Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  He hadn’t thought she’d been fooled by his timeout. He concentrated on finding the pins in her hair, forcing himself to answer. ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right. Most of his abuse was focused on making me record a message he could play to lure Lucy. I refused.’ She paused for a moment that seemed to drag on for hours, but it was less than a minute. ‘I refused several times.’

  His chest constricted painfully. ‘Baby,’ he whispered, and she patted his chest comfortingly.

  ‘It was kind of empowering, telling him no,’ she mused. ‘I couldn’t get away, couldn’t even scream because he’d taped my mouth shut while he did his worst, but I could tell him no when he took the tape off and demanded I record the message. I wasn’t going to help him kill Lucy, that was for damn sure. No reason she should have to pay for my stupidity.’

  No. No fucking way. ‘You weren’t stupid,’ he growled. ‘He fooled all of us.’

  She patted his chest again. ‘I know that now. I even believe it sometimes. But that’s certainly not what I was believing then. I was kicking myself for letting him use me. Which was what he reminded me of over and over during those hours. How he’d used me. How he’d manipulated me. How stupid I was to have believed his lies. How he’d laughed to himself every time he fucked me.’

  Thorne leaned his head back against the sofa cushion, counting his breaths. Breathing in, six, five, four, three, two, one. Hold for four. Breathing out, six, five, four, three, two, one. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

  Until you no longer want to dig him up and rip his corpse to shreds. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  He heard a choked sound and knew it had come from his own throat. But he couldn’t make it stop. Couldn’t swallow it back. Breathe. Breathe.

  Hold it together. But he couldn’t. He was flying apart, molecule by molecule.

  ‘Thorne? Oh, honey.’ Gwyn straddled one of his thighs and wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him to her breast.

  Because he was crying, weeping like he hadn’t done in years, not since Jamie had told him that Sherri was dead.

  She rocked him, murmuring comfort into his ear that he couldn’t hear because the dam had broken and he was sobbing loudly, holding her so tightly that he was sure she couldn’t breathe. But she never asked him to let her go, so he held on.

  She was dropping kisses on top of his head, pressing them to his temples, all while she rocked him, whispering to him. Comforting him when he was supposed to be comforting her.

  He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, fought to control himself. ‘God,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’

  ‘For what?’ she asked reasonably. ‘For not stopping him? For not reading my mind afterward? For not killing him yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word came out on a rush of air. ‘All of the above.’

  She released him only enough to kiss his forehead, his swollen eyes. ‘You know what? If you’d known, you would have. I have not a single doubt.’

  And somehow, that helped. ‘What do I do now? For you?’

  ‘Be here. And do what you did yesterday morning and again in the afternoon. Show me that you think I’m worth it.’

  Worth it, worth it, worth it. He’d chanted the words as he’d claimed her as his own, as he’d made love to her, though inside his mind he was chanting love you, love you, love you. ‘You are worth it,’ he whispered. I love you. So goddamn much. But he didn’t say that, because he didn’t want to be feeling gutted and sad when he finally spoke those words. He wanted it to be perfect. Like she deserved.

  ‘You make me believe that.’ She kissed him again, this time sweet and sexy all at once. ‘You make me believe that I can have forever, Thorne. And last week I would have said that wasn’t possible. But now, I . . . I want that. Forever. With you.’

  He opened his eyes to find her staring down at him, her hair half up, half down, smiling at him like he’d hung the moon. ‘I love you,’ he said, because the words simply wouldn’t be silenced.

  Her mouth dropped open, her eyes filling with tears.

  He touched her lips, his fingers trembling. ‘You don’t have to say it back.’

  She took his fingers, kissing them before wrapping her hand around them. ‘I love you too. I think I always have. I was just too scared to admit it.’

  He thought he might actually cry again. ‘You’re not scared now?’

  ‘Of you? No. Of this? No. That I might mess it up? Hell, yeah.’

  ‘You can’t mess it up. Just be here. With me.’

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘There’s one more thing you can do for me.’

  ‘What? Name it.’

