That someone had drawn Patricia Linden Segal into their plot against Thorne was beyond cruel – to her family and to Thorne himself. He would have to live with knowing the Segals mourned her loss because someone had wanted to hurt him.
‘We’ll dig until we get to the bottom of why she’s dead,’ Clay promised. ‘Stevie, Paige and I are going to investigate Mrs Segal and her husband. I mean, her husband is a judge. What if this isn’t about you at all? What if it’s about him? What if someone’s trying to get revenge on him or threaten him in some way? You could be the collateral damage rather than the target.’
It was clear from Thorne’s expression that he hadn’t even considered that. ‘Oh,’ he murmured. ‘Good point.’
Clay’s smile was equal parts feral and gentle. ‘We thought so. We’re going to look into her husband, any vendettas against him, any unpopular cases. We’re also going to track Mrs Segal’s movements over the past two weeks, talk to her friends, that kind of thing.’
‘I’ve got the bar,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll find out when you got there and who you left with. I know the owner from my days on the force. He’s not a bad guy. Hopefully he’ll cooperate.’
‘I’m going to interview Bernice Brown,’ Frederick said. ‘I’ll find out what happened last night. I’ve already contacted her. Told her that you were hospitalized unexpectedly and that I’ll be taking on her case until you’ve recuperated. She sends her best.’
Thorne’s brows shot up. ‘She didn’t mention the call?’
Frederick shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ve also requested the transcripts and call records from the switchboard.’
‘You think someone else called me pretending to be Bernice?’ Thorne asked.
Frederick shrugged. ‘Maybe. I’ll find out.’
‘Ruby and I are going to work the setting-up of the crime scene,’ Lucy said. ‘We have contacts in CSU who owe us favors. I’m keeping JD away from our activities.’ She made a face. ‘He’d want to help, but I don’t want him to get trouble from Hyatt. He’s technically not supposed to be working your case because we’re friends. He’ll help us anyway, but we figure if the information is coming from a couple different places, it’ll be less likely to point to him.’
‘Together again,’ Ruby said with a quirk of her lips. She’d reported to Lucy for several years when both women worked at the morgue. ‘And this time you can get the coffee.’
Lucy laughed. ‘I brought you coffee when I was the boss.’
‘Oh, right.’ Grinning, Ruby waved her hand, her long red nails sparkling as they caught the light. ‘Then nothing’s changed. Same old, same old.’
‘Except that it’s decaf now,’ Sam cautioned.
Ruby blew out a breath. ‘I know, I know. Don’t rub it in.’
Jamie smiled at Ruby indulgently. He really was a kind man. Gwyn had always thought so. Now, knowing what he and Phil had been to Thorne when he was a scared kid, accused of murder? She better understood Thorne’s devotion to the two. ‘It’s not for much longer,’ he told Ruby.
‘The hell it’s not,’ Lucy called. ‘If she decides to breastfeed, she can cut out all the good stuff for a good while longer. Speaking of which, hurry this along, because I have to pump.’
Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘Go pump. This isn’t your part.’
‘The hell it’s not,’ Lucy repeated. ‘It’s about Thorne, so it’s all my part.’
Jamie gave her a sