Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  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 o
ver 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 mur
mured.

  ‘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?’