Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  ‘Where are her parents?’ Gwyn asked.

  ‘In Virginia.’ He shrugged. ‘I reminded her that she couldn’t leave the state. She got pissy and said she wasn’t going to skip bail. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to go home. She was in holding longer than we were and she was not happy about it. At least her mom was able to watch the baby all night.’

  ‘We’ll go talk to her,’ Gwyn said. ‘If she really wants to quit, we won’t stand in her way, of course, but she needs to know we’ll see this drug charge through with her. Either Jamie or Frederick will continue to represent her.’

  Ming looked uncomfortable. ‘She said she’d be getting her own lawyer, that she didn’t trust you all not to railroad her.’

  Gwyn bit her lip. ‘Guys, did Laura have access to the server?’

  Mowry shook his head. ‘No. Well, yes, but only to the inventory database.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re suggesting she took the money?’

  ‘She’s not here,’ Thorne said. ‘And she’s putting distance between us. We have to at least consider it. We’ll ask Alec to trace the changes to the accounting software and the bank withdrawal. In the meantime, we’ll go see her.’ He stood up, pulling Gwyn to her feet. ‘Mowry, call your contact to see if he really texted that or if we’re being spoofed. Once it’s verified, call me. I want to hear voices from here on out.’ He squeezed the manager’s shoulder. ‘And seriously, if something changes and you do need to run, do what you have to do. But call me afterward. I’ll help you.’

  Mowry nodded. ‘Thanks, boss. Will do.’

  Twenty-two

  Baltimore, Maryland,

  Wednesday 15 June, 1.45 P.M.

  Gwyn’s mood was dark as Thorne parked their borrowed SUV in front of the crab shack that acted as the Circus Freaks’ front office. It was really old. Paint peeled, shutters were missing, and windows had been boarded up. Perched on the banks of the Patapsco River down by the docks, the place was definitely ramshackle. But not abandoned. Twenty motorcycles were parked outside. And amazing scents wafted through the SUV’s air vents.

  Steamed crabs with Old Bay seasoning, one of the few pleasant memories of Gwyn’s childhood. It was almost enough to make her sigh happily. Except she wasn’t happy. At all.

  ‘I want to say again that this is a stupid idea, Thorne.’

  He glanced over at her, his expression equally dark. ‘So noted, but it’s too late for you to change your mind. I don’t have time to take you somewhere safe, and there is no fucking way that I’m leaving you in the SUV.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’d changed my mind,’ she said tersely. She was going in with him, no matter what. Didn’t mean she had to like it.

  His reply was equally terse. ‘Good.’

  They sat in silence for a full minute before he blew out an angry breath and voiced what was worrying them even more than their meeting with the leader of the Circus Freaks. ‘How did we miss this thing with Laura? I thought she was happy and honest.’

  Gwyn pinched the bridge of her nose. Their missing bartender had proved to be an even bigger issue than they’d feared. Not only had she quit, but she’d cleaned out her apartment. And not only had she done that, but her neighbors hadn’t seen her in a month, and none of them had seen her with a baby. Ever.

  The woman they’d hired and nurtured and treated as one of their own had truly gotten one by them. A big one. How big was not yet known.

  Gwyn did not have a good feeling about any of this. ‘I don’t know. We put her through the same hiring process we’ve used for years. The same background check. I mean, I didn’t do it, but you did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Thorne murmured. ‘I was busy with a case. Anne did it.’

  Anne Poulin, Thorne’s beautiful, tall, willowy French receptionist who Gwyn had disliked on sight. Well, French Canadian anyway. Didn’t matter. The woman still oozed sex.

  Gwyn frowned. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to . . .’ She let the question trail off, because she knew the answer. She’d always done Thorne’s hiring at the firm. Until four years ago. But Laura had been hired six months ago. ‘I was better when we hired Laura. Why didn’t you ask me?’

  ‘You might have known you were getting better,’ he said wearily. ‘I didn’t know any such thing and I didn’t want to push you.’

  ‘Next time, push me,’ she said.

  ‘So noted,’ he replied once again, and she sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Thorne. I shouldn’t have questioned you on that one. I’m upset.’

