by Karen Rose
‘But Thorne’s not going to die!’ the one on the right sputtered. ‘You can’t do this.’
‘Oh, but I can. And I will.’
The one on the right tried rocking his chair back, but it was bolted to the floor. Not my first rodeo. He’d learned a thing or two over the years. How to properly restrain his prey was one of them.
He stood studying them for a long moment.
‘What?’ demanded the one on the left, appropriately scared out of his mind.
‘I’m just trying to decide which of my skills I want to hone. See, I told you the exact amount of the drug you were supposed to use on Mr Thorne. For whatever reason, you disregarded my instructions. I can’t let that stand.’
The one on the left gulped. ‘But . . . But he was huge, man! One heavy motherfucker. We just . . . we wanted to be sure he didn’t wake up while we were dragging him into his house.’
‘Well, he very nearly didn’t wake up at all. Had you given him the amount I specified, he would simply have slept several more hours. As it was, you nearly killed him. If I let your incompetence go unpunished, what kind of a message would I be sending to the rest of my employees?’
He didn’t wait for an answer, instead opening his weapons case and drawing out a simple bludgeon. He’d decided on a physical approach. He needed to work off some excess stress.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 3.35 P.M.
Thorne swallowed hard, confused when his throat felt raw. His head hurt too. Dammit. And there was beeping. Something was beeping.
Close to him, someone was murmuring. He drew a breath and relaxed. Lavender. Gwyn is here. She always smelled like lavender because she soaked in scented Epsom salts every night. It kept her muscles from hurting after performing at the club.
He turned his head toward the scent and breathed once again. ‘You’re here,’ he whispered, then jerked awake, because she wasn’t supposed to be here. He was asleep and she was . . . here. In his bedroom.
His eyes flew open at the same time he tried to sit up. Pain sliced at his wrist and he yanked his arm to get away from it, only to have it hurt even more. Two sets of hands pressed against his chest, both female. Both familiar.
All he could hear was his own roar and the clang of metal until Gwyn’s voice broke through his confusion. ‘Thorne. Stop. Please. Stop before you hurt yourself.’
Wide-eyed, he stared into Gwyn’s dark blue eyes, then at Lucy’s pale face. Both were urging him back down. Suddenly exhausted, he dropped his head to the pillow. Then turned to stare at the handcuff that cut into his wrist.
He was handcuffed. To a bed. He scanned the room. White walls. Monitors that beeped incessantly. He was handcuffed to a hospital bed.
Swallowing again, he drew a breath that he hoped would calm his racing heart. But it didn’t. ‘What happened?’ The words came out as a hoarse croak.
Lucy abruptly turned her back to him, shifting her body so that she blocked Thorne’s view of the door.
Gwyn’s gaze flicked over Lucy’s shoulder to the doorway, then back to his face. ‘You were drugged,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘You’re in the hospital. The police will ask you questions. Don’t answer them. Wait for Jamie to get here.’
‘Gwyn. Lucy.’ The voice and the sigh were familiar. JD Fitzpatrick was here. This couldn’t be good at all. ‘Step away from the bed, both of you.’
Gwyn’s chin lifted. ‘He’s not talking to you without Jamie in the room.’
‘I figured as much,’ JD said, sounding a little bit . . . hurt? ‘But I need to be here in case he does say something. You two can stop acting like I’m the enemy, you know.’
Lucy stepped aside and Thorne realized she hadn’t been blocking his view of the door, but JD’s view of him. ‘I didn’t expect it to be you coming through the door,’ she told her husband, sounding relieved. ‘I thought Lieutenant Hyatt had taken over.’
Hyatt? Thorne wanted to groan, but his throat hurt too much. If the arrogant, abrasive, grandstanding homicide lieutenant was on point, things really had gone to shit. Wait. Homicide detective? What the hell happened to me?
‘He has,’ JD said. ‘He had to take a phone call. He’ll be in here as soon as he’s done. Now, can the two of you step away from the bed, please?’
Neither Gwyn nor Lucy did what they were told. Both took a step backward so that they stood on either side of Thorne’s head. His sentries.
