by Karen Rose
‘I haven’t been able to trace the number,’ Alec said, sounding annoyed with himself.
‘I thought you couldn’t track disposable phones,’ Phil said.
Alec shrugged. ‘There are ways. Not necessarily pretty ways, but ways. The number’s 301-555-2495, right? I’d hate to be chasing down the wrong number.’
Frederick checked his notes. ‘That’s right.’
Thorne sucked in a harsh breath. That was Ramirez’s number. Goddammit. His chest went tight. This was very, very bad. Shit. Damn. Fuck.
But before he could utter a single word, a piercing alarm ripped the air and Clay jumped to his feet and ran to the monitor on the wall. ‘Somebody just cut the fence and came through. They’re somewhere on the property.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 5.35 P.M.
Gwyn fought to stay calm, but the screeching alarm had hold of her brain and she just wanted to run as far and fast as she could. Thorne lifted her, setting her on his lap, then wrapped his arms around her. It was then that she realized she was trembling so hard that her teeth were chattering.
‘Shh,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Look. They know what to do.’
It was true. Everyone except for Gwyn, Thorne, Phil and Jamie had scattered in an organized way that helped her calm herself a little. Just a little, because the alarm was still blaring.
Clay, Sam, JD and Frederick were standing around an enormous gun safe that had been hidden in a closet behind a normal-looking door. Clay was passing out weapons. Paige and Stevie had already drawn their guns from holsters Gwyn hadn’t noticed but was unsurprised to know they had. Paige was scanning the monitors while Stevie and Lucy headed down the stairs to where the children were.
‘Oh God,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘The kids.’
‘The kids are safe,’ Thorne assured her. ‘Do you really think Clay would allow a playroom for children to be breachable?’
‘No.’ She’d seen Clay’s security first-hand. He’d installed the system in her own condo, for God’s sake. The man took care of his family. The babies were safe.
‘Remarkable,’ Jamie murmured. ‘They’ve practiced this, clearly.’
‘Like a finely tuned machine,’ Phil agreed. ‘I feel like a slug, just sitting here.’
The alarm was abruptly silenced and Gwyn’s bones seemed to crumble into dust. She’d held herself so tensely before that she was a puddle now. A puddle whose arms were tightly wrapped around Thomas Thorne’s neck.
His hand was slowly gliding up her spine and down again. Gentling her. Just as he’d done in those horrible days after Evan. Thorne had been the only one who’d held her afterward. Because Thorne had been the only one she’d trusted.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered, mortified by her reaction to a stupid alarm. But obviously not mortified enough, because she hadn’t let him go. I don’t want to. I don’t want to ever let him go. He was solid strength and he’d been so generous, sharing that strength with her whenever she’d needed it.
‘Shh.’ Thorne’s deep voice rumbled up from his chest. ‘It’s fine.’ She felt his chin lift. ‘What can I do, Clay?’
‘Depends.’ Clay’s voice reached them from the other side of the large living room. ‘Which of you is the best shot?’
‘Gwyn is!’ Paige called over her shoulder. ‘Give her a Glock. We’ve drilled at the shooting range.’
‘Well, all right then,’ Clay said, but he looked doubtful, probably because Gwyn was still clutching Thorne like he was her lifeline. ‘Who’s the second best shot?’
Gwyn forced herself to release the chokehold she had on Thorne. Sliding off his lap, she held out her hand, proud that she’d controlled the trembling. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. Give me the fucking gun.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Clay drawled, and obeyed, watching closely as she checked the magazine and racked the slide, making sure it was loaded properly.
She looked up at him, drawing on her defiance for strength. Just as she’d done for the last four and a half years. ‘Go. We’re good here.’
Clay gave her a single nod, then he was out the door leading to the backyard.
Only Alec stayed behind, his fingers flying over the computer keys, his eyes glued to his screen. He paused only to connect a cable from his cell phone to the device he wore behind his ear.