  ‘I know.’ Taking her hand, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. ‘In hindsight I probably should have pushed you. I let you stew too long.’

  ‘I told you that you were more patient with me than I am with you.’

  ‘Well, that’s true.’ He checked his phone. ‘I left a voicemail for Anne, asking her about Laura’s background check, but she’s never called me back. You?’

  ‘She wouldn’t call me. She doesn’t like me.’

  She thought he’d deny that, but he shrugged lightly. ‘She’s jealous. Everyone compared her to you and it annoyed her.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘We should go inside and talk to Alistair.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  Thorne’s smile was wry. ‘The boss of the Circus Freaks.’

  ‘And his name is Alistair? Why didn’t he change it to Rocco or something?’

  ‘Rocco was taken. Plus . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Nobody ever makes fun of him. Let’s just leave it at that.’

  ‘Lovely.’ She patted her stomach, comforted to feel the handgun holstered in the girdle she wore. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Gripping his hand tightly, she entered the shack, blinking to get used to the darkness. It was a familiar sight, picnic tables covered with newspaper and piles of crab shells – the only way to truly enjoy blue crabs.

  Thorne bent down to whisper in her ear. ‘If we don’t die, let’s get a bushel to go.’

  That made her laugh, so when they came face to face with the biggest, burliest man she’d ever seen, she was still smiling. The smile faded away as she craned her head back to see his face.

  ‘Holy motherfuck,’ she muttered under her breath. Alistair was enormous. He towered over Thorne, for God’s sake, with a bald head and a handlebar mustache that would have made him look comical had it not been for the wicked scar that ran from his left eye to disappear beneath the facial hair. His eyes were blue. And cold. His leather vest was covered in gang patches, his skin in tattoos. It was only the steady pressure of Thorne’s hand on the small of her back that kept her from turning to run for her life.

  Keeping a firm hold on her, Thorne stuck his free hand out for the gang leader to shake. ‘Alistair. It’s good to see you again.’

  The man shook Thorne’s hand. ‘Likewise,’ he said in a voice that was more growly than any one of the motorcycles out there. He eyed Gwyn. ‘I didn’t know you were bringing your lady friend. I’m afraid these benches are the only seats we’ve got.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Gwyn said. ‘I grew up on a crab boat. I’ve sat on much worse.’

  He tilted his bald head, studying her. ‘You’re Gwyn Weaver. You manage Thorne’s club.’

  ‘I am.’ She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. ‘It’s my club too. You’re Alistair. I’m afraid I don’t know your last name.’

  His mustache twitched. ‘Nobody does. Let’s sit down.’ He waited until they were seated – Alistair on one side of the table, Thorne and Gwyn on the other – before leaning forward. ‘Where was your crab boat?’ he asked, his tone challenging.

  ‘A little nothing town called Anderson Ferry on the Eastern Shore.’

  ‘I’ve been there.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she replied without missing a beat. She’d run away at sixteen and had only been back once. And that had ended very poorly.

  His mustache twitched a
gain. ‘Crabs were good,’ was all he said, then sat back, his palms flat on the newspaper. ‘So, Thorne. You’ve got yourself a situation.’

  ‘That I know. Do you know anything else? Something that would be news to me perhaps?’

  Cold blue eyes regarded them. ‘I owe you a debt,’ Alistair said. ‘That is the only reason you’re still breathing.’

  Gwyn drew a breath and let it out slowly.

  Thorne was as steady as he’d been with that douchebag Chandler Nystrom just hours before. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with your boys getting killed. I hope you know that.’

  ‘I do. But it wouldn’t have mattered. If I hadn’t owed you anything, I would have been . . . remiss had I not avenged my brothers. But I do owe you. Because of you, my son has a life. Avery’s doing well, by the way.’

  Ah, Gwyn thought. Avery was the young man that Thorne had represented in court – and the one he’d encouraged to testify against Tavilla’s son, Colin. Now a few things made more sense.

  Thorne’s lips curved. ‘I know. I get a card every Christmas.’

  ‘His mama raised him right.’ Alistair drummed his fingers on the table briefly, then stilled them. ‘Once we’re done here, my debt is paid.’

