Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  She didn’t take any offense at his tone. She knew he was barely holding it together, wired so tightly he was about to snap. The news of the EMT’s death had hit him hard.

  If I’d only told Hyatt and Joseph that Kiley saw the key ring, he’d whispered to her once Joseph had arrived to deal with Eileen Gilson and the four of them had returned to Gwyn’s. The police would have known that Kiley had critical information and they might have protected him.

  Not your fault, she’d whispered back.

  Brent Kiley had kept his secret for too many years and he’d paid for it. His fear for his family had been legitimate, but his refusal to do the right thing had led to the collapse of his marriage, leaving him alone with piles of empty pizza boxes and beer cans.

  Thorne hadn’t let it go. I could have forced him. Like I just did with Eileen Gilson.

  Maybe. But the EMT hadn’t cared about anything enough to be used for leverage. Eileen, on the other hand, did. Both her lifestyle and her son. Gwyn had disliked the woman on sight, and that Thorne had thought she’d been compassionate showed just how off-kilter he’d been thrown by this whole mess. Unable to convince him, she’d just held his hand, hoping that Eileen’s testimony would enable them to get a warrant.

  He’d immediately called Christina Brandenberg, the sister of the still-missing Colton. She hadn’t answered his call and he’d left her a message that someone else related to their shared past had been murdered. He urged her to come forward, for protection if nothing else. And once again he begged for her help in finding her brother.

  He even called the number he had for Chandler Nystrom, leaving him a warning message, despite the despicable way the former cop had treated him that morning.

  Then he’d closed his eyes in silent misery, as Frederick brought them to Gwyn’s condo to collect her dog. They’d decided to stay with Clay because there was strength in numbers.

  It felt desperate, because it was desperate. That Thorne was offering to walk her dog made a grim kind of sense. Because Tavilla wasn’t going to kill Thorne. He’d kill me and enjoy watching Thorne suffer.

  ‘I hope you left that animal some food,’ JD grumbled. ‘He always looks at me like I’m a pork chop.’

  ‘He does not.’ Chuckling, Gwyn pushed the door open and . . . froze. ‘Oh my God.’

  Because her apartment was trashed. Completely trashed. Her sofa was ripped up, the leather knifed to ribbons, stuffing on the floor. The mirrors on the walls had been smashed, glass littering the carpet, which was also strewn with pictures ripped from the walls.

  ‘Tweety.’ She bolted into her apartment, only to have three sets of arms grab her back.

  ‘Stay here,’ JD ordered. ‘Frederick?’

  ‘I’ll hold onto her,’ Frederick promised, because Thorne had already gone running into the apartment.

  Gwyn sagged into the older man, her breath coming in pants. Her home. Her safe place. Not anymore.

  ‘Did you set the alarm?’ Frederick asked her gently.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Her voice broke. ‘I know I did.’

  Frederick stroked her hair. ‘Try to breathe, honey.’

  ‘Found him!’ Thorne called. ‘He’s okay.’

  Gwyn choked back a sob. ‘Thank God.’

  Thorne and JD came back together. ‘It’s clear,’ JD said. ‘Come in, shut the door.’

  ‘I left Tweety in the bathroom,’ Thorne said, ‘until we clean up the glass.’

  ‘He’ll need to go out,’ Gwyn said, her mind refusing to comprehend the catastrophe she was seeing. ‘He needs to pee.’

  ‘He already did,’ Thorne said, taking her from Frederick’s arms into his own. ‘We can clean the bathroom. The rest of the place may be harder. It’s a mess. I’m so sorry.’

  She reached around his neck, wishing for her heels just to get closer to him. He solved that by picking her up and holding her to his chest. She buried her face in his neck and breathed him in.

  ‘Not your fault,’ she whispered. ‘None of this is your fault.’

  ‘Did you have your laptop on your desk?’ JD asked.

  ‘No. I left it at Clay’s. I was using it to review the books Monday night.’ There was that then. Her documents were safe. Except . . .

  Her gut clenched and she abruptly pushed away from Thorne. ‘Let me down.’ He immediately complied and she ran to her bedroom, throwing open her closet.

