflatable mattress. We’re told it’s quite comfortable. I’ll go get it.’
That left Jamie and Thorne alone. Jamie reached over and rubbed Thorne’s arm lightly. ‘You need to talk about it?’
Thorne recoiled. ‘No. God, no.’
Jamie’s chuckle was low and familiar. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, she cares about you. That much is clear.’
‘Squarely in the friend zone,’ he said, fighting tears of his own. He’d already lost it once. He was not going to cry on top of it all.
‘Maybe. Maybe not. She’s been walking in a fog for four years, Thorne. Let her wake up a little more. Let her feel like she’s in control of her own decisions. Let her be in control of her own decisions.’
‘And if she decides that I’m not worth the risk?’
Jamie sighed. ‘Well, I would question her sanity, but I’m a little biased in your favor. But seriously, if she decides that, then you respect it and find a way to move forward. Easier said than done, I know. But you won’t be entirely alone. You still have family, Thorne. And we won’t leave you. Ever.’
Thorne’s eyes stung. ‘Thank you.’
Jamie rolled his chair away from the table. Moments later, Thorne was enfolded in strong arms that had been there for him for more than half his life. The same strong arms that had held him when he’d collapsed after learning of Sherri’s death, too shocked to cry. He’d shaken so hard he’d thought his bones would separate, and it had been Jamie who’d held him together.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘For being all I’ve ever needed.’ He lifted his head and rested his forehead against Jamie’s, the gesture one he’d learned from his father and had shared with Jamie all these years.
Jamie’s palms held Thorne’s cheeks lightly, then he backed away. ‘I’ve got to get some sleep. As Gwyn so wisely pointed out, we need to be alert and on guard tomorrow. And every day thereafter until this is just a bad memory.’
‘This too shall pass,’ Thorne murmured, and shoved to his feet as wearily as Phil had, which made him worry about his old teacher all over again. ‘Jamie, is Phil okay?’
Jamie stiffened. ‘Why?’
Thorne rolled his eyes, but new dread seemed to settle around them. ‘Oh, like that was subtle.’ He could hear the panic in his own voice. ‘Tell me what you know.’
Jamie scrubbed his palms over his face. ‘He’s seeing a cardiologist. He’ll be okay, but he might need a procedure before it’s all fixed up. Probably just a balloon angioplasty. It’s not that bad.’
Thorne had trouble sucking in a breath. Fear, even more visceral than before, had taken hold of his throat, and he had to force the words out. ‘Which one of us are you trying to convince? How long has this been going on?’
‘Not long. A few weeks. He wanted to tell you, but couldn’t find the right time. Today was definitely not the right time. But let him tell you himself, Thomas. And when he does, know that he will be all right.’ Jamie’s lips trembled and he firmed them resolutely. ‘He’s a tough bastard. A lot tougher than he looks.’ He raised a brow. ‘So get some rest tonight. Don’t make him worry about you even more, okay?’
Thorne exhaled in a rush, suddenly lightheaded at the thought of losing Phil. It could not happen. But Jamie looked terrified, even though he was trying to hide it, so he dug deep and found some sass. ‘Guilting me much?’
Jamie pasted a smile on his face. ‘Only because it works. Goodnight, Thomas.’
‘Goodnight.’ Thorne waited until Jamie had wheeled from the room before sinking back into the kitchen chair and dropping his head into his hands once more.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 12.30 A.M.
Gwyn carefully closed the door to Thorne’s bedroom and slumped, wanting to bang her head against the wall. God, I’m such a bitch. Throwing that tantrum in front of her hosts. Why can’t I ever just keep my damn mouth shut?
But she had kept her mouth shut. For the past four years she’d been holding everything inside.
And Thorne had been silently waiting. All that time.
The knowledge thrilled and terrified her in equal measures.
A quiet knock on her door made her jump. She pulled it open to find a tired-looking Phil. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Gwyn. I need to look for the air mattress.’