‘Does he have a cochlear implant?’ Jamie whispered, fascinated. ‘One of my clients has one. He has the same cord for his phone.’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn whispered back. Clay’s IT whizz-kid had pretty clear speech, so she tended to forget his deafness. She watched Alec now, mesmerized by his calm confidence. She envied him that confidence. Her own was mostly bravado.
‘I found him on camera two,’ Alec said into the phone. ‘He got away on a dirt bike. He’s headed through the woods.’
There was a pause, and Alec nodded. ‘I’ll keep watching. You keep your fool head down. Pops,’ he added irreverently.
Gwyn calmed a little bit more upon hearing that news.
‘Who is “Pops”?’ Phil asked.
Gwyn chuckled. ‘Taylor calls Frederick “Dad”. She needed a name for Clay and tried “Pops”. He hated it, so of course all the kids have taken to calling him that.’
Phil nodded, also looking a little calmer, although he was clutching Jamie’s hand hard. Or maybe Jamie was doing the clutching. It was hard to say, and in the end it didn’t matter. ‘Who is Alec to Clay?’ Phil asked.
Gwyn smiled. ‘Kind of like an adopted son. They met when Alec was a kid and had been kidnapped. Clay found him.’
‘Saved my fucking life,’ Alec said, surprising them all.
Gwyn stared at him. ‘Oh. I didn’t know if you could hear us and the phone at the same time.’
Alec still didn’t look up from his screen, his eyes darting back and forth. He was probably scanning the security feeds. ‘I got a second cochlear implant on my other side. I get bilateral input now. So you can stop talking about me like I’m not here.’
‘Join the fucking club,’ Thorne muttered.
Gwyn let his voice ground her, just as she always did. She sat perched on the arm of the loveseat, leaning into him. ‘If you didn’t shut us out of the important stuff, we might be able to talk to you instead of around you.’
Thorne’s lips thinned. ‘There is nothing to tell.’
She shook her head. ‘Whatever, hotshot.’
His phone buzzed loudly, and he flinched, then checked the screen. ‘It’s my contact,’ he said.
A few seconds passed, with Thorne still staring at his phone.
‘Well?’ Jamie asked impatiently.
‘I asked him how he was doing. He just messaged back, “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”’
Jamie sighed. ‘That doesn’t sound fine.’
Thorne scowled. ‘I know. I’m trying to figure out how to respond.’
Gwyn’s eyes narrowed at what she saw on the screen. ‘Wait just a fucking second, Thorne. That’s the number your contact uses?’
Thorne abruptly shut off his phone, but it was too late.
‘What?’ Jamie asked.
Gwyn turned to the others. ‘The number for his contact is the same damn number that Frederick just gave for the fake detective who was harassing Bernice Brown’s friend, and the one used to message his daughter.’
‘Thorne.’ The single syllable out of Jamie’s mouth carried disapproval, disappointment and more than a little fury.
Thorne shook his head stubbornly. ‘No. I’m not telling you anything more. Any of you. You’ll insist on “investigating”, and get yourselves killed.’
Several beats of enraged silence were broken by Alec’s low whistle. ‘Whoa. Way to piss off your posse, dude.’
Thorne’s face darkened. ‘I don’t need—’
Alec looked up at that. ‘What?’ he asked sarca
stically. ‘You don’t need what? Our help? Fuck that. Our support? Fuck that squared. You don’t want to need it.’ He shook his head in disgust, his affected drawl mocking. ‘Big strong guys like you don’t need nuthin’. At least be honest with yourself.’
Thorne’s mouth fell open.
Jamie snorted softly. ‘Touché.’
Gwyn gave Alec a hard nod. ‘Nicely done, kid. Couldn’t have said it better myself.’
‘Yeah, well, I work with a whole company full of idiots who don’t want to need anyone. Gets old after a while.’
Thorne’s lip curled in a sneer as his eyes locked onto Gwyn’s. ‘Right. Like you want to need help? Bullshit.’
Gwyn’s chin came up. ‘We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.’
