by Karen Rose
‘This is a nightmare,’ Jamie murmured. ‘I have to think. Is Thorne all right?’
Thorne was staring out the window, his normally dark skin gone gray.
‘No, he’s not all right, but I’ll get him safely to you.’ She checked the side mirror. JD had stopped behind them, but he hadn’t approached yet, which she’d expected him to do. Instead he was sitting gazing straight ahead. ‘What else has happened, Jamie?’
‘Stevie was shot at again. She’s okay, but the bullet grazed her arm. It was her cane arm and she lost her balance and went down. No more bullets were fired, even though she was a sitting duck at that point. She said the shooter was either incredibly skilled or incredibly clumsy.’
Thorne had grown deathly pale. Gwyn unsnapped her seat belt and twisted to her knees, reaching for his chin. ‘Thorne. Thorne!’
He stared down at her, devastated anew. ‘He’s taking it all apart. Piece by piece. My family, my friends, the club, the firm. Phil. Stevie.’ He seemed to age before her eyes. ‘You.’ He pushed her from her knees back to sitting, then kept pushing until she lay sideways, her head on the console. All the while his hands were gentle, but shaking. She allowed it, allowed him to get her out of view of the windows, not reminding him that Joseph’s SUV was nearly bulletproof because she didn’t think he would even hear her words.
‘I’m okay, Thorne,’ she said instead, keeping her voice calm. ‘Stevie’s okay. Phil is okay. We are all okay.’
‘He could be out there. Anywhere. I should have shipped you off somewhere safe. Why didn’t I send you somewhere safe? Why didn’t I . . . I should have . . .’ His voice broke. ‘But it wouldn’t have helped,’ he whispered, sounding so damn vulnerable.
Fear skittered through her. This wasn’t Thorne. This wasn’t her Thorne. ‘What wouldn’t have helped?’ she asked quietly.
‘Thorne.’ Jamie’s voice cracked through the phone, filled with the same fear.
But Thorne didn’t answer. Gwyn grabbed a handful of his tie and yanked with all her strength. She tipped her head up, fixing her gaze on him. ‘What wouldn’t have helped? Offering yourself?’ she demanded when he continued to say nothing.
He nodded. ‘He doesn’t want me to die. He doesn’t want me to physically suffer. He knows this is worse.’ He swallowed. ‘So much worse.’
She tugged his tie, bringing him closer until his face was inches from hers. ‘We aren’t going to let him win.’ She glanced at the phone. ‘Right, Jamie?’
‘Right,’ Jamie said grimly. ‘Meet me at Clay and Stevie’s. We’ll figure out what to do.’
As soon as she ended the call, JD’s face appeared at the window, looking even more haggard than Thorne. New fear grabbed her throat, because JD was pale and shaking. Lucy. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, no, no.’
JD tapped on the window and Thorne seemed to wilt, his whole body shaking now as he popped the lock and opened his door. JD gripped the frame, his shoulders sagging.
‘She’s alive,’ JD rasped. ‘Lucy. And the kids. But our house is on fire. She got them out in time. They’re okay.’
Thorne turned in his seat, facing JD. ‘I’m . . .’ He didn’t say the word ‘sorry’. He just grabbed JD and pulled him into an embrace, taking the other man’s weight and holding him as he shook. Gwyn slid over the console, draping her body over Thorne’s back and holding them both. They clung that way until JD got hold of himself and pulled away, wiping at his wet cheeks.
‘Oh God,’ JD murmured. ‘This sucks.’
Gwyn snorted a surprised laugh, wiping away her own tears. ‘Yeah, it does. Where is Lucy now?’
‘On her way to the airport with Joseph,’ JD said.
‘Airport?’ she asked cautiously. ‘That was fast.’
‘Yeah.’ JD’s lips twisted. ‘She kept her head. Called Joseph first because she knew that once she called me, she’d have to stay on the phone to keep me from losing my shit. Joseph picked her and the kids up and took them straight to Martin State.’
The small airport served private jets, Gwyn knew. A few of the higher-priced bands that had played Sheidalin had flown into Martin State. ‘Does Joseph have his own plane?’ Joseph was rich, but she didn’t know he was that rich.
