by Karen Rose
‘Go figure,’ Daphne said sarcastically. ‘Sorry, go on. I remember that case. You didn’t defend him.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Thorne said, then waited as Daphne’s eyes widened.
‘Gage Jarvis,’ she murmured. ‘He took the case.’
Thorne nodded. ‘Yeah, and he got the kid off. Hung jury. There was speculation about a few of the jurors. I think Gage bought them off or threatened them with something. He was a dirty piece of work.’
‘And so?’ JD prompted.
‘And so, a year ago, Tavilla’s kid gets himself arrested for murder again. Gage Jarvis isn’t around anymore. Rumor had it that Jarvis had smacked his wife around, got arrested, but was never charged because she withdrew her complaint. Then he left his firm. Company line was that he quit “to pursue other interests”, but most of us knew he’d been forced out. I heard that he was last seen partying in Florida. That was a couple years ago. About five weeks ago – again, according to the rumor mill – Tavilla is in Miami having a working vacation. He gets a visit from Gage Jarvis.’
Joseph’s brows shot up. ‘You have a very good rumor mill.’
Thorne lifted a shoulder. ‘I pay very close attention to Tavilla, because when his kid fucked up for the second time last year, Tavilla again asked me to defend him. Again I said no.’
‘Because the kid’s a punk?’ JD asked.
‘Most of my clients are punks,’ Thorne admitted with a shrug. ‘Doesn’t mean they’re guilty, even though most of them are that too. In either case they’re entitled to a fair trial and I do my best by every single one of them. But I have my limits. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d taken on Tavilla’s kid. Plus, I didn’t want to be in his pocket, and once you do a job for him, you are.’
‘Is Jarvis in his pocket?’ JD asked.
‘He is now.’ Thorne pulled out his cell phone, then looked all three of them in the eye, one at a time. ‘I’ll voluntarily send you the photo I have, but I want your promise that you won’t use this to try to get a warrant to search the rest of my phone. I’ll wipe it clean faster than you can get a judge’s signature.’
‘Of that I have no doubt,’ Joseph said dryly. ‘You have my word.’
‘All right. Texting the photo to JD now.’ Thorne gave JD a sideways look. ‘This was taken a few hours ago.’
JD’s phone buzzed, and when he opened the photo, he saw red. It showed Gage Jarvis, dressed to kill, sitting next to Tavilla, eating a lavish meal. ‘Motherfucker. Kills his wife and a cop and two other people who had nothing to do with this and then drinks wine like he’s Don fucking Corleone.’ He passed the phone to Joseph, who sighed.
‘You said we’d see Gage Jarvis surface within a few weeks, JD,’ Joseph said. ‘I truly thought it would be a little longer.’ He gave Thorne a sober nod. ‘Thank you. Did your rumor mill know what they were meeting about?’
‘Seems like Gage Jarvis called in a marker.’
Daphne was studying the photo over her husband’s shoulder. ‘For getting Tavilla’s kid off on the murder charge?’
‘Quid pro quo,’ Thorne said lightly, but his eyes were angry. ‘Why did you mention Gage’s daughter before?’
JD and Joseph exchanged a long glance. ‘We believe she saw her mother’s killer,’ Joseph said.
Thorne’s brow instantly furrowed. ‘Why the hell isn’t she in protective custody?’
‘No one knows that she saw anything,’ JD said. ‘Only us, Hector Rivera, Agent Brodie, our forensic specialist, and Quartermaine, the ME. And her aunt and little sister, of course, because they found her hiding behind a chair at the scene, in shock.’
Thorne frowned, and JD could almost hear the wheels turning before Thorne’s eyes popped wide. ‘Oh my God. You have a leak. Don’t worry, I won’t mention this to anyone. You have my word.’
‘Thank you,’ Joseph said again. ‘You don’t have to answer this question, but I’ll ask it for my own conscience. I know that Tavilla’s son is serving time for his latest offense. I assume you have someone inside Tavilla’s organization, since you were informed so quickly tonight. I’m assuming you’ve done that to protect yourself against a specific threat, made by an angry father who feels his son is in prison because you refused to defend him.’