  ‘Don’t let what I’ve told you stop you from touching me. You would never hurt me, Thorne. It’s not in your nature. You’re a protector.’ She leaned in, pronouncing each word with emphasis. ‘You would never hurt me.’ She nuzzled her cheek against his, whispering in his ear. ‘I liked sex before Evan. A lot. I like it with you. A lot. He tried to steal that from me, and for four years I let him. Don’t let him steal it from me any longer. From us.’

  Exhausted, Thorne could only nod, but she seemed satisfied, because she smiled at him again. ‘We’ve had a long-ass day. I’m ready to sleep. You up for that?’

  ‘With you? Always.’ He stood, hauling her up with him, pushing up her skirt so that she could wrap her legs around him.

  ‘Just so you know?’ she said as he carried her to the bedroom. ‘I could totally get used to this.’

  ‘Then that’s my new goal.’

  ‘What was your old goal?’

  He nuzzled his face into her neck. ‘Hearing you say that you love me.’

  She went silent, then expelled a shaky breath. ‘That was a good goal, Thorne,’ she whispered, her voice thick with tears. ‘A damn good goal.’

  He sat on the bed, lowering her to her feet so that she stood between his knees. ‘I thought so. Say it again. Please.’

  Her eyes were shiny. ‘I love you, Thomas Thorne.’

  Hands on her hips, he pulled her closer so that his cheek rested against her breasts. The world might be going to shit around them, but for this moment he was content. Happy in a way he couldn’t ever remember. ‘Love you too.’

  Twenty-one

  Silver Spring, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 10.00 A.M.

  Thorne stared at the small drapery shop that doubled as home to the older sister of Colton Brandenberg, one of Richard Linden’s posse. The one who’d most surprised him when they’d beaten him up nineteen years ago. The one who’d all but disappeared after high school graduation.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Gwyn asked quietly from the passenger seat.

  ‘I’m . . . nervous,’ Thorne admitted. He glanced into the rear-view mirror of the SUV that had been waiting outside Gwyn’s condo when they’d come downstairs to meet JD. The SUV was one of Joseph’s personal vehicles, and the Fed had asked Thorne and Gwyn to use it until this whole nightmare was over. With bullet-resistant windows and door panels, it was a gift worth its weight in gold.

  JD, appointed their personal guardian for the duration, pulled up behind them in another of Joseph’s SUVs. He didn’t get out, waiting instead for Thorne.

  Reaching over the center console, Gwyn tapped Thorne’s arm. ‘Why are you nervous?’

  ‘Well, for starters, I’m worried she’ll be dead.’

  ‘That’s actually fair. Why else?’

  He sighed. ‘Colton Brandenberg and I were friends once. I’d just started at Ridgewell and so had he. We were both new kids. We both played soccer and we both liked science class.’

  ‘I thought you liked history and music.’

  He shrugged. ‘I liked everything. And I knew I had to nail all the science classes if I wanted a scholarship. Colton was better at it than I was and my old school hadn’t been as good as Ridgewell. I was behind. He t
utored me until I caught up. Then in our sophomore year, he joined Richard’s posse. I don’t know why or how. Richard was pretty selective in who he let into his circle.’

  ‘Like Mean Girls, but with boys?’

  ‘Exactly. Even after he joined Richard, though, he wasn’t an asshole to me. Not until that day at school.’

  ‘When you dragged Richard off Angie.’

  ‘Right. I don’t know if Richard threw any actual punches, but he did kick me a few times. Colton threw some punches. Darian threw the first punch. Caught me in the jaw. Chandler, the one who’s a cop now, he got in the second, an uppercut that had me biting into my tongue and spitting blood everywhere. And it was probably Chandler who did the most damage to my knee. But it was Colton who broke my nose that day. I remember lying on the floor of the hallway, just staring up at him as he lit into me. I was . . . I don’t know. Stunned.’

  ‘Betrayed,’ Gwyn murmured.

  ‘Yes. That too. That more, in fact. I don’t know what to make of the fact that he disappeared.’