  It was empty. Completely empty. Hangers were scattered on the floor and every shelf was bare. Oh God. Oh no. Her knees wobbled and she held on to Thorne, who’d been right on her heels.

  It was gone. Her fire safe, holding her important papers. Her life. Her secrets. Could they open it? Probably. It had a keyed lock. Not terribly hard to jimmy.

  And what would they find? Her birth certificate. Her passport. And all the newspaper clippings she’d collected over the years. Some of Thorne, a few of Lucy. One of herself, on the tightrope. But most were of Aidan. A few from his childhood, usually a grainy photo in a school newspaper about an award. The better clippings came when he’d entered high school. Number 54. Offensive line.

  That whoever stole the safe could identify him was a given. His last name was on the back of his jersey. And if they figured out who he was to her? Less likely, but exact relationships weren’t necessary. The existence of the clippings screamed his importance. Her stomach twisted painfully. She needed to warn him. That could be complicated. I need to figure out how.

  ‘They took your clothes?’ Frederick asked, coming up behind them.

  ‘No,’ JD said. ‘They’re mixed in with bedclothes on the floor over there by the bed. But they’re trashed too. Ripped up. Sorry, Gwyn.’

  She didn’t care about the clothes. Turning in a slow circle, she took in the smashed cosmetics and perfume bottles, the broken mirror, the mattress on which she and Thorne had first made love. It had received the same treatment as the sofa, slashed with a knife, stuffing everywhere.

  And then she got the real message. Her gun safe stood open, but the guns were still there. ‘They knew my combination. That’s how they got past the alarm.’

  ‘You used the same combo for your security alarm as your gun safe?’ JD asked.

  She nodded numbly.

  ‘The alarm was 0-2-1-7,’ Thorne said, because he’d always known it. He just didn’t know what it stood for. His voice became thoughtful. Questioning. ‘I never knew your safe was the same combo.’

  ‘Yes,’ was all she could say.

  ‘Who else knew?’ JD asked, his phone out, ready to call this in to BPD.

  ‘Lucy. That’s it. Except . . .’ She turned away from the open safe to the less upsetting mess on her dresser. ‘Anne. She came home with me once. I had car trouble and Thorne and Lucy were busy. She said she had to use the bathroom, so I asked her to come up. She could have seen me put in my alarm code.’

  ‘When did this happen?’ JD asked. ‘At the club? Because you haven’t worked at the firm in a couple of years.’

  ‘I still worked there from time to time as a paralegal. When Thorne or Jamie had really sensitive cases they didn’t trust to anyone else.’

  ‘Right,’ JD murmured. ‘You told Hyatt that on Sunday when Thorne was in the hospital. I thought you were lying, actually.’

  She glanced up at him sharply. ‘You would have let me lie?’

  JD nodded soberly. ‘To protect Thorne? Hell, yeah.’

  She was able to smile about that. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But how did Anne get past your dog?’ Frederick asked.

  Gwyn shrugged. ‘He knows her. She always had a treat for him, every time we came into the office or every time she brought papers to the club for Thorne to sign. I thought her giving him treats was sweet at the time, but now . . .’

  Thorne threaded his fingers through her hair. ‘We can replace everything.’

 
; ‘Not everything. I had a fire safe. On the closet shelf. It had all my important papers in it.’ Her stomach gave another heave. God.

  ‘Did it have the same combination?’ Frederick asked.

  ‘No. I had a key.’ Her voice was calm now, surprising her. ‘But if she was able to copy a key to my apartment – which I assume she did, since she managed to disable the alarm – she probably has a key to the fire safe too.’

  Thorne had his hand around the back of her neck, providing just enough pressure to reassure without any pain. ‘Do we need to stay here?’ he asked JD. ‘I’d like to get her back to Clay’s.’

  JD nodded. ‘Yeah. Let’s lock up. I’ll request a uniform to stand watch until we can get CSU here to process the scene.’ He smiled sadly at Gwyn. ‘Looks like we’re both going clothes shopping soon.’

  ‘Looks like.’ A whimper caught her attention, followed by scratching. ‘Poor Tweety. We’re lucky he hasn’t dug through the door.’

  ‘He tried.’ Thorne took her hand. ‘I think your bathroom will need a severe overhaul when this is over.’