‘What’s your question, Joseph?’ Thorne asked, slightly mockingly, telling JD that Joseph had guessed exactly right.
‘Are you in any current danger from Cesar Tavilla?’ Joseph asked bluntly.
Thorne’s lips quirked. ‘Agent Carter, I almost think you care.’
‘I do,’ Joseph said seriously. ‘You’re an honest man, Thorne. I hate to see honest men targeted by scum like Tavilla.’
Thorne looked surprised. ‘Thank you.’ He recovered his trademark nonchalance. ‘Tavilla’s made some threats in the past. Nothing concrete. Always veiled and ominous. I had a few near misses after I turned him down. I wanted to know when he gave orders to have me . . . taken care of, so that I could watch my own back. And no, I do not want your help. I can’t think of a better way to both end my career and paint a giant target on my head.’ He got up, tugged at his suit coat. ‘I need to get Gwyn to the club now. Let me know how it ends up, especially for the little girl.’ His eyes grew distant for a moment before clicking back to the present. ‘Tell Gwyn I’m waiting for her in the car.’
Gwyn came down the stairs a minute after Thorne left. ‘Thanks for delivering the dresses, Daphne,’ she called, waving to them as she opened the front door. ‘JD, your son’s face is now clean. I read him a story and he’s asleep.’
‘Thanks, hon. Thorne’s waiting for you in the car,’ JD said.
‘I know. He texted me from your front porch. See you tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner.’
When she was gone, JD rubbed his throbbing temples. ‘Damn, all this and Clay’s daughter too?’
‘I don’t think Taylor has anything to do with this,’ Daphne said again. ‘I think she was the voice Jazzie needed to hear at the moment she needed to hear it.’
‘I hope so,’ JD said glumly. ‘I’d hate for Clay to finally find his kid only to have to visit her in prison.’
Twelve
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 11.15 P.M.
Clay woke to a dark room and a warm, solid weight on his chest. Hands cradling his face and a soft mouth kissing him. Stevie. Her scent filled his head, her hair falling in a curtain around them. Cocooning them. He hummed into the kiss and swept his hands up her bare back, exploring his way back down to find nothing but silky skin.
‘Hmm, my favorite outfit on you,’ he murmured.
She didn’t say a word in reply, kissing her way down his neck to his chest, grasping his hands in hers when he tried to roll her to her back.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Let me. Tonight, just let me.’
There was something in her voice, an urgency that had him narrowing his eyes as he stared down at the top of her head. ‘Let you what? Stevie?’
‘Hush. Please.’ Her hands gripped his, holding his arms at his sides when he tried to move. He could have easily wrestled from her grasp, but her tongue flicked his nipple and he sucked in a sharp breath as a shudder raked across his skin.
‘Wait.’ Something had happened. He blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from his brain. They’d been talking about Cordelia. Stevie had gone to tuck her in. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. That had been hours ago. He must have fallen asleep waiting for her to come back. ‘Stevie? Honey, what is this?’
‘Sshh.’ She slid down his body, dropping kisses across his chest. ‘Be quiet, Clay.’
And then she gave him no choice but to obey, short-circuiting his brainwaves by taking him into her mouth and sucking him deep. He hissed, his back arching off the bed.
‘God.’ Curse or prayer, he didn’t
know and didn’t care. ‘Stevie.’ He pulled his hands free, shoving them into her hair, and thrust his hips, needing more.
Digging her fingers into his hips, she pressed him back down into the mattress, releasing his cock long enough to look up and whisper, ‘Let me take care of you.’
Clenching his jaw, he spread his arms wide and grabbed handfuls of the sheets, anchoring himself while she went back down on him. Closing his eyes, he . . . let her. And let her. Until his body was stretched taut as a bow and he could feel the orgasm tingling at the base of his spine.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to be taken care of alone. He caught her under her arms, pulled her up his body, flipped her to her back, and filled her in one hard thrust.