‘Hush, children.’ Alec held up a hand, once again talking into his phone. ‘I didn’t get the bike’s plate. It didn’t have one. Are you coming back? . . . Fine. I’ll stay on the line until you’re all safely inside.’ He looked up again. ‘They lost him. He cut himself a path through the woods just wide enough for a dirt bike.’
‘How long a path?’ Thorne asked.
‘Long enough to get him back to the main road. It had to have taken him a while to clear that much undergrowth. Probably worked at night. There’s no light in the back. Trees are too dense for moonlight and our floodlights only reach so far. Clay thinks it took at least three or four nights.’
‘How did he know Thorne would be here?’ Phil asked.
‘I don’t think he did, babe,’ Jamie replied. ‘He was probably planning to strike here again anyway. He already went after Stevie once today. All in broad daylight.’
‘Stevie and Clay have kids,’ Thorne said tightly. ‘Cordelia is JD’s goddaughter. If he hit here, he’d hurt a lot of my friends.’
Jamie sighed. ‘Normally I’d tell you that not everything is about you, but this time, it is.’
‘What are you going to do about your contact?’ Gwyn asked sharply. Thorne winced, and she knew he’d hoped she’d be distracted enough to forget about it. ‘No, I didn’t forget. Spill, Thorne. Now.’
‘Or what?’ he mocked.
‘Don’t,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t shut me out. Don’t shut them out. The kid is right. You don’t want to need our help, but that’s too damn bad. Tell me.’
Thorne sighed. ‘I’m going to ask him to meet me. And you’re not coming.’
Her jaw tightened. She wanted to argue, but she knew there were those in the group who could protect him better than she could. The knowledge irked, but she shoved it away. ‘Who is?’
‘I don’t know,’ he hissed, enunciating each word. ‘I will figure it out.’
The door from the backyard opened, admitting those who’d gone after the intruder. Everyone who’d been downstairs with the kids joined them and together they reclaimed their seats. Cautiously they looked from Gwyn to Thorne, because they were still glaring daggers at each other.
‘What’d we miss?’ Clay asked.
Thirteen
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 6.10 P.M.
Gwyn stared up at Thorne’s stony profile. ‘Tell them or I will.’
His jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. ‘That call to Bernice Brown’s friend and the message to Julie were made from my contact’s disposable cell.’
‘Well, fuck,’ Frederick spat angrily. ‘Were you going to tell us, Thorne?’
‘Of course I was,’ he snapped. ‘I wasn’t going to tell them.’ He gestured to Gwyn and the two men who were by all rights his fathers.
Jamie huffed a sigh. Phil looked resigned. Gwyn bit her tongue, because the temper she felt bubbling was going to yield words she’d never be able to take back.
‘So your contact harassed Bernice Brown’s friend?’ JD clarified.
‘Or at least someone used the contact’s number to do so,’ Alec challenged. ‘There are spoofing sites that will allow you to mask your call with another number. They didn’t have to have his actual phone.’
‘I know,’ Thorne said. ‘That’s how I message him. His returned texts are forwarded from my disposable cell to this phone.’ He held up his smartphone. ‘I got a message from him while you all were gone. He says he’s fine and asks why I’m asking.’
‘Tell him you want to meet,’ Frederick ordered.
Thorne nodded stiffly. ‘That’s what I was planning to do.’
‘But you’re not going to the meeting place,’ Paige said, watching him. ‘Because whoever made that call might be there waiting. You’re going to his house.’
‘That was my plan, yes.’
Everyone went quiet, considering it.
Finally JD spoke. ‘Send your message, Thorne. I’m going with you to the contact’s house.’
Thorne surprised Gwyn by nodding again. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell Joseph and Hyatt to have boots on the ground at the meeting place, just in case we luck out and Tavilla shows up. They’ll want to be sure they have surveillance and enough cameras to film anyone passing through the meeting area. If it’s not Tavilla but one of his goons, we’ll want to capture their faces.’
‘Good plan,’ Clay said. ‘What can we do?’
‘Just . . .’ Thorne’s voice went husky. ‘Just don’t get killed. Please. I can’t live with that. Not again.’