  Please God, let that be soon. They were fraying at the ends. All of them.

  They could only maintain vigilance for so long before one of them made a mistake. Got hurt. Or worse. And then Thorne would wish he was dead.

  Which was exactly what Tavilla wanted.

  Hunt Valley, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 9.30 P.M.

  Thorne threw his phone on the dresser in the guest room he and Gwyn were sharing in Clay’s basement. He had to take a moment to breathe. To calm himself. She didn’t need his frustration now. She’d had a shock of her own. Her home had been invaded, her sanctuary destroyed.

  Still fully clothed, she lay on the bed, propped up by pillows. Tweety sat on the floor, his chin on the edge of the bed, watching her. As if he too knew she needed extra care tonight.

  She looked up from her laptop. ‘Anything?’ she asked cautiously. She was still too pale, her brow furrowed in worry.

  He knew the feeling.

  ‘No.’ He sat down on the bed, forearms on his knees, and hung his head, huffing a tired chuckle when Tweety shifted his chin from the edge of the bed to his knee. He scratched the dog behind his ears. ‘I tried to call them both again. Both Nystrom and Christina Brandenberg. Both went to voicemail. Hers rang like ten times, but his just went straight to voicemail.’

  ‘She’s ignoring you then. He’s either blocked you or turned off his phone.’

  ‘I know. I just . . . God, Gwyn. I don’t want anyone else to die.’

  ‘I know, baby.’ She put the laptop aside and crawled so that she could drape her body over his back, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades. ‘I know.’

  ‘I asked Alec to search for Colton Brandenberg. I don’t know what else to do at this point.’

  ‘Hopefully Alec can work his magic for us,’ she murmured, sounding so totally not like herself that he twisted abruptly to catch her face in his hands.

  ‘We will stop this,’ he promised. ‘We have to.’

  She nodded, leaning into his palm, then jerked away at the knock on their door. ‘Yes?’ she called.

  ‘It’s me,’ Alec said through the door. ‘You guys decent?’

  Thorne felt his cheeks actually heat. ‘Yes,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘Come in.’

  Alec stuck his head in tentatively, then opened the door wider so that he could enter. ‘I found Brandenberg.’

  Thorne blinked. ‘So quickly? How?’

  Alec gave him a look that was slightly annoyed. ‘Because I’m damn good at my job? I figured that if he’d gotten so upset that he had to be medicated during your trial—’

  ‘Wait,’ Gwyn interrupted. ‘What?’

  ‘I read the transcripts and I read Jamie’s notes. The behavior Jamie described sounded like a friend of mine who was on serious sedatives for anxiety and depression. Maybe even bipolar. I never asked him about his diagnosis. But he was a zombie, just like Jamie described Brandenberg. I figured if he was that upset, maybe we couldn’t find him because he’d changed his name. Just like you did.’

  God, the kid is good. ‘Had he?’

  ‘Yep. I played with a few variations, looked at name-change records in Maryland around that time, and bada-bing. I sent the information to your phones.’ Alec paused a second, his gaze resting on Gwyn a few seconds longer than seemed necessary. ‘Okay?’

  She nodded. ‘Sounds great, thanks. What’s his new name, and where is he?’

  ‘He is now Brandon Colt. He’s an old-fashioned country doctor, lives in Appalachia. Has a traveling practice. He works with communities in need. I sent you a link to an article that someone wrote about him last year. He owns a twenty-year-old truck and that’s it. No address, no property records. The reporter was doing a series on lung ailments in the old mining towns and mentioned him. Said he was “unfailingly humble” and didn’t want any credit.’

  ‘Penance,’ Thorne said quietly. This he understood.

  ‘That’s what I took away,’ Alec agreed. ‘Kind of like all the pro bono work you do. You were just lucky enough to have Jamie’s financial support coming out of your trial. Looks like Dr Colt has no one.’

  ‘Very few people have no one,’ Gwyn said. ‘His sister knows where he is. She just didn’t want to tell us.’

  ‘Fair enough. I found a phone number for him, but it went to voicemail when I called. I used a burner number, so he might not take calls from numbers he doesn’t know, but I kind of doubt that, him being a doctor and all.’

