by Karen Rose
Thorne was on autopilot, and Gwyn hated seeing him like this. His face was stark, his shoulders slumping wearily. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the moments after Hyatt told them that Stevie had been shot at too.
It was as if all the fight had been drained from him.
‘This will not do,’ she muttered. Gesturing Jamie and Phil into the conference room ahead of her, she grabbed a handful of Thorne’s suit coat and yanked until he stopped walking and stared down at her.
She stared back up at him, wishing for the millionth time in her life that she were taller. ‘Come here.’ Keeping hold of his jacket, she led him to the nearest desk with an empty chair and pushed him into it. That he made no complaint, uttered not even one question, told her how utterly defeated he was. This won’t do. At all.
She stepped between his spread knees, now face to face with him. Cupping his jaw in her palms, she tugged until he looked at her numbly.
‘Thorne, come on,’ she whispered fiercely, acutely aware that several detectives at nearby desks were watching their every movement.
‘And do what?’ he whispered back, so bleakly it was like a knife to her heart.
‘Do you remember the day you brought me out of the hospital? After Evan?’
He nodded slowly. ‘That was a shitty day.’
‘Why?’ she asked, knowing how he’d answer.
‘You were alive. But your light was gone. I couldn’t find you.’
‘But you didn’t give up. You let me grieve and mourn and heal. And it took me four and a half years.’
His eyes slid closed. ‘Longest years of my life.’
‘Yeah. Mine too.’ She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, his stubble lightly scratching her skin. But in a welcome way. She loved touching his face. She always had. ‘You let me sit in your bed and rock, and you held me until I fell asleep.’
‘You remember that?’
‘I remember everything,’ she said quietly. Everything Evan had done to torture and hurt her. And then everything Thorne had done to help heal her.
His eyes flew open, his distress apparent. ‘I hoped you hadn’t. I couldn’t reach you. I hoped that meant you’d escaped someplace nicer in your mind.’
‘No, I was with you every moment. And I appreciate everything you did for me, every kindness.’ She sighed. ‘Today is another shitty day, but I’m not going to be as patient with you as you were with me. I’m going to tell you to get your head back in the game. Now. Because if you don’t, we’re never going to figure out who the hell hates your guts enough to try to pick us all off.’ She gave his cheeks a light squeeze and a pat. ‘I can’t give you time to feel like shit and get all morose. We need you now, Thorne. So stop moping. Stop dragging yourself around like you’re a fucking zombie. We need you.’ She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his, their noses lightly touching. ‘I need you.’
He let out a shuddering breath, his hands reaching for her hips to hold her close. ‘All right.’
It felt so good, so natural to be held by him this way. Like it always had, except . . . not. This moment was far more intimate than mere friends might share. And it wasn’t awkward, not at all. It was right. She hesitated for a moment, then went with her gut and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
His gaze was searching, but he said nothing, just let his hands drop from her hips when she took a step back. Again going with her gut, she extended her hand, breathing a sigh of relief when he took it. She gave it a tug and he came to his feet.
Drawing a breath, he squared his shoulders and held her hand tightly. ‘Let’s go figure out who hates me.’ But he didn’t move just yet. Hesitating much like she had done, he kept his eyes on her as he brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers. ‘Thank you.’
Her throat grew thick and a shiver rippled down her back. ‘You’re welcome.’
When he walked into Hyatt’s very crowded conference room, it was with his back straight and his head high. Until he saw Stevie. She held an icepack to one hip and clutched her cane so hard that her knuckles were white. Her face was tight with pain, one cheek scraped and raw.
‘Oh, Stevie,’ he murmured. ‘I’m—’
Stevie glared at him. ‘If you say you’re sorry, I will kick your ass, Thorne. I swear to God.’
That made his lips twitch. ‘You can’t kick that high.’
That earned a snort from Clay, who stood behind Stevie, his hands on her shoulders. Both of them were pale but steady. ‘You’d be surprised what she can kick when she puts her mind to it,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t push her, Thorne. Plus, she’s right. This isn’t your fault and we’re going to make it stop.’