  ‘Or that he seemed to be a zombie when he testified at your trial?’

  ‘I don’t remember that,’ he confessed. ‘I just remember wondering what I’d done to make him hate me as much as he’d seemed to that day. Because it wasn’t just aggression, not like it was with Darian and Chandler. They were bullies. They’d have beaten up anyone that Richard told them to beat up. Colton seemed to hate me.’

  She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Let’s go talk to the sister. Maybe she can shed some light on it. Plus, we’re kind of sitting ducks here.’

  He jerked his head up, unable to believe that he’d forgotten to be careful. ‘JD must be wondering if I’m insane.’

  ‘I think he’s known the answer to that for a long time.’ She unbuckled her seat belt. ‘He loves you anyway.’ She leaned in to kiss his cheek. ‘And before you ask, I love you too. Now move it, big guy.’

  Smiling now, he got out of the SUV and helped her down. She was significantly shorter today, having substituted her customary heels with running shoes at his request. Just in case.

  ‘Everything okay?’ JD asked cautiously as he approached them.

  ‘Yeah. Just hoping everybody in there is breathing,’ Thorne said.

  JD grimaced in commiseration. ‘Let’s go make sure.’

  The three of them marched to the shop’s front door, which sported a colorful sign proclaiming: Creations by Christina. In the window was a mannequin wearing a beautiful lace wedding gown. A smaller sign at the mannequin’s feet read: Custom Designs Available On Request.

  Gwyn whistled softly. ‘If she designed that gown, she’s as talented as Prew’s wife said.’ She looked up at Thorne and JD, frowning when she had to crane her head back farther than usual. ‘Who’s on point?’

  ‘Not me,’ JD said. ‘I’m here as your friend only. No official capacity.’

  ‘I can pretend to be a customer,’ Gwyn said. ‘Like I did with Angie.’

  ‘No, I’ll be on point,’ Thorne said. ‘Worst that can happen is that she tells me to go to hell.’

  He knocked on the door, but nobody answered. Tugging on the handle, he found it unlocked. Because it’s a business, idiot. He opened the door and entered first, pausing in the doorway to make sure it was clear before gesturing Gwyn and JD inside, where a country music radio station warred with the whir of a sewing machine. The front of the shop was all fabric and big books of patterns and dressmaker’s dummies in various stages of dress. An open doorway led to another room, presumably the sewing area.

  ‘Hello?’ Thorne called, and the sewing machine whir immediately ceased. A few seconds later, the radio was switched off and a woman came to the doorway. She was tall and thin, her dark brown hair streaked with silver.

  Christina Brandenberg, Colton’s sister. She’d graduated four years ahead of them, so Thorne hadn’t known her in school. But he remembered her from the times he’d hung out at Colton’s house, before Colton had been absorbed into Richard’s circle of friends.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked warily.

  ‘I hope so,’ Thorne said. ‘Do you remember me?’

  She lifted her gaze to his face for a few moments without registering any shock, then closed her eyes. ‘Of course. Tommy White. Although you don’t go by that name anymore.’

  ‘No. I don’t. Look, I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m looking for some information and it might involve your brother.’

  She lifted her hand like a traffic cop. ‘He’s not here and I do not know where he is. I can’t help you, so if you’d see yourselves out, I have work to do.’ She started to turn, but Gwyn took a step forward and briefly touched her arm.

  ‘Wait, please. Your brother could be in danger.’

  Christina froze. ‘I told you, I don’t know where he is. I have no contact information for him.’

  Gwyn nodded. ‘I hear you. But have you seen the news?’

  ‘Who are you?’ Christina asked, narrowing her eyes.

  ‘My name is Gwyn Weaver, and this is our friend JD Fitzpatrick. I’m . . . Well, Thorne is our friend. My priority right now is to clear his name.’

  ‘Then you have quite a task ahead of you. Murder isn’t an easy charge to skirt.’

  ‘I know,’ Thorne said carefully. ‘I’ve already done it once.’

  Christina looked away. ‘I know. But I can’t help you this time.’