Cheeks heating, she stepped aside to allow him entry. ‘You really don’t need to. I’ll sleep on the sofa.’ She glanced at the California king bed that took up nearly all the square footage of the room. ‘This is his bed. Besides, I can’t take all the Baywatch.’ She gestured to the posters. ‘That’s a lot of cleavage.’
Phil winced. ‘You can take them down if you want. We put them up as a joke. Ended up not being the right night for that kind of humor. But good luck getting Thorne to change his mind about the sofa, although Jamie and I thought you made an excellent attempt.’
Gwyn sighed. ‘I’m not normally so impolite.’
‘We took no offense. Just the opposite, actually. You care about him. And you saw him near death today. I’d say you’re entitled to a little upset.’
Her legs went rubbery at the reminder and she sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve never seen him so still,’ she whispered. ‘Thorne is always full of life. But today he wasn’t. He scared me.’
‘You acted quickly and probably saved him. We’re grateful.’
‘I . . . He’s important to me too.’
Phil patted her shoulder and sank down to sit on the bed beside her. ‘You didn’t know he had feelings for you?’
‘No,’ she whispered, then frowned. ‘Did he tell you?’
‘No. Thorne’s never been that open with his feelings. But we could tell by the way he speaks about you, and the way he looks at you. And we could tell something had happened when you went to wake him up earlier. You both looked upset. You looked bewildered. He looked shattered.’
Gwyn closed her eyes, regret a sharp spear in her chest. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him. But I didn’t know.’ Not until Lucy had raised the possibility early this morning. Or at least I didn’t know that I knew. She looked into the kind eyes of Thorne’s foster father and decided to trust him because Thorne did. ‘I’m confused. I don’t want to hurt him, not ever. I just don’t know what to do.’
‘You’re allowed to be confused. You’re allowed to take your time to figure things out. And once you have, you’re allowed to say no. Although,’ he continued when her mouth fell open, ‘I don’t know why you would. He’s a fine catch.’
‘Yes, he is. All the women want him.’
‘And yet he’s had no one for years.’
‘Four years,’ she murmured. Again the knowledge that he’d waited all that time. ‘I don’t know why he’d even bother with me. I’m . . . messed up. And not always very nice.’
‘He seems to like you anyway,’ Phil noted. ‘You don’t have to decide tonight or even tomorrow. Just don’t keep him hanging too long. I have to say, though, the timing of his revelation is very unfortunate. Blurting it out on a day that was already intense doesn’t sound like the careful Thorne we know. Why now?’
She pursed her lips, considering her answer, then shrugged. ‘I found him in time this morning because I’d just discovered that he’d been chasing all my dates away. I’d gone to yell at him.’
Phil chuckled. ‘All right. That sounds like the Thorne we know. It was a shitty thing to do, but I can picture him doing it.’
‘This evening I made him tell me why. Lucy warned me that this might be the case, that he had feelings for me, so I wasn’t, like, blindsided.’
‘But?’ Phil prompted.
She shook her head, uncomfortable saying more. Uncomfortable that he’d felt that way for seven fucking years. That was a fifth of his life, wasted.
‘He needs to be focused right now,’ was all she could think to say. ‘We all do.’
‘I agree,’ Phil said. ‘And on that note, I’ll say goodnight. I’ll leave getting Thorne to sleep in your capable hands. You’ll find sheets and a blanket in his closet.’
He left the room, but Gwyn didn’t move. Sitting on the edge of Thorne’s big bed, she stared up at the wall of posters featuring Pamela Anderson and every other big-bosomed actress of the 1990s. It was a side of Thorne that she hadn’t anticipated, and it made her . . .
Irritable, she decided. Because if that’s what Thorne wants, he’s shit outta luck. That is not me and never will be.
It wasn’t like she was unhappy with her body, because she wasn’t. She was thirty-eight but barely looked thirty. At least that was what she was told. And she was vain enough to want to believe it.