‘Damn straight.’ The declaration came from Hyatt, who sat next to Stevie, arms crossed over his barrel chest, his face set in his trademark scowl.
Gwyn blinked a little to see Special Agent Joseph Carter sitting on Hyatt’s other side. His expression was unreadable, but then it always was. The man was a damn enigma. Joseph led a joint task force comprised of BPD detectives and federal agents. JD was often on loan to his organization, so Gwyn supposed it made sense that the Fed had become involved.
JD sat at the far end of the table, looking appropriately grim. Lucy was at his side, giving both Gwyn and Thorne worried looks.
‘We’re fine,’ Gwyn assured her, then frowned. Another detective stood leaning against the wall, glaring at them with contempt and suspicion. Gwyn glared right back, because the man was a fucking asshole. His name was Brickman, and he’d been the one to handcuff Thorne to his hospital bed the day before.
Thorne either wasn’t aware of this fact or he was ignoring the sour-faced man, because he drew a breath and gave Gwyn’s hand a squeeze. ‘Okay. Let’s figure this out.’ He pulled a chair out for Gwyn, took the one next to it himself, then focused his attention on Stevie. ‘What happened?’
Stevie glanced at Hyatt from the corner of her eye. The man appeared carved out of stone. ‘Lighten up,’ she said to her old boss. ‘Nobody’s dead.’
‘Yet,’ Hyatt growled. ‘I should have locked you all up last night.’
‘And then you’d have nothing,’ Stevie countered. ‘Thorne, he had tails on all of us today. It was one of the reasons you were allowed to leave the hospital so freely.’
Sonofabitch, Gwyn thought, but bit it back. ‘I knew that felt too easy.’
Thorne had stiffened. ‘I knew you’d have surveillance on me. But on all my friends too? Why? Because you thought I was guilty?’
Hyatt rolled his eyes. ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Because I’m pretty sure you’re not, and I knew your friends would gather round like . . .’
‘Friends?’ Stevie supplied helpfully when Hyatt was unable to find the right word.
Clay coughed to disguise a laugh. Lucy covered her mouth and JD pursed his lips, hiding their smiles. Joseph Carter didn’t even bother to hide his chuckle. ‘It was a fair prediction, Peter,’ he said to Hyatt. ‘You guys kept us busy today, I have to say.’
Gwyn bit back another curse. ‘You were in on this too?’
‘It was my idea,’ Joseph said mildly. ‘And before you go off on a rant, listen. I know Thorne’s not guilty of this. I also knew that you weren’t simply going to sit still and wait for us to investigate. So we let you do what you were going to do anyway. We just made sure you were protected as you did so.’
Gwyn had to concentrate on not grinding her teeth. ‘And that you got a bird’s-eye view of the action was a pleasant by-product?’
‘Hell, no,’ Joseph said. ‘A view of the action was the primary goal of the plan. Your protection was a pleasant by-product. Well, not yours specifically because you shook your tail this morning.’
Gwyn’s gaze shot to Jamie, who looked very pleased with himself. The asshole detective’s face, though, had grown dark with anger.
Thorne was frowning. �
�I thought Stevie was saved by Clay’s quick reflexes.’
‘She was,’ Clay replied, grim again. ‘I heard glass shatter from the missed shot and shoved her out of the way.’
‘Which is how I got scraped up,’ Stevie said. ‘Clay threw himself on top of me, but unfortunately we were on asphalt.’
Gwyn looked up at Thorne just as he looked down at her. ‘Sound familiar?’ she murmured.
Thorne nodded. ‘Yeah.’ To the group he said, ‘That’s what happened to us, except for the asphalt. Was it just the one shot fired?’ he asked Clay and Stevie.
Stevie nodded. ‘Yes. I was terrified that Clay was about to get shot.’ She aimed a glare over her shoulder at her husband. ‘Again.’
‘It was the same with us,’ Thorne said quietly. ‘I was sure another bullet was coming, but none was ever fired.’
