Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  JD lowered his voice. ‘Seriously, guys, what the fuck?’

  ‘You knew what we were doing,’ Gwyn whispered, eyes narrowed.

  JD rolled his eyes. ‘Not exactly,’ he whispered back. ‘Lucy and I agreed she shouldn’t tell me. Plausible deniability and all that.’ He gave all four of them the once-over. ‘You’re okay? Really?’

  Gwyn shrugged. ‘A few bruises, that’s all.’

  Because he’d slammed her into the ground, Thorne thought regretfully. Then tossed her into Jamie’s van like she was a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Stop,’ she snapped again, but less fiercely. Clearly his poker face was nonfunctional at the moment. ‘You saved my life, Thorne. A few bruises is a small price to pay.’

  ‘You’ve given your statement to the locals?’ JD asked.

  ‘Kind of,’ Thorne said with a shrug. ‘We told them we were visiting an old friend and that we got shot at.’ He pursed his lips, fighting hard against the guilt threatening to suck him back into the irrational desire to grab Gwyn, Jamie and Phil and hide on an island for the rest of their lives. ‘But it wasn’t “we”. It was Gwyn. Once I’d covered her’ – with my body, but he wasn’t going to think about that now, even though she’d felt so damn good against him – ‘there were no more shots.’

  Gwyn’s eyes widened, as if the reality had just suddenly hit her. ‘You believed they’d shoot at you. But you still . . . Goddammit, Thorne. You believed you’d be hit and you made yourself a giant target?’

  ‘What would you have had me do?’ he snapped back. ‘Let you die?’

  She inhaled sharply, her lips quivering, her dark eyes growing abruptly shiny. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But . . . dammit, Thorne. I don’t want you hurt. I don’t take up much space. Your back is a target they could see from space.’

  That was true. But that wasn’t his point. What was his point? He blinked hard, then forced himself to look at JD. ‘They stopped shooting when Gwyn was covered. They could have shot me, but they didn’t. They could have killed me Saturday night, but they didn’t.’

  ‘They nearly killed you Sunday morning,’ Gwyn retorted.

  ‘That was probably an accident,’ JD murmured to her. ‘They gave him too much GHB.’ He turned to Thorne, his face growing pale as understanding dawned. ‘I think you’re right. They don’t want to kill you, Thorne. They wanted to kill Gwyn. Because she’s important to you.’

  As is Lucy went unspoken. As was everyone who’d sat in Gwyn’s living room promising to help him stay out of prison.

  This . . . sucks. Suddenly exhausted, Thorne let his head fall forward. ‘I’d just give myself over if I thought it would make this stop.’

  ‘Thorne,’ Phil gasped. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘Shh,’ Jamie soothed. ‘He won’t. He won’t even think about it again. Will you, Thorne?’

  Thorne didn’t have the energy to argue. He went still as Gwyn’s hand smoothed over his hair. ‘No, he won’t,’ she said quietly. ‘And if he does, we’ll hide him in a bunker.’

  ‘I don’t think it would help anyway,’ JD said with grim resignation. ‘Whoever’s doing this is trying to fuck with your life, Thorne. Killing you is not the priority. So the only way to make it stop is to make them stop.’

  Thorne didn’t look up because Gwyn was still stroking his hair and it felt so damn good. But he was listening, and he knew JD was right. ‘Then that’s what I’ll do,’ he said quietly.

  Gwyn stopped stroking his hair and gave it a gentle tug. ‘Not alone, Thorne. You are not going to face this alone. The rest of us have a stake in it. I, for one, am not going to abandon you because some asshole wants to hurt you. Besides, JD’s right. That wouldn’t help anyway, because as long as you still care about us, you have a vulnerability. We’re in this with you. So suck it up, Buttercup.’

  The snort of laughter escaped him before he could contain it. ‘Buttercup.’ He glanced up to see her smirking at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, really.’ She looked up at JD. ‘What did they find at the scene?’

  ‘Your purse,’ he said. ‘It’ll be held for a while as evidence. You should probably cancel your credit cards and get a new driver’s license.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Gwyn muttered. ‘Pain in the ass. What else? Did they find the bullet?’