‘His father does. Joseph’s sent cars for Paige and Stevie too, to take them to the airport.’
‘And Julie?’ Gwyn asked, thinking of Frederick.
JD nodded, still shaky. ‘Yes. She’s still at Stevie’s. Joseph was pissed off at me for not telling him about the plan to drive them all to Chicago. He’s taking them there himself. He insists flying is safer.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘I need to get to the airport. I need to see them before they go.’
Gwyn took a long look at Thorne. Giving JD comfort had seemed to bring him back from his own abyss. The haunted look was gone, replaced with the grim determination she’d come to rely on. ‘JD isn’t safe to drive,’ she murmured.
‘But I am. You take JD. I’ll follow.’ He kissed her, hard and fast. ‘I’ve got your back.’
‘I know you do.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 4.40 P.M.
He rewound the video and played it again, smiling as he thought of the way the former homicide detective had gone down with just one small bullet graze. His body camera had caught it all, so beautifully it was as if he’d hired a movie director. Stevie Mazzetti-Maynard had hit the ground without so much as a yelp, though, and for that he reluctantly admired her.
When she’d realized what had happened, she’d been more pissed off than hurt or even afraid. By the time she’d crawled across the pavement to get her cell phone, then crawled closer to the big black SUV she’d been driving, he’d had his rifle disassembled and in its case. By the time she’d called the police, he was in his own vehicle.
And by the time sirens could be heard, he was driving the other way.
He wished he could see Thorne’s face when he learned of the latest shooting. The last time, he’d trusted Patton with the job, because he was to have intentionally missed, which Patton had done. This time, though, it had required a little more finesse. He didn’t want to kill Stevie Mazzetti-Maynard. He just wanted Thorne to know that he could. He’d hit her just enough to cause pain, but not enough to cause serious injury.
And he could do it at any time to any of them. And he would. Tomorrow they were planning to leave. At least some of them. The most vulnerable. They were sending their women and children away in vans. Driving them to ‘safety’.
He didn’t plan to kill them. Not yet. But he would show them that they couldn’t escape him. Though if after he shot at their tires they crashed into a tree and suffered all kinds of injuries . . . that would be just fine.
He hoped they planned to properly secure the children in car seats.
He paused the video at the sound of a light knock on his office door. ‘Come in.’
Margo stuck her head in. She did not look happy. In fact, she appeared nervous. ‘Hi, Papa.’
He waved her in and pointed to the chair. ‘Is it Benny?’
‘No, he’s fine. Just teething and drooling.’ She glanced down at her blouse. ‘I changed twice before I left the house this morning.’ Squaring her shoulders, she folded her hands in her lap. ‘I have bad news for you. They’ve already gone.’
He froze. ‘Who?’
‘The women and children. They were flown out by private plane. About an hour ago.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You knew nothing of this?’
She moistened her lips. ‘No. I didn’t make any of the reservations. It was handled by the FBI. The shot you fired on the ex-cop this morning, followed by Patton’s arson at the Fitzpatrick home, prompted them to fast action.’
Rage flared within him, but he put it aside. They were protecting their most vulnerable. ‘Where will they go?’
‘I’m
trying to get my hands on the flight plans. I can tell you that the plane is owned by Agent Joseph Carter’s father. The Carter family owns several pieces of property all over the country as well as abroad. I assume they’d go to one of those places.’
He drummed his fingers on the desktop, attempting not to feel like a child who’d had his favorite toy stolen. ‘I see. What about the fire? Patton left the box?’
‘Yes. When the fire cools, they’ll find it filled with matchbooks from the Crabshack and Circus Freaks patches. But I don’t think they’ll buy it.’
‘Why not?’ he snapped. ‘Alistair’s love of fire is well known.’
‘Because Alistair doesn’t believe Thorne is responsible for the deaths of his two gang members. He and Thorne met today at the Crabshack, right about the same time that Patton was setting fire to the Fitzpatrick home.’
Margo delivered the words with no emotion whatsoever. Still they felt like a rebuke. A reprimand. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Same way I know that they’d planned to ship everyone to Chicago by van. I can still hear every word they say in the Maynard home. The men, along with Gwyn, arrived moments ago. Thorne and Gwyn were arguing because Gwyn refused to get on the plane.’
‘So she’s still here? She’ll have to be good enough for now.’
Margo hesitated. ‘They also know about me.’
His hand closed into a fist. ‘How?’
She shrugged delicately. ‘I don’t know. But there was a lot of “Fuck Anne” and “If I get my hands on her . . .” You know. The usual. They don’t know who I am, but they know I work for you.’
‘You heard all this?’
‘Clear as a bell. The microphone I stuck in the box of client files broadcasts beautifully. And so far there’s been no attempt to block our signal.’
He blew out a breath. He hadn’t thought this would be easy. Thorne’s friends were a formidable group. He had, however, expected them to turn on the defense attorney, or at least abandon him. He had to admire their loyalty. ‘They don’t know that we can hear them?’
‘No. They think they’re arranging a temptation that you won’t be able to resist.’
‘The christening on Saturday.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Let’s let them keep thinking that. Let me know as soon as you find out where the women and children have gone. I haven’t finished playing with them yet.’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you found a way into the judge’s safe deposit box for that incriminating letter?’
‘No, sir. Not yet, but I’m still working on it.’
‘Work faster.’
She rose. ‘I will. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.’
Twenty-three
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 4.45 P.M.
The mood in Clay’s living room was more than dark, Frederick thought, wishing he knew what to do but too deep in his own funk to help the others. The normally noisy house was strangely quiet.
The kids were gone. The moms were gone. In the end Joseph had taken Stevie, Paige, Lucy and all their kids, including Cordelia and Julie, plus Ruby and Sam, because if the shit hit the fan, the man might not be able to get out of the way. If Clay’s house was set on fire like JD’s had been, Sam would be a liability, his concussion still causing any fast movements to result in debilitating vertigo. It had been a bitter pill, but he had swallowed it stoically.
Joseph had even arranged for Phil to be transported to a private hospital with security equivalent to that of the Secret Service. But that meant that Jamie had needed to decide whether to stay with Phil or Thorne. Both Phil and Jamie had decided that Thorne needed him more, so Jamie sat in his chair next to his son. Because Thorne was his son, in every way that mattered.
Frederick had taken a seat next to Jamie, because he was certain that even though Jamie felt no regrets about his choice, he still worried about Phil. Giving Jamie his support seemed like the only thing Frederick could do, at least as long as they were all in this waiting pattern.
Because Taylor had gone with Julie, Gwyn was the only woman left in the room, and that had been a truly epic battle. Thorne had tried to bodily force her to get on the plane, but Gwyn had more grit than anyone had expected.
And more moves. The woman could slither and slide and contort her body in ways that still confounded Frederick, and he’d witnessed the whole thing. It was like Thorne had been handling a slippery fish.
Now Gwyn perched on the arm of the loveseat that Thorne had commandeered. Both sat with their arms crossed, still angry with each other. Clay stood at his back window, brooding at the sunset, and JD alternately paced and brooded with him.
JD’s house had burned to the ground. Lucy had grabbed her children, then had gone back in for her violins. Everything else had been destroyed, and they now had only the clothes on their backs. And the violins. JD had been too relieved to see her alive to scold her about risking herself to save the instruments. Frederick suspected that might become an issue later, however. The rest of them had wisely maintained silence on the matter.
Everyone, including Frederick, glanced at their phones with irritating frequency. The plane was still in the air, but would be landing very soon.
‘Anything?’ Jamie murmured, leaning to glance at Frederick’s screen.
‘That depends,’ Frederick answered quietly, feeling as if he were in an oppressive library. ‘The plane has Wi-Fi, so Julie’s sent me lots of pictures. She’s having a ball. It’s only the second time she’s been on a plane. Taylor has Julie, Cordelia and Paige singing “Ninety-nine bottles of chocolate milk on the wall”, and Stevie’s about to go nuclear.’
Jamie chuckled. ‘Chocolate milk?’
‘They’re not old enough to sing about beer.’ He touched the photo of his smiling daughters, feeling wistful. ‘I guess Julie is, but . . . not really. I haven’t done a good job with her.’
‘What?’ Jamie shook his head. ‘You’ve done a fine job. Stop that.’
But Jamie was his friend, so he had to say that. ‘A stranger found out more about my daughter in an hour than I ever knew.’
‘Sally Brewster?’ Jamie asked. ‘Look, she’s a nurse. A pediatric nurse. She’s trained to talk to young people. And it sounds like Julie connected with her. Maybe she just misses having a mom.’
‘Maybe. Sally’s offered to spend time with her after all this is over.’
Jamie’s brows rose. ‘Sally? Huh. You gonna let her?’
‘I think so. I’ve checked her out. She’s legit. A really nice person.’ Frederick hesitated. ‘And we’ve been texting.’
Jamie’s grin spread across his face. ‘You sly dog, you. You like her.’
‘God. You sound like Taylor.’
‘Taylor’s smart. I don’t mind sounding like her.’ Jamie leaned over, bumping shoulders. ‘So what do you text about?’
Frederick shot him a withering look. ‘I’m going to hurt you.’
Jamie snickered. ‘Fine, fine. Just go with it, man. You’re too tight.’
‘You two sound like teenaged girls,’ Thorne grunted from where he sat sprawled on the loveseat, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of manspreading.
Gwyn smacked his chest with a backhand that made her wince. ‘That is a patronizing and condescending thing to say. And shit, why didn’t you take off that damn vest? It hurts.’ Joseph had insisted they all don Kevlar vests for their trip from the airport back to Clay’s house, handing them out like candy on Halloween.
‘Still wearing mine,’ Frederick said.
‘Me too,’ Jamie added. ‘Why aren’t you? They’re not that uncomfortable.’
And would come in handy should Clay’s house be torched by a gunman, forcing them to flee like rats off a sinking ship. The knowledge that that could happen, coupled with the m
emory of the smell of smoke on Lucy and her children’s clothing when Frederick had hugged them goodbye . . .
Yeah. It was sobering, all right. He was relieved he’d gotten his girls far away. He’d be even more settled when he heard from Daisy. She was not answering any of his calls. He’d had radio silence for the past week, and that wasn’t like her. She’d texted him twice. Once to give him her travel itinerary, and then to tell him that she was alive and receiving his texts, but that was before he’d told her not to come to Baltimore yet, to delay her departure. Since then, he’d heard nothing.
So he was worried.
‘I took the vest off because it was huge,’ Gwyn said, ripping him from his thoughts. ‘It came down past my butt. I can’t sit down properly in it.’
‘You won’t sit down at all if you’re dead,’ Thorne muttered. ‘You should be in Chicago.’
‘I should be here,’ she replied. ‘This mess with the club affects me too. As does the mess with the firm. I’m still listed as an officer and an employee.’
Thorne scowled. ‘You’re fired. All of you, from all of it.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ She kissed the top of his head, affection showing through her irritation. ‘Even if you fire us, it’s because you love us. So you’re stuck with us.’
‘Until you’re all dead.’ Abruptly he stood up. ‘I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.’ He strode to the bulletin board and made a savage noise at the photo of his office manager, now placed next to the photo of Tavilla.
Anne Poulin, Frederick thought. She’d fooled them all. Even me. Not that he’d ever had a great read on women, but . . . Only Gwyn had had reservations, though Frederick had chalked that up to jealousy.
Again he’d been wrong. Gwyn had an intuition about the woman that they’d all ignored. Even Gwyn herself.
‘Who is the real Anne Poulin?’ Frederick asked. ‘She passed the background check. I began reviewing the employee files the day all this started. Mowry’s inconsistencies stuck out like a sore thumb, but Anne’s record raised no flags. She has a past, a work history, social media, even elementary school photos on her parents’ social media. I found a copy of her work visa and cross-checked it against the government record. It’s legit. She moved here from Montreal five years ago for college. She’s continued to take classes. For a fake identity, this is exceptionally well done. And I know how to fake identities.’