‘What was different,’ Joseph said deliberately, ‘was that Clay and Stevie had not shaken their tail, who was one of my best agents. He was able to get the make of the shooter’s van and a partial plate, but the shooting occurred in a crowded shopping area and he couldn’t return fire. It was a white panel van. Did you see anything that looked like that?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘I didn’t, but I also didn’t stop to look. I just wanted to get us all out of there.’
Phil looked unsure. ‘I don’t think so. It happened so fast.’
Thorne shot Phil an it’s okay look before turning back to Clay and Stevie. ‘Where were you when the shots were fired?’
‘Coming out of a restaurant,’ Stevie said. ‘Kaia’s Kouzina. It’s an expensive place in Bethesda. Patricia Segal was supposed to have been there for a meeting today with one of her fund-raising committees. Clay and I went for lunch. I don’t recommend the place, by the way. Small plates started at fifty bucks.’
Clay winced. ‘Yeah. Man, that hurt. But we got an earful about Patricia. Seems like nobody on the committee liked her, although it took several bottles of wine before they loosened up enough to say so.’
‘And when they did, it was loudly,’ Stevie added. ‘She was having an affair. Maybe more than one.’
Just like Prew’s wife told him, Gwyn thought. ‘Did anyone say with whom?’
Stevie made a face. ‘Some guy half her age. And she was only thirty-four.’
‘Wonderful,’ Jamie muttered as Phil made a distressed noise.
‘No names?’ Gwyn pressed, forcing herself not to think about the sexual assault committed against a seventeen-year-old boy.
‘No,’ Clay said. ‘She’d bragged about him to a few of the ladies after too many cocktails. She was afraid her husband would find out, though.’
‘The thing is,’ Stevie added, with another glance at Hyatt, ‘Patricia has a son who’s seventeen going on eighteen. The young man she was . . . “seeing” might have been the same age. And she might have known him through her son.’
A son who’s seventeen going on eighteen.
Gwyn drew a quiet breath, focused on keeping her expression static while pain constricted her throat. Over the years she’d had a significant amount of practice at hiding her reaction whenever someone mentioned a son. Especially one who was the same age as her own. Eighteen years and four months to be exact. About the same age she herself had been when she got pregnant.
A moment later, the pain had passed, just as it always did. ‘She was a young mother,’ she murmured.
Hyatt’s scowl remained unchanged. ‘How do you know all this, Stevie? How did you know her committee would be meeting at that restaurant today?’
‘She and Clay Maynard probably hacked into the victim’s computer,’ Detective Brickman said suspiciously. He really was an asshole.
Stevie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re just mad because a minivan driven by a lawyer shook you off this morning, Brickman. You don’t know jack shit, so just chill with the insults.’
Brickman started to open his mouth, but Hyatt raised a hand. ‘So,’ he said quietly, ‘if you didn’t hack, how did you know?’
‘Facebook,’ Stevie answered testily. ‘Patricia’s account is not privacy-protected. Anyone can see it. Even cops like you, Brickman.’
Ouch. Stevie apparently didn’t like this guy any more than Gwyn did.
‘We checked her account,’ Brickman said stiffly. ‘She hadn’t posted anything about the lunch.’
‘No,’ Stevie said with exaggerated patience. ‘She hadn’t this month. But if you’d taken the time to go back a month or two, you’d have seen that she met with this group the second Monday of every month at the same restaurant.’
Brickman’s glare could have melted rock. Stevie looked away, unimpressed. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘the point is, there might be reasons why she was targeted, other than her connection to Thorne through her brother. There is the issue of the possible affair. These committee ladies were speculating that the husband might have ended her if he’d found out about the young man. They also speculated that she might have been having an affair with Thorne.’
Thorne’s jaw went so tight that it cracked. ‘I wasn’t,’ he said coldly.
‘I know that,’ Stevie said with a dismissive wave. ‘But they were what-iffing all over the damn place. And then they found your photo and all but swooned.’
Clay nodded. ‘They said they couldn’t blame Patricia for risking her husband’s fury for you. The media is speculating that this was a setup because you weren’t arrested and you were unconscious too. The ladies ran with that, wondering if her husband was responsible. If he was, then the kid could be in danger too.’