  ‘Yeah. It was embedded in one of the concrete walls inside the lobby. We got lucky. The concrete stopped it. Had it gone through, its next stop was a living room where kids were playing.’

  Thorne’s blood ran cold. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘But it did not breach the concrete,’ Gwyn told him sternly. ‘Nobody got hurt. Right, JD?’

  ‘Right,’ JD said decisively. ‘Hyatt’s taking the case from Montgomery County PD, because it’s being linked to the murder of Patricia Linden Segal. I can’t tell you much right now except that nobody saw anything. Of course.’

  ‘Does this help clear Thorne?’ Phil asked hopefully.

  ‘Right now? No,’ JD answered. ‘But in the longer term it should. That’s only my opinion. Who knew you all would be at that apartment building?’

  Thorne’s gaze met Jamie’s troubled one. ‘Detective Prew did,’ Jamie said.

  ‘He said he didn’t know the EMT,’ Phil whispered.

  Jamie shook his head. ‘He saw our list. He knew we’d be contacting him eventually.’

  ‘Who is Prew?’ JD asked sharply.

  ‘The detective who handled the murder of Richard Linden,’ Jamie said. ‘He’s retired now.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘Not much,’ Jamie replied non-committally, making JD scowl at him. Jamie glanced over JD’s shoulder, focusing on the curtain. Where Hyatt was probably listening. He mouthed his next words. ‘What we did hear, we’ve passed on to Lucy.’

  JD’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. ‘So then you went to the apartment to see Brent Kiley. Why?’

  Thorne answered this time. ‘He was the EMT who responded to the scene of Richard Linden’s murder. He was belligerent. Didn’t tell us a thing.’ Then he mouthed, ‘Later.’

  He’d tell JD everything, but he didn’t trust Lieutenant Hyatt. Not with the lives of his friends, anyway.

  JD nodded. ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘Only a few minutes,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s unlikely that was long enough for him to summon a shooter.’

  ‘Probably not,’ JD agreed. ‘Who else knew?’

  The four of them stared at each other for a long moment before Jamie sighed. ‘I thought I’d lost all the tails this morning, but it’s possible we were followed. A few news vans, a few unmarked cars. One was Hyatt’s man, I’m sure of that.’

  ‘Yeah, you lost him,’ JD confirmed. ‘Hyatt was pissed.’

  Jamie looked pleased. ‘Yesss. I’ve still got it. The ability to lose tails, I mean. I never lost the ability to piss off cops.’ He sobered. ‘I called everyone who’s helping out to warn them, just so you know.’

  Thorne stared at him, surprised. ‘You did that? Already?’

  ‘He needed something to do,’ Phil said indulgently. ‘So I gave him the task.’

  JD checked his phone. ‘Lucy texted me about it. She says for you to be careful.’ One side of his mouth lifted fondly. ‘And that she loves you guys.’

  Thorne rubbed a palm over his chest. That was bittersweet. He loved that Lucy loved him. He could only pray her love didn’t get her killed along with Gwyn and all the others.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We have things to do.’

  The curtain opened, revealing a very irritated-looking Lieutenant Hyatt. ‘Yes, you have things to do, Mr Thorne. Like talking to me. Come with me, please. We’re going to a secure location.’

  Thorne didn’t immediately move and the others followed his lead. ‘What will we talk about, Lieutenant?’

  Hyatt met hi
s eyes directly. ‘About all the people who hate you.’

  ‘That’ll take a week,’ Gwyn snarked.

  Thorne glared at her, then at Hyatt. ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Hyatt replied, just as he’d done in the hospital the previous day. This time, however, the expression on his face was quite different. Yesterday he’d been frustrated and angry that Thorne wouldn’t talk to him. But now . . . There was something sharper in the man’s eyes. It looked like fear. ‘But we need to discuss your friends.’

  Yes, Thorne thought, and once again his blood ran cold, because it was fear in the lieutenant’s eyes. Somehow he managed to keep his voice level. ‘What about them?’

  ‘At least four people in your little vigilante posse are important to me,’ Hyatt responded, shocking him. ‘And one of those people was just shot at. Not hit, because her husband’s reflexes are as quick as yours were today.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Gwyn gasped.

  ‘Stevie,’ Thorne whispered. She was the only person that made sense. She had worked for Hyatt for years.

  ‘Yes. She’s on her way into my office.’ The lieutenant drew a careful breath. ‘So you will talk to me, Mr Thorne.’

  Thorne closed his eyes. ‘Yes. Let’s go.’

  Wight’s Landing, Maryland,

  Monday 13 June, 1.30 P.M.

  Frederick double-checked the contents of Julie’s suitcase. He thought he’d packed everything. If not, he could come back for it, but he was getting Julie out of this house and somewhere she’d be safe.

  Behind him, he heard the whir of her motorized wheelchair as she entered her bedroom. ‘Where are we going, Dad?’ she asked, her words labored but understandable. She’d made great strides since Frederick had moved them to Maryland. Back in northern California, they’d lived in an area so remote that there hadn’t been adequate physical or occupational therapy.

  He zipped up the suitcase. ‘You’re going on a little vacation, to Clay and Stevie’s house.’ The couple had generously offered one of their spare rooms when Frederick had shared what Sally Brewster had told him. He was doubly grateful for it after he came home and found the caregiver parked in front of the television, just as Julie had told Sally.

  He’d fired the woman on the spot. He still wanted to flinch at the raw hatred that had filled her eyes. So much for recommendations. He’d been sequestered in California for so long, his people-judging skills had grown rusty. I used to be so much better at this. He’d had to be, for his job. He’d have to be again, both for the work he did for Thorne and to protect his family.

  Regardless, next time he hired a caregiver, he was installing a nanny-cam.

  Julie’s blue eyes lit up. ‘To see Taylor?’

  Julie and Daisy had inherited his first wife’s blond hair and blue eyes. Only Carrie had looked like him. The familiar pang of guilt and grief hit him hard and fast, then dissipated because Julie was smiling at him.

  ‘To see Taylor,’ he confirmed. ‘She’s got a new cart for one of the horses at the farm. She’s looking forward to taking you for a ride.’

  Taylor was actually chomping at the bit herself, wanting to take a swing at the supposed ‘caregiver’ who’d been neglecting Julie. She’d missed her baby sister, so this visit would be a good thing. He wouldn’t have to worry about Julie with Taylor on point.

  ‘Yay!’ Julie clapped her hands, the movement perhaps appearing awkward to some, but it filled Frederick with joy. He loved seeing his baby girl so happy.

  He sat on the edge of her bed so that they were eye to eye. ‘We need to have a little talk, honey.’

  Julie’s gaze dropped. ‘Are you mad at me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said softly. He tipped up her chin. ‘But I was a little scared today. I talked to Miss Brewster.’

  Julie smiled. ‘She was nice.’

  ‘She seemed so. But she’s a stranger, Jules, and you gave her our phone number.’

  Julie’s eyes flickered with trepidation. ‘Am I in trouble?’

  ‘No, baby. But you can’t do that again. Miss Brewster was nice, but some people might not be.’

  Her eyes clouded with confusion. ‘But Taylor’s dad turned out to be nice.’

  He understood the connection she’d made. And she was right to challenge him on this. He’d assumed terrible things about Clay and his children had suffered because of it.

  ‘Yes, he did. But there are some really awful people in the world, who might try to . . .’ He searched for the right words, finally deciding on the simplest. ‘Hurt you.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, not sounding entirely convinced. ‘Will I still be able to go to the center?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe not for a few days, but yes, you’ll go back to the center.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘You want to tell me about Stan?’

  She blushed so prettily. ‘Daddy.’

  He leaned in to kiss her cheek. ‘I’d like to meet him. You know,’ he added teasingly, ‘to make sure he’s good enough for my little girl.’

  ‘He’s very good,’ Julie assured him. Then she waggled her brows, startling him into a laugh.