Thorne might have smiled had his head not been splitting in two. ‘Can I get some water? Maybe some aspirin or something too? My head feels like I got kicked.’
As did the rest of his body. Now that he was awake, he hurt all over. He had been in enough fights to know that whatever had happened, he’d soon be covered in bruises, if he wasn’t already.
What time is it? He was in a single room cubicle. With no windows. In the hospital. What the fuck happened?
JD studied his face, the cop’s expression one of genuine concern. ‘That’s the doctor’s call. She’s on her way.’
Gwyn’s small hand stroked the hair off Thorne’s forehead. ‘Where else does it hurt?’
‘Everywhere.’ He closed his eyes, tried not to panic. ‘What happened to me?’
JD came to stand at the foot of his bed. ‘You don’t remember?’ he asked carefully.
No. I don’t. And it was terrifying, because he was handcuffed to a hospital bed and a homicide detective was in his room in case he said anything. What happened? What the fuck did I do?
His lips started to move, but Gwyn’s hand over his mouth kept him from saying another word. ‘Wait for Jamie,’ she said.
She was right. It was what he should have told himself, but he cut himself a little slack because the other words she’d spoken had finally kicked in. You were drugged. He opened his eyes to meet hers, a deep dark blue that he’d dreamed of waking up to so many times. Just not like this.
Drugged. It explained a lot, actually. Except . . . How? And by whom?
‘Can you unlock the cuff?’ Lucy asked JD. ‘He’s not going to flee.’
JD frowned, his gaze dropping to the handcuff fixed to the bed rail. ‘Who cuffed him?’
Lucy’s mouth tightened. ‘The detective who brought him in. Brickman.’
‘And against his doctor’s orders,’ a woman said as she strode into the room wearing a frown. And scrubs.
She glanced at the monitors, then flicked a light in Thorne’s eyes, nodding at whatever she saw. ‘If you have to restrain him, we can use softer restraints.’
JD simply unlocked the cuff and removed it from Thorne’s wrist. ‘I don’t have to restrain him at all.’
Thorne flexed his fingers, then gently removed Gwyn’s hand from his mouth, hesitating before placing it on his cheek. Needing her to touch him right now, he was relieved when she didn’t move her hand, curving it instead to cup his jaw. ‘I’ll wait for Jamie,’ he murmured, then looked at the nurse. ‘Water?’
‘Let me take your vitals and I’ll get you a cup and a swab. You can’t drink until the doctor’s been in and changed her orders, but you can at least wet the inside of your mouth.’ She glanced at Lucy. ‘Can you move, please?’
Lucy complied, standing next to JD at the foot of the bed, watching every move the nurse made. Thorne closed his eyes again, secure in the knowledge that Lucy wouldn’t let the medical personnel hurt him and that Gwyn wouldn’t let him say anything stupid before Jamie got there.
‘Am I under arrest?’ he asked quietly.
‘No,’ JD said quickly, then sighed. ‘Not yet. But it doesn’t look good, Thorne.’
What doesn’t look good? he wanted to shout, but held it back because he was so tired.
The nurse returned with a cup and a small sponge on a stick. ‘There is an angry-looking bald man on his way to this room. If he causes a problem, I’ll call security.’
&nb
sp; Lieutenant Hyatt was coming. The man was mostly trustworthy. Mostly. But he tended to make decisions first and ask questions later. And it was no secret that he had no love for defense attorneys. And if things didn’t look good? Thorne didn’t like the odds that Hyatt would be on his side of things.
‘Thank you,’ Gwyn said, then took the cup and sponge from the nurse. ‘I’ll take care of him.’ When the nurse had backed away, Gwyn leaned in close to wet Thorne’s lips with the sponge. She was very close, he realized seconds before he heard her whisper, ‘I found you in your bed at a little after six this morning, unconscious. You were lying next to a woman. She was dead, beaten and stabbed.’