Stevie shot another irritated look at Brickman. ‘And because we haven’t hacked into her personal email or anything of that nature, we haven’t identified this kid. Yet.’
Gwyn was aware that Stevie hadn’t specified whether the ‘yet’ referred to her hacking or her identification of the young man. So, apparently, was Hyatt, because the lieutenant looked like he’d sucked on a lemon.
‘How were you planning to ID him?’ he asked.
‘The old-fashioned way,’ Stevie said sincerely. ‘By getting a list of Patricia’s son’s classmates and teammates – anyone she might have come in contact with.’
Thorne’s mouth had turned down doubtfully. ‘I’d love it if I weren’t the target here. But you and Gwyn were shot at today.’
‘And they missed,’ Stevie said pointedly.
Gwyn sensed where Stevie was going with this. ‘They missed us both, Thorne. They didn’t take the opportunity to hit either you or Clay. We’ve assumed this is a campaign to hurt you by hurting – or killing – your friends. But is it possible that they’re just trying to make it look like you’re the target? That they shot at us to shine the spotlight on you and away from whoever might have hated Patricia enough to eviscerate her?’
Eleven
Baltimore, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 2.15 P.M.
Was it? Thorne thought. Was it possible that today’s shootings were merely a diversion to take the focus off whoever had killed Patricia Linden Segal?
‘Maybe,’ he answered slowly. ‘I suppose so. Except for the key ring.’
Joseph lifted his brows. ‘And how did you know about that?’
‘Crime scene photos,’ Jamie cut in with a small smile.
Hyatt shook his head. ‘Nope. We didn’t give you access to those. Thorne hasn’t been charged.’
Thorne glanced at Gwyn regretfully, but saw her chin already lifted in defiance and felt a welling of pride. ‘I took some photos before the EMTs got there,’ she said. ‘I knew Thorne was being set up. I also knew the EMTs would make a mess of the crime scene getting him out of there. So I snapped some pictures.’
Eyes flashing, Hyatt drew a deep breath and let it out. ‘You might have shared those with us, Miss Weaver.’
‘Why?’ she shot back, outraged. ‘You followed us.’
‘Yes, but you followed all our friends too. If any of them had found anything that looked bad for Thorne, you would have pounced on it. You say you believe he’s innocent, but at the end of the day you’re cops, with your own fucking agenda. You’ll take any evidence you can to make your case, even if that evidence is completely out of context.’
Hyatt’s glare was cold. ‘You don’t have too high an opinion of me, Miss Weaver.’
She frowned. ‘No, I really don’t. Yes, you do the right thing most of the time, but I’ve seen the times that you haven’t. I was a paralegal for a lot of years. I worked hundreds of cases for people who were brought to trial unjustly. Your officers take liberties with searches and twist testimony to fit their own needs. Not all of them.’ She shot a quick glance of apology at JD, then at Stevie, before turning her glare back on Hyatt. ‘I know cops who are good, who have integrity, who carry a badge because they truly wish to serve. But some don’t. And some of them have worked for you, Lieutenant.’ She shrugged. ‘But I don’t work for you. Anything I choose to share is voluntary unless I’m subpoenaed. Or arrested. Yes, we knew about the key ring. And had you asked the right questions, respectfully, instead of depending on us to do your work for you, you might have predicted we’d be at Brent Kiley’s apartment. With or without a goddamn tail.’
Thorne stared down at her, warmth spreading in his chest. It was pride, yes. But it was far more than that. She was back. This was Gwyn before Evan ripped her confidence away. She’s back. And she’s fighting. For me. It was damn heady.
Hyatt ran a frustrated hand over his bald head. ‘You defense attorneys . . .’ He bit off whatever he’d planned to say. ‘Are you going to trust us or not?’
‘Not,’ Gwyn stated firmly, just as Jamie said the same.
Joseph nodded calmly. ‘I can see your point, Gwyn. Truthfully, I don’t expect you to trust me. However, I do expect you to be honest with me so that I can do my job and keep you all safe.’