She gasped, then yanked his head down for a hot, open-mouthed kiss, hooking her ankles around his calves and bucking her hips up into him. He found her hands and threaded his fingers through hers, holding on tight as they slammed their way toward climax.
So close. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Sweat dripping down his forehead, he ripped his mouth from hers, met her eyes in the darkness. ‘Now,’ he gritted. ‘Come for me. Now.’
She threw her head back into the pillow, her scream utterly silent. He wasn’t far behind, the climax so powerful that for a moment all he could see was white light. Spent, he fell against her, burying his face in her neck. He was breathing hard, his lungs struggling for air. Her body settled beneath him, her hands still gripping his.
‘Oh my God,’ he said when he could form the words. ‘Stevie.’
‘Told you to let me take care of you,’ she murmured smugly, and he laughed.
Pushing to his elbows took the last bit of his energy, but he knew he had to be crushing her so he forced himself to move. She was smiling up at him.
‘If this was a dream,’ he said softly, ‘don’t you dare wake me up.’
She brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. ‘It’s no dream.’
‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘Of course not. It’s nice to know I can still make you lose control.’
He rolled to his side, taking her with him. ‘What did I do to deserve that? Because I will totally do it every damn day.’
She chuckled, then the smile on her lips faded to something more serious. ‘I just . . . I just needed to show you what you mean to me.’
He raised an eyebrow, about all the movement he still had strength for. ‘Was this makeup sex?’
‘Partly.’ She sighed quietly. ‘I talked to Cordelia. She told me about her nightmares.’
His good humor fled as he watched the myriad of emotions flicker across her face. ‘Should I have told you? She asked me not to. I’ve been so . . . torn.’
‘No, not if she asked you not to. She said she figured that if her father was still alive he’d want her to keep me safe from the nightmares. She said that by telling you, she was doing exactly that.’ A small smile lit her eyes. ‘She said that she thought her father would really have approved of you. That if he couldn’t be here, he’d be glad you were because you take care of us.’
Clay’s throat grew tight. ‘I love her like she’s my own, Stevie.’
‘She is your own, Clay.’
‘Is she worried I’ll love her less because Sienna’s turned up?’
‘She doesn’t seem to be. We mostly talked about her nightmares, though. I made sure that she knew that I would never regret my decision to leave BPD, that I did it for all of us.’ She sighed again. ‘God, Clay. Her nightmares are far worse than I ever thought they could be.’
‘They do seem to be getting a little better. At least that’s what she tells me.’
‘She said she wasn’t keeping anything from you, so that’s good. She’s just sorry that you’ve had to carry her bad dreams around in your head along with your own.’
Clay touched his forehead to Stevie’s. ‘But isn’t that what parents do?’
‘That’s exactly what I told her. I held her until she went to sleep, and I must have dropped off too. When I woke up, all I could think of was how damn lucky I am and how much I love you. I couldn’t handle this on my own.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘On the bright side, I think we’ve both learned enough to do all this better with the next one.’
‘I hope so,’ he said fervently. ‘Sienna’s carrying an incredible burden on her shoulders.’
Stevie shook her head and said nothing. Just studied him in the darkness.
He frowned. ‘Sienna’s not carrying a burden?’
‘Oh, she is for sure. But I’m not talking about Sienna.’
His frown deepened. ‘Then wh—?’ And then he understood. His mouth went dry, his heart stuttering in his chest. The next one? Oh holy hell. ‘You’re . . . ? You and me?’
She nodded carefully, showing nothing in her expression.
A surge of new energy blasted through him and he sat up, staring down at her. ‘We’re having a baby?’ He grinned, his face practically cracking with it. ‘Really?’
She smiled then, relief filling her eyes. ‘Really. So . . . you’re okay with this?’
He slid back down to lie beside her, running his hand down her arm and threading their fingers together again. ‘Hell, yeah.’
‘Some of my reaction tonight . . .’ She grimaced. ‘My bitchiness? I’m going to blame it on hormones, if that’s okay with you.’