  ‘Understood. And thank you for not killing us,’ Thorne added dryly.

  Another mustache twitch. ‘You’re welcome. Your bartender was a plant.’

  Gwyn blinked, stunned. A quick glance up showed Thorne doing the same.

  ‘What do you know about our bartender?’ she asked, because Thorne was still blinking. ‘We’re talking about Laura, right?’

  A single nod. ‘She didn’t go by that name when she tried to infiltrate the Freaks. She introduced herself to us as Bianca. She attached herself to Bart and for a while she fooled us. Luckily for us, Bart was a jealous bastard and followed her one night because he suspected her of cheating.’

  ‘Bart was?’ Gwyn asked.

  ‘He was one of the young men found stuffed with your matchbooks,’ Alistair said, his eyes growing even colder, something Gwyn hadn’t thought possible.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. That meant Bart had been at Sheidalin on Sunday night. ‘Did she recognize him?’

  ‘He recognized her,’ Alistair corrected. ‘But she must have seen him too, because he’s dead.’

  ‘Where did she go the night Bart followed her? Back when she was trying to infiltrate the Freaks?’ Thorne asked, but his tone said that he already knew the answer, and in that moment, so did Gwyn.

  ‘F—’ She broke off the curse, unsure about biker gang etiquette. ‘No way. Are you saying that Bianca, Laura, whoever she was, was working for’ – she lowered her voice – ‘Tavilla?’

  Alistair nodded once. ‘She left Bart’s bed and went to the restaurant Tavilla enjoys.’

  ‘Bruno’s,’ Thorne said flatly.

  ‘High cuisine,’ Alistair sneered. ‘He’s an arrogant prick. Thinks because he wears two-thousand-dollar suits and sips champagne with his pinky out that he’s some kind of gentleman.’

  ‘When he’s just a common thug,’ Thorne murmured, even though he also wore an expensive suit. ‘Like the two of us.’

  Alistair grunted. ‘Not as good as the two of us. Smarmy little punk.’

  Thorne chuckled. ‘I wish you were legit, Alistair. I’d invite you to my poker game.’

  The mustache twitched again, this time revealing a glimpse of white teeth. ‘I’d rob you blind.’

  ‘I know.’ Still gripping Gwyn’s hand, Thorne raked his other hand through his hair. ‘We missed something on the background check.’

  Alistair nodded. ‘I’d have to agree with that.’

  Gwyn cleared her throat. ‘How did your guys end up at Sheidalin on Sunday?’

  One massive tattooed shoulder lifted. ‘I sent them there. I’ve had my eye on your club for years. Too bad it’s closed. Really. Even if we weren’t able to strike a deal with you on the inside, we’ve made a mint selling to your clients as they leave.’

  Thorne winced. ‘I don’t want to know that. Now I have to stop you when we open again. Because we will open again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to get bored, Thorne,’ Alistair drawled. He pulled a piece of paper from a pocket inside his vest and handed it across. ‘Final payment on my debt.’

  Thorne unfolded it and frowned. ‘Who is . . .’ He squinted. ‘That’s Laura. Bianca. Whoever.’

  ‘Her real name is Kathryn. She’s worked for Tavilla for years. What’s wrong?’

  Thorne had grown very, very still. At last he seemed to shake himself, then he refolded the paper and slid it into his own pocket. ‘Thank you, Alistair. Truly.’

  Alistair looked like he’d press the issue, and Gwyn sensed that this was a topic Thorne would not discuss. She leaned forward, catching the biker’s eye. ‘If I may . . .’ she began, encouraged when he nodded. ‘Why is your club named Circus Freaks?’

  ‘Because I come from a circus family,’ he answered, surprising her. ‘My grandfather was a strongman. So was my father. He was even bigger than me.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that,’ she said sincerely, and it was true. ‘I know sideshow performers, and they’re salt of the earth. I’m glad you’re not just using their name.’

  Alistair studied her. ‘You were a contortionist.’

  Again he’d surprised her. ‘Everyone always remembers that,’ she grumbled. ‘I was also a tightrope performer.’