Thorne, of course, was built like a god. That was indisputable. And if she said she’d never wondered what it would be like with him, she’d be a dirty liar. She hadn’t gone to all his neighborhood league soccer games because she’d been a sports fan, for God’s sake. It was because Thorne in a pair of shorts was too much perfection to pass up. But she’d never let it go beyond idle wondering – and maybe some lusting – because they’d been friends.
And because she’d never thought she would have a chance in hell. He’d always dated women who looked like the airbrushed bimbos on the posters. Flight attendants, traveling saleswomen, singers who played Sheidalin on their tours. Nobody who was permanent. She’d never seen him in a real relationship.
Because he was waiting for me.
Bullshit, the small voice in her mind said very loudly. He can’t be serious.
But he’d seemed to be. And she trusted him. More than anyone except Lucy. I’ll figure it out, but not tonight. She found a blanket and sheets in his closet, then went looking for him, hoping she could convince him to go to sleep.
Approaching the kitchen, she heard Thorne and Jamie in deep conversation. About Phil’s heart. Oh shit. Not now. Goddammit.
Her own heart stuttered at the fear and pain on Thorne’s face. When Jamie rolled his chair out of the kitchen, he didn’t see her because he was heading down the hall in the opposite direction. But she saw him stop a few feet down the hall to wipe his eyes and square his shoulders before heading off to bed.
Poor Phil. Poor Jamie and Thorne. Quietly she dumped the blanket on the sofa and went to the kitchen, where Thorne sat with his head in his hands.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 12.50 A.M.
Thorne’s chest hurt, burning from the shuddering breaths he was forcing in and out. When he caught the scent of lavender, he didn’t move. Didn’t look up. A chair dragged across the floor and she was there, sitting close enough that he could smell her vanilla shampoo. The next breath he drew was easier, the next even easier.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘For yelling at me?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m not sorry for saying you needed to rest or that you were much more than a guardian. I’m not even sorry for the way I said it.’
‘Then for what?’
‘Taking your bed.’
He snorted a half-laugh. ‘Really?’
‘Well, no, not really. I would have totally slept there, but I couldn’t take all the Pamela posters. That much boobage, Thorne . . . That’s just wrong.’
He laughed quietly, then stiffened when her hand touched his knee. Quickly she retracted it. ‘And I’m sorry about Phil.’
He sighed. ‘You heard what Jamie said?’
‘Yes. I was coming back to tell you to sleep in your own bed and I heard.’
He sighed again, his head still in his hands. ‘I have to figure out how to fix my face so that Phil doesn’t know I know. He’s bringing me an air mattress any minute.’
‘Not tonight. He came to look for the mattress and I told him I’d just take the sofa.’
Thorne lifted his eyes and met hers. They were filled with compassion and kindness and affection, and the sight made his eyes sting. ‘I remember the day I came home from school and found all those posters on the walls.’
‘You didn’t put them there?’
He scoffed. ‘Hell, no. They did, thinking I’d like them because I was seventeen and straight. Women like that aren’t my type.’ You are, he wanted to add. But he didn’t. He’d give her space to be in control of her own decisions even if it killed him. ‘I took them down eventually. They just put them up today as a joke.’
‘Why didn’t you tell them you didn’t like Pamela? I think those guys would move heaven and earth for you.’
‘They would. They did.’ The memory was bittersweet. ‘I had no home. No one who cared. Sherri was gone, and I thought my life was over. At seventeen. But Jamie and Phil, they cared when they didn’t have to.’
Her swallow was audible. ‘I love them for that. For being what you needed.’
‘They always have been. During the trial, I continued my studies with a tutor – paid for by Jamie – because Phil asked me not to give up. Not to assume I was going to prison. He had faith in Jamie, so I did too.’
‘When did you realize they were together?’