  This time? Thorne wanted to ask what she meant by that, but Gwyn took another step forward because Christina had turned to go a second time.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Gwyn said, ‘but I can’t just walk away without at least asking a few questions and properly warning you. We went to see Darian Hinman yesterday. He was one of your brother’s friends, and they were all friends of Richard Linden nineteen years ago. Darian was dead when we got there. He’d been dead for days and Thorne has an unshakable alibi for the time of the murder. He was with a group that includes a Baltimore homicide detective and the senior assistant state’s attorney.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with my brother,’ Christina said, but her eyes flickered nervously.

  ‘You could be right,’ Gwyn said, ‘but we don’t think you are. Richard Linden’s sister was killed shortly after Darian Hinman, just hours apart. There are indications that the same man did it. Someone is killing people now who were connected to Richard Linden then. Your brother was connected to him then.’

  Christina swayed as all the color drained from her face. She put a hand against the frame of the open doorway to steady herself. ‘Oh. Well.’ She huffed out a breath that sounded far more afraid than dismissive. ‘I still don’t know what any of this has to do with Colton. He left the state after his graduation. He hasn’t come back. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now.’

  Gwyn started to say more, but Thorne lightly gripped her elbow and tugged her back against him. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll go.’ He pulled a business card from his wallet and left it on her counter. ‘My cell number is on there. If you think of anything, or if anyone bothers you, please call me.’ He took a step toward the door, Gwyn in tow. ‘And you should lock your door. I know you’re a place of business, but the people behind this aren’t playing around. They’re snipping off loose ends, and eight people are already dead, two of them just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Please be careful.’

  The three of them left, closing the door. Thorne heard a distinct click as Christina locked it behind them.

  ‘At least she listened to you,’ JD said as he walked Thorne and Gwyn to their borrowed SUV. He looked over his shoulder. ‘She’s watching us. What’ll you bet she’s on the phone with her little brother right now?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Thorne murmured. ‘And I hope she’s careful.’

  JD clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You warned her. That’s all you can do. Where to?’

  Thorne m
ade a face. ‘Chandler Nystrom, former cop turned personal security officer.’

  ‘Mall cop?’ JD asked.

  Gwyn shook her head. ‘No. Anne, our receptionist, was able to find his work information. He was most recently employed by Hinman Enterprises, after being relieved of duty by Howard County PD, where he went after being relieved of duty by Montgomery County PD.’

  ‘He works for Darian Hinman’s father,’ Thorne clarified. ‘He’s a security guard in their building downtown.’

  ‘They’re open for business?’ JD asked, surprised. ‘Darian’s body was found not even twenty-four hours ago.’

  Thorne shrugged. ‘Jamie called the front desk to ask if they were receiving deliveries. They said they had business hours as usual.’

  ‘Then I guess I’ll follow you there,’ JD said.

  Chevy Chase, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 11.00 A.M.

  ‘I don’t think this is going to end well,’ JD muttered from behind Gwyn as Thorne pushed through the door into the building bearing Hinman Enterprises’ name.

  ‘I’m thinking you’re right.’ Positioned between them, she felt slightly claustrophobic, but she had a view of Thorne’s back muscles flexing as he opened the door, and that was a silver lining.

  The doors were draped with black, the mood of the lobby somber. The place was nearly all marble – the floors, the columns, even the walls. The building alone had to have cost a fucking fortune. But it was nearly silent, only whispers bouncing off the walls. It was like an opulent library.

  Thorne tucked her against his side as soon as they were through the door. ‘Old money,’ he leaned down to whisper in her ear. ‘Lots of it.’

  ‘I figured that out,’ she whispered back. ‘Which one is Chandler Nystrom?’

  Thorne paused to look around, and almost immediately saw the former cop. ‘That’s him, heading our way.’

  Dressed in an ill-fitting uniform, Nystrom looked out of place in the lavish lobby. His face was as dark as a storm cloud.

  Squaring his shoulders, Thorne pulled Gwyn closer. JD just sighed.