His eyes widened in shock, but after flicking a glance at the door, Gwyn leaned in even closer, blocking his face. She made a show of re-wetting the sponge and swabbing the inside of his mouth. ‘There was a knife on the floor, placed as if you’d dropped it before passing out.’ She rested her forehead against his, her swallow audible. ‘You nearly died. If I hadn’t found you when—’
‘Miss Weaver.’ She was interrupted by a deep, booming voice that Thorne also recognized, unfortunately. Lieutenant Peter Hyatt had arrived. Thorne and Hyatt had butted heads far too many times over the years. But Hyatt did seem to know the meaning of loyalty, and Thorne had done the homicide department a few favors in between the head-butting.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
‘Say nothing,’ Gwyn whispered as she pulled away. ‘I was just swabbing his mouth,’ she told Hyatt with a sweet smile that anyone who knew her would realize was a charade. Gwyn was many things – most of them good – but sweet wasn’t normally one of them.
Which had only made Thorne want her more.
Then, once again, his brain seemed to catch up. A dead woman in my bed? Stabbed? Beaten? What the fuck is happening?
He clenched his jaw, determined not to say another word.
‘Mr Thorne,’ Hyatt said grimly, then frowned at JD. ‘Who removed the handcuffs?’
‘I did,’ JD said flatly. ‘He’s not a flight risk. He can barely lift his head, much less run, and the cuff was causing injury.’
‘Mr Thorne is a suspect in a homicide,’ Hyatt growled. ‘He will be treated like a suspect in a homicide. I need to chat with him. You all need to leave.’
‘He’s not saying a word without his attorney present,’ Gwyn said, all pretense of sweetness gone.
‘His attorney is here.’ Jamie Maslow wheeled his chair into the doorway. ‘I’m going to need everyone to clear out so I can talk to my client.’
Thorne saw a flicker of something in Hyatt’s eyes. Relief? It certainly looked that way. JD’s relief, on the other hand, was unmistakable.
And mine? Off the fucking chart. He was finally going to find out what was going on.
Gwyn started to move from his bedside, but he caught her arm. ‘Stay,’ he murmured, then glanced over at Jamie. ‘I need her to stay. Please.’
She found me. In my bed. With a dead woman. That part hadn’t entirely sunk in yet, because the words felt . . . surreal. Why had Gwyn even been in his bedroom? Why the fuck was another woman there? A dead woman? Jesus.
‘You’re entitled to talk to your attorney,’ Hyatt said tightly. ‘No one else.’
Thorne’s temper stirred and suddenly he needed not to be flat on his back. He jabbed at one of the arrows on the side of the bed and raised himself a few degrees. His head spun, but he gritted his teeth and locked his gaze on Hyatt’s face. ‘Am I under arrest, Lieutenant?’
Hyatt pursed his lips. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then I can speak with whomever I choose,’ he said coldly. ‘However, if it makes you feel better, Miss Weaver is a paralegal with my office.’
Hyatt’s eyes narrowed. ‘She manages your nightclub.’
‘I’m a multitasker,’ Gwyn told him. ‘I’m also a licensed paralegal.’
‘She assists me part-time,’ Jamie chimed in. ‘She helped me write a brief just last week.’
Because the case had been a sensitive one that Thorne hadn’t trusted to just anyone. He trusted Jamie and Gwyn with his life.
Hyatt’s nod was curt. ‘Very well. I’ll be waiting to take your statement, Mr Thorne.’
Jamie backed his chair away from the doorway, allowing Hyatt to exit.
Shaking her head, Lucy pressed a kiss to Thorne’s cheek. ‘We’ll wait outside too. Don’t worry. We’ve got your back.’
He met her eyes, unable to hide his dread any longer. ‘What did I do, Luce?’ he whispered.
‘Nothing bad,’ Lucy whispered back. ‘I know you, Thorne. You did not kill that woman. We’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.’ She forced a smile. ‘Now I’ve got to find a quiet room and pump. My boobs have to weigh fifteen pounds each.’
His lips twitched, as she’d meant them to. ‘TMI, Luce. Way too much.’
She gave him a wink. ‘See you soon.’ Then she took JD’s hand and led him from the room, leaving Thorne alone with Jamie and Gwyn.
When the door was firmly closed, Thorne turned to Gwyn and repeated his question. ‘What did I do?’
And then his throat closed, because her expression grew shuttered. But not before he’d seen the accusation flickering in the dark blue eyes he knew so well.
He shrank back against the bed, suddenly too damn weary to hold his head high. She believed it was true. Gwyn believed he was guilty.
Not again. This couldn’t be happening again.
Annapolis, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 3.40 P.M.
He glanced up when Patton came in, looking disgusted and the tiniest bit scared. He already knew why, but he wasn’t nearly as upset about it as Patton seemed to be.
On the other hand, Patton had disposed of the bodies of both Ramirez and his wife after his former clerk had died such a painful death. He knew the price of failure, so a few nerves were understandable.
‘Yes?’ he asked softly. ‘You look upset, Mr Patton.’
The man called himself George Patton, but he’d really been born Arthur Ernest, his parents farmers in Kentucky, as traditional as they came. A former soldier, Patton had been dishonorably discharged, narrowly missing serving time for the death of another soldier killed in a bar fight. Not that any of that really mattered, except that Patton believed he’d gotten past his extensive background checks. Foolish man. But he was also a power-hungry man whose loyalty could be bought.
I’ll use his greed as long as it suits me. And when it no longer did, there were thousands of Pattons out there just waiting for a chance to shine.
Patton squared his shoulders. ‘Thorne was discovered hours too early. I had the person who should have found him set up and ready to go, but his business partner found him instead. The scene was set as you directed, but because he was discovered early, the GHB was still in his system.’
He met Patton’s eyes directly, reluctantly impressed when the man didn’t look away. ‘That’s unfortunate, but no surprise. I have eyes and ears in the hospital,’ he explained when Patton’s eyes widened. ‘I am, however, disappointed that you waited so long to tell me.’
Patton scowled. ‘I waited until he woke up, to see what he remembered.’
He blinked. ‘You went to the hospital?’ There were only a million surveillance cameras there. Good God, man.
Patton’s scowl deepened. ‘No. Of course not. I have eyes and ears too.’
Well, at least there’s that. ‘What does he remember?’
‘Nothing so far. The problem is that the presence of GHB in his system will make the cops doubt his guilt. He doesn’t have an alibi, but he was drugged and bruised. Your goons were not careful.’
Because he’d told them not to be. He’d wanted Thorne in pain. A few broken bones would have been lovely, but his goons hadn’t been that resourceful. ‘It doesn’t really matter. The police would have doubted
his guilt regardless. He’s done too many favors for them in recent years.’
Patton frowned. ‘Wait. What? You mean you never intended for him to be arrested for murder?’
‘I did intend for that to happen, yes.’ But that isn’t the end goal. ‘He will be arrested when all is said and done, so don’t worry, Mr Patton.’
Patton gave him a long, assessing look. ‘What is this really about? I mean, I could have put a bullet in his head twenty different times already. Now he’ll be on his guard.’
‘I don’t want a bullet in his head,’ he snapped, then drew a breath. He hadn’t meant to show his temper. Immediately he calmed himself. ‘There are worse things than death, Mr Patton.’ Like living alone for the rest of your life. Like watching your family die and knowing the person who killed them still lives.
He didn’t actually want Thomas Thorne to die. He wanted Thorne to know his pain. To live his pain. Preferably behind bars, where he’d be hunted like the animal he was.
‘I agree,’ Patton said evenly. ‘So what would you like me to do next?’
‘These two.’ He passed a photograph across the desk. ‘Bring them here.’
Patton’s eyes were flat as he studied the photo. ‘Where can I find them, and what did they do?’ he asked.
‘What they did is not important.’ Because it really wasn’t. The two men in the photo were tools. Nothing more. ‘They’ll be at Sheidalin tonight.’
Patton folded the photograph. ‘I’ll let you know when it’s done.’
‘Thank you. In the meantime, please dispose of the two currently tied to chairs next door.’
Patton’s jaw grew taut. ‘I see. Are you going to kill me too?’
‘No. First, you did tell me about the error. Second, it really wasn’t your fault that they were colossal idiots. Do be careful when you go into the office. The floor is slippery.’ Because the two who’d botched Thorne’s drugging had both bled out. From multiple wounds and orifices.