‘The first day.’ His lips turned up. ‘They told me. Said they didn’t want me to feel pressured to stay if I didn’t want to. But Phil already knew I was okay with it. He was also coach of the debate team, and Sherri and I were both members. We’d debated the topic of marriage equality and Phil knew where Sherri and I both stood. We’d seen the wrong side of discrimination too many times to be okay with doing it to someone else. But I felt . . . more secure that they told me. Because it meant they trusted me in their home, with their private lives. They weren’t afraid I’d kill them or steal from them or betray them.’
‘I’m so glad you had someone who loved you,’ she whispered fiercely.
He turned to search her face. ‘You didn’t?’ Because they’d never spoken of any of this, not in all the years they’d been friends. He knew precious little about Gwyn’s life before she’d joined his law firm. She’d had her secrets and he’d respected that. Now . . . now he wanted to know. Everything.
‘Not really. I had my aunt, but I was on the outs with my family long before I ran away from home.’
‘And joined the circus,’ he supplied. He knew that much because it had been on her résumé. He’d found her fascinating then. He still did.
‘Yep.’
It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but he could hear Jamie telling him to give her time and space. So he didn’t push. Just drew in her scent, letting it calm him as it always did.
‘I was lucky, I know,’ he said. ‘And after the trial, they kept doing nice things for me. It took me a long time before I could just accept it and say thank you.’
‘Kind of like today?’ she asked, and there was a wistful note to the question. ‘When everyone came together to help you?’
‘Yes. Exactly like that.’
She nodded once, thoughtfully. ‘It’s hard, learning to accept that people might want to help you, to do things for you, for no apparent reason.’
‘Maybe that they love us is reason enough.’
She was quiet for a moment. ‘I think that’s the very hardest thing to accept,’ she said, and he wasn’t sure who she was talking to, him or herself. She stood, the movement fluid and graceful. ‘Go to bed, Thorne. And please sleep there, under all the Pamela posters. I’ll be fine on the sofa. I promise. Tweety will sleep next to me.’
He swallowed hard, clenching his hands into fists because he wanted to touch her so damn badly. ‘All right. We’ll have to leave by eight.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 3.15 A.M.
He woke with a jolt as cold feet pressed against the backs of his legs. ‘Wha . . .’ But then he smelled coconut and Kathryn. She’d showered with the special body wash that he’d bought her to cleanse the stink of her job from her body. ‘Mmm,’ he hummed when her hands roamed up his chest. One thing about a woman in her twenties, she had voracious appetites and he loved that.
‘Did everything go to plan?’ he asked her.
‘It did,’ Kathryn purred in his ear, then nipped his ear lobe. ‘Just like clockwork. How was your day?’
‘Had to get rid of the idiots I sent to bag Thorne. They nearly killed him.’
‘And I missed it? Did you film it?’
He chuckled. Kathryn was as bloodthirsty as Madeline had been. ‘No.’
She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. ‘What do I keep telling you? Those sessions are training gold. You show videos of them to your new recruits and I guarantee they will never fuck up.’
‘Next time you can film it,’ he promised.
‘Good. Now can we get on to the fun stuff?’
‘Absolutamente.’ He rolled onto his side to look down at her. She was so very pretty. ‘That means “absolutely”,’ he said teasingly.
She chuckled. ‘That one I figured out on my own.’
Kathryn didn’t have Margo’s capacity for numbers or languages. Margo had inherited her mother’s proficiency with languages and was fluent in six of them, while Kathryn often had trouble even with English, her Spanish deplorable. But Kathryn was a strategic thinker with a killer body, and he was happy to have her in his bed for the foreseeable future.
He never would have wanted Margo anyway. From the time she’d been old enough to crawl, she’d been Colin’s. The thought made him sigh.
‘Aw, don’t be sad,’ Kathryn murmured.
‘It’s . . . I miss him.’
‘I know.’ Kathryn pushed him to his back and straddled him. ‘But I can take your mind off all that for a little while.’
That would be welcome. ‘Then by all means, please proceed.’