  ‘Not such a good one, since you got hurt. Which is why you left the circus.’

  It was a fair assessment. ‘You really did your research.’ That factoid wasn’t in the bio posted on the club’s website.

  ‘Of course. I figured he’d bring you. You’ve been joined at the hip for days.’

  ‘You’ve been watching us,’ she said, injecting just a tiny bit of challenge.

  ‘And I’m not the only one. Be careful, little contortionist,’ he said very seriously. ‘Some of the people watching you are not as nice as I am.’

  ‘We will.’ She offered her hand. ‘Thank you again for not killing us.’

  He took her hand in his meaty paw, shaking it gently. ‘You’re welcome. Now go. My hospitality only extends so far.’

  Gwyn rose, tugging Thorne with her. He followed, his brows knit. Clearly troubled.

  She waited until they were in the SUV before asking, ‘What was that?’ He gave her the paper and she scrutinized the photo of Laura, aka Bianca, aka Kathryn, apparently. ‘She looks really different. Not just hair color, but she wore facial prosthetics or something when she worked for us. Her face is almost like a stranger’s.’

  ‘Not so much,’ he said. He opened his phone, swiped and tapped the screen, then handed it to her. ‘This is a photo Ramirez sent to me last August.’

  A tanned man in a suit and tie sat next to Cesar Tavilla, who had a pretty young woman perched on his knee. ‘Is that Gage Jarvis?’

  The man who’d killed his wife and tried to kill his daughter because she’d witnessed the murder. Thorne had helped Joseph and JD catch him, and this act of decency had drawn Tavilla’s attention once again.

  ‘Yes. Look at the woman on his knee.’

  Gwyn enlarged the photo and gasped. It was the woman they’d known as Laura. The woman who’d set them up on drug charges and who’d likely cleaned out half of their cash reserves.

  ‘She worked for us for six months,’ Thorne said. ‘And all the time he was waiting. Just waiting.’

  Her blood ran cold. ‘He’s been planning to take you down for a long time then,’ she murmured. ‘He pulled the trigger when his son died in prison.’

  Thorne started the SUV and pulled away from the crab shack. ‘Laura slipped right through the background check. We need to talk to Anne and find out how this happened. Can you call Jamie? He’s got all the employee files. He can give us her ad
dress.’

  Gwyn started to do as he asked, then froze, her pulse leaping into the stratosphere. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. She enlarged the photo to maximum scale, her heart threatening to break through her ribs. ‘Thorne,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God. Pull over. Now.’

  With a screech of brakes, he complied, pulling onto the shoulder. Wordlessly, her hand trembling, she handed him back his phone.

  She knew the moment he spotted the woman standing in the back of the room, behind the seated Tavilla. Dressed in a simple white sheath dress, her blond hair in an elegant twist, she exuded wealth and dignity.

  Thorne’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He swallowed, moistened his lips. ‘Anne,’ he said hoarsely. ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ But she did know that if she’d been halfway human for the last four years, Anne wouldn’t have been hired in the first place. ‘This is a problem.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s had access to all our client records at the law firm. She knows everything.’

  They sat in silence, trying to absorb this new truth. The silence was broken by the buzzing of Thorne’s phone. Caller ID was Jamie. He put him on speaker.

  ‘I’m here with Gwyn,’ Thorne said, his voice still hoarse. ‘Is it Phil?’

  ‘No,’ Jamie said, his own voice tight. ‘Phil is fine. I’m standing outside his room right now. But we have some new developments.’

  Thorne’s laugh was painful to hear. ‘So do we. You go first.’

  ‘I’ve gotten several phone calls from clients. Someone is blackmailing them with information that they swear was told only to you.’

  Thorne closed his eyes. Again he tried to speak and couldn’t.

  ‘Are you there?’ Jamie demanded.

  ‘He’s here,’ Gwyn said. ‘It’s Anne, Jamie. And Laura from the club. They both work for Tavilla.’

  There was a moment of shocked silence. ‘What? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. We have a photo showing them together. All three of them. Laura’s real name is Kathryn. We don’t know Anne’s yet.’