He brought their joined hands to his lips. ‘Anything you say. When did you know?’
‘Last week, when you were away. I was going to surprise you with it tonight, and then all the drama happened. I wanted to wait until things calmed down, but . . .’ Her smile was shy. ‘Like I said, I got kind of overwhelmed with how much I love you, and then I couldn’t not tell you. Besides, I think if I waited to tell you until we were drama-free, the baby would tell you himself, right after he asked for the keys to your car.’
‘He?’
‘I had to pick a gender.’ She grinned cheekily. ‘I defaulted to the one you hadn’t had yet.’
‘I don’t care if it’s a he or a she,’ he said fiercely. ‘I get to be a dad from the ground up this time. The pregnancy and the birth and the diapers and the first steps. First words. Bedtime stories. First day of school. Everything I missed with Sienna.’ Because Donna had stolen those things from him. ‘I get to have it all.’
She traced his lips with her finger. ‘Yes, you do,’ she whispered back, her voice breaking.
He blinked hard, unashamed when two tears ran down his face. ‘When?’
‘Next April. I’m barely a month along.’ She pressed her finger to his lips. ‘So we shouldn’t tell anyone just yet.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding. You honestly expect me to keep this a secret?’
She laughed. ‘No, not really.’
He couldn’t have held back the laugh that bubbled out had his life depended on it. ‘That’s good, because I don’t think I’ll be able to stop smiling.’ He hugged her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. ‘I love you.’
‘Good, because I love you too. Now go to sleep. We’re meeting Sienna early tomorrow.’
He lay there for a long time, holding Stevie until she went to sleep, his heart still racing. All he’d ever wanted from life was a family, children, of his own. When he’d returned from the camping trip this afternoon, he’d had that – a wife who loved him and a nine-year-old stepdaughter who called him Dad. If he’d lived the rest of his life just like that, he could have been content. Not complete, because this afternoon he’d still believed Sienna was lost to him. Still, he could have been content.
But now . . . now he was truly complete. He’d found Sienna. Or, more correctly, she’d found him. After all this time.
And he was going to be a father again. His mind still reeled at the thought. He gave in to the need
to touch Stevie, carefully spreading his hand over her stomach. His baby was growing in there. My child. He and Stevie had made a child. He let himself imagine holding their baby in his arms, while Stevie and Cordelia watched with big smiles.
Sienna wasn’t in that little imaginary family portrait, because she didn’t seem entirely real yet. Yes, he’d held her in his arms. Heard her voice. Stroked her hair. Still, her arrival felt more like a dream – a beautiful dream.
But it wasn’t a dream, he told himself. Sienna came to me. She sought me out. He’d searched for her for so many years. And now she’s home. He sighed quietly. No, she wasn’t home. Reality was that her home – and her stepfather – was three thousand miles away. She wasn’t planning to stay forever. She’d made that perfectly clear.
But for now, she was here. This was a start.
He pushed away the doubts and the fears and let himself feel complete. And happy.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 23 August, 2.20 A.M.
Gage knew a lot of truly bad people. Violent, dangerous thugs. It was an occupational hazard of being a defense attorney. He supposed he’d now be considered one of those violent, dangerous thugs himself. That fact hadn’t seemed to bother Tavilla. His new boss had only been concerned that he covered his tracks and didn’t get caught.
It was good when a man’s goals were consistent with those of his employer.
Gage pulled into the parking lot of an old church, quietly closing the door to the junker he’d been driving all day. Like Cleon Perry’s money and coke, the car now belonged to Gage. He’d changed out the license plates for a pair he’d taken from a car up on blocks in a weed-infested alley behind one of the boarded-up row houses he’d passed while fleeing from yesterday morning’s crime scene. Cleon’s old Chevy looked like every other banged-up junker. No one would pay him or the car a bit of attention.
He’d buy another car as soon as he got a few paychecks under his belt – maybe a Mercedes sedan. He’d always gone for the flashy sports cars in the past, but he’d have to be more discreet in this new life of his.