  Miss Brewster had been right. His baby girl wasn’t a baby. God. Am I ever going to get this right?

  He loaded up the car, then secured Julie’s chair in the back. His land in California hadn’t sold yet, but he’d had enough investments that he’d been able to outfit her with all the things she’d needed when they moved. He was grateful for that.

  He had so much to be grateful for. He had a new life here. Good friends. A job he really enjoyed.

  ‘Daddy?’ Julie said, as he got behind the wheel.

  ‘Yes, honey?’

  ‘I got another message. From Miss Brewster.’

  He twisted in the driver’s seat, frowning. What the hell was the woman doing contacting her again? Julie shrank back, her grip on her tablet faltering – the tablet he hadn’t known she owned.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘From Miss Selma,’ she said, eyes wide.

  The caregiver. She’d probably given it to Julie to keep her quiet. That had not been their agreement. Good riddance to the woman, then. He’d need to make sure the tablet was safe, that any harmful Internet sites were blocked.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. ‘What does the message say?’

  ‘She wants to call me again. But I’m not at home.’

  ‘I’ll call her,’ he assured his daughter, immediately dialing Sally Brewster’s cell phone. ‘Miss Brewster,’ he said sternly when she answered.

  ‘Mr Dawson?’ she replied cautiously.

  He was going to dive right in. ‘Why did you message Julie again?’

  Julie looked up from her tablet, where she was now watching a video of cats sitting in small boxes.

  ‘But I didn’t,’ Miss Brewster exclaimed. ‘I swear to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ He felt curiously embarrassed. But terrified. All at once. Because . . .

  ‘Somebody messaged her?’ Her voice became alarmed as well. ‘Pretending to be me?’

  Smart lady, cutting right to the chase. ‘Yeah.’

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘Like someone called Mr Thorne pretending to be Bernie? Or like someone called me pretending to be a cop?’

  An unpleasant chill ran down his spine. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, maintaining his calm for Julie’s sake. ‘I’m going to check into this. Where are you right now?’

  ‘I just walked into work. I’m on second shift.’

  ‘Stay there, please. Around a lot of people. Don’t leave, even to take a break.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she promised, sounding appropriately afraid. ‘Call me to let me know that Julie is okay.’

  ‘She’s with me now. We’re temporarily relocating.’

  ‘Good. Just let me know how you are.’

 
‘Call me as well.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  They ended the call and Frederick drew a breath. ‘Julie, honey, can I see your tablet?’

  She frowned at him. ‘You’ll give it back?’

  ‘Yes,’ he promised.

  She handed it to him. He opened her messaging app and looked through her communication.

  ‘How are you reading this?’ he asked. Julie’s reading comprehension was not this advanced.

  ‘VR, Daddy.’

  He lifted his gaze to hers. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Voice . . .’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘It talks to me. I tap it.’

  He tapped the message and a computerized voice read the message. ‘From Sally: Can I call you again?’

  Again. Dread was like a live wire, shocking his body from the inside out. If Sally Brewster was telling the truth, someone knew she’d called Julie already. He thought back to when he’d dropped her off at her car. Still shaken by their conversation inside the club, he’d asked her to contact him if Julie called her again and she’d agreed. If someone had been following them, they could have overheard. They would have known Julie would respond to a message from Sally. Or, if Sally was lying, she could have set it up. Either way, he needed to get to the bottom of this.

  He typed into the messaging app: I’m not at home. Why do you want to call?

  A new message popped up. I have a present for you. I want to know where to send it.

  His hand shaking, Frederick clicked on the information button, to see from what number the message had originated.

  He couldn’t control his gasp. The message was from the same number that had called Sally Brewster. The number used by a man who’d posed as a cop.

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Monday 13 June, 1.45 P.M.

  This is a fucking nightmare, Gwyn thought as she, Thorne, Phil and Jamie followed Lieutenant Hyatt through the maze of desks leading from the elevator to Hyatt’s conference room at the Baltimore PD headquarters. They were a depressed-looking bunch, all worried expressions and plodding steps. Even Jamie’s wheelchair seemed to be moving more slowly than usual.