  ‘Thank you, Alec,’ Thorne said sincerely. ‘We have one more place to start in the morning.’

  ‘You’re welcome. One other thing.’ He took a few steps into the room, handing them each a Post-it note. ‘I’ve set all the house alarms. If you need to leave, use this code or the screeching will really hurt your ears.’

  Gwyn took her note and folded it in half. ‘Not your ears?’

  He grinned. ‘Nope. My room is rigged with a bed shaker and strobe lights that are activated with the alarm. When I take off my processors, I hear nothing. And I’m about to take them off for the night.’ He waggled his brows. ‘Just . . . give me two minutes to get settled before you two start anything, okay?’

  He pulled the door shut, leaving both of them staring after him.

  ‘Well,’ Gwyn said with a half-laugh. ‘That was subtle.’

  Thorne blew out a breath. Because he really wanted to start something with her. To lose himself in her body and get out of his own head. For just a little while. He’d wanted it all day, but now . . . She’d had a shock. She wasn’t herself.

  But she’d also challenged him not to assume.

  Cautiously he reached for her, sighing his relief when she crawled into his lap and put her arms around his neck. ‘We’ve got about a minute and a half that we have to be quiet,’ she said. ‘We can neck till then.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

  She arched one brow. ‘You mean I was right not to get on Joseph’s plane this afternoon?’

  He kissed her lightly. ‘No. I still wish you were safe. But if you had to be stubborn, I’m glad you’re here with me.’ He rested his forehead against hers. ‘I really need to escape my own head right now,’ he confessed.

  ‘Me too. But . . .’ She drew a breath. ‘I need to tell you something. And it’s not going to be simple.’

  He stilled, because he’d sensed something like this was coming. Ever since she’d looked into her closet and seen that her fire safe was gone. ‘What was in the safe, Gwyn?’

  ‘You noticed.’

  ‘Yeah. You didn’t care about anything else. Just the fire safe. Why? Birth certificates are replaceable.’

  ‘I know. Just about everything in the safe was technically replaceable. But if Anne, or whoever the hell she really is,
opens that box, it . . . well, it gives them ammunition to use against me. To make me suffer. Which makes you suffer.’

  He sat back, waiting. The dog, also sensing her distress, leaned against Thorne’s leg, his head on Gwyn’s thigh. Absently she stroked his ears. ‘I ran away from home when I was sixteen.’

  ‘That I knew. To join the circus.’

  ‘Well, actually it was to follow a boy. A man. He’d just graduated from the University of Maryland. He’d gone there on a music scholarship.’

  ‘So he was older. Like, twenty-one?’

  ‘Twenty-three. My father forbade me from seeing him, more because he had long hair and played the guitar than because he was older than me. So of course seeing him was what I wanted to do most in the world. I was rebellious.’

  ‘That I also knew,’ he said dryly.

  Her lips tipped up. ‘Yeah, yeah. I fell for this guy. He had a job on the boardwalk at Ocean City, playing in a band at one of the clubs. That’s where I met him. I liked to hitch a ride into Ocean City because it was a lot more exciting than Anderson Ferry, where I grew up.’

  Thorne knew about Anderson Ferry, because it was also where Lucy had grown up. ‘It doesn’t sound like a welcoming place.’

  ‘Not if you didn’t fit in. Which Lucy and I certainly didn’t. Anyway, I met Terrence that summer and we . . . got it on.’

  ‘You were sixteen,’ he said flatly, not wanting to picture her with anyone else, especially a long-haired musician.

  ‘I told him I was eighteen. He bought me beer. We had sex. It was supposed to be a fling, but then my dad found out I was seeing him and had a cow. I kept seeing him and my dad was exceedingly unhappy. My father was a believer in strict discipline. A church-going man. When he was unhappy, he hit with a belt or made us cut our own switch, which was . . . abuse. When he got drunk, his hits became serious abuse.’

  Thorne gritted his teeth, hating that they had parental abuse in common. ‘How often did he get drunk?’

  ‘A lot. I pushed him. But that’s no excuse. He hit me hard when he found out I was seeing Terrence. I mean, really hard. I ended up dragging myself over to see Lucy’s mother. She was our town doctor then.’