Gwyn knew he was thinking of Sherri, his first love, killed because she’d stood with him when nobody else had. And of course he was thinking of the shootings today. Even if the shooter had missed, he’d come so very close to both her and Stevie. ‘We’ll be careful,’ she insisted.
He nodded once, unconvinced. ‘Okay.’
She lowered her voice, leaning in to whisper in his ear. ‘And we will talk about this. Later. In private. You will not keep things from us. From me.’
She watched the clench of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed convulsively. And she sighed. This need to keep them safe was ripping him apart, and that was the last thing she wanted. ‘Look,’ she whispered. ‘You are important, Thorne. To me. I promise not to get myself killed, if you do the same. Can we at least agree on this?’
She felt his small shudder and suddenly wished they were alone so that she could put her arms around him and give him what he needed. Whatever that was. But he’d already pulled away, physically and emotionally, and the knowledge . . . hurt.
Rubbing his hands down his thighs, he stood up. ‘I’m going to text him now. I’ll be back.’
Fuck, she thought miserably. He could text from right here. Next to me. But he was practically race-walking from the room. Away from me.
Could she blame him? He’d declared his . . . feelings, whatever label they bore. She’d pushed him away, then told him he was important to her. The lamest thing ever. And she still expected him to share with her?
Well . . . yes. I do. Because we’re still friends. But the words echoed dully in her head, and her throat thickened. Aren’t we? Can we be?
She was terrified that she already knew the answer to that question. Remaining where she was, she watched him leave the room and felt a piece of her heart crumble.
She glanced over at Lucy, who looked sad. Their eyes met, Lucy’s full of sympathy and helplessness. Gwyn looked away, focusing on the handgun she still held but feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. All on her.
A strong arm slid around her shoulders. Sam. ‘Give him a few minutes to get his head on straight, Gwyn,’ he murmured kindly. ‘You know this kind of shit is hard on him. He feels like he has to be Superman. This has got to be his worst nightmare.’
Carefully she flipped the safety on the handgun. ‘I know.’ Pointing the barrel down, she slid off the arm of the loveseat and gave the gun back to Clay. ‘What will you do about your fence?’ she asked him.
‘We repaired it already,’ he told her, but there wa
s sympathy in his eyes too. ‘And now we know where we need to beef up security.’
‘The woods gave us a false sense of safety,’ Stevie added. ‘We’ll be installing more cameras. We tried motion detectors once, but that was hard because we have deer back there and they kept setting them off.’
Gwyn felt her stomach lurch. These people – good people – felt the need to take such drastic measures simply to protect themselves and their families. And why? Because they’d stood up against criminals. And now they were threatened again. Because of their friendship with Thorne.
Sam was right. This was Thorne’s worst nightmare. And I’m being selfish, my feelings hurt because he walked away from me. Because he needed more from her than demands that he be upfront with information.
He needed more than her assurances that he was ‘important’ to her. Because he was. He was . . . he was everything.
She wanted to say something to him. She needed to say something to him. But no words would come.
Then make the words come, girl. And do it fast. He’s hurting, and . . .
And God only knew what he was planning. The man truly did believe that he was Superman. Because he usually is. Bigger than life, he always seemed invincible. But he’s not. He’s just a man. An amazing man. A handsome, strong man who made her feel safe and warm and . . . loved. He loves me. And somehow she’d always known that, down deep where it was . . . what? Safe?
Yes. Safe. And loving him back? Not so safe.
But you do love him. You know you do. You always have.
Yes, yes, she had. She’d also known that. Also down deep where it was . . .
Safe? the voice in her head mocked her. She had learned that there was no such thing as true safety. There was hiding and there was living. And through all of it, there had been Thorne. So tell him, for God’s sake. Don’t be such a fucking coward.
She felt lightheaded at the notion. Why is this so hard?
‘Gwyn, honey.’ Lucy’s voice was soft in her ear, but the smack to Gwyn’s back wasn’t. Her best friend had thwacked her a good one with the palm of her hand. ‘Breathe, girl. You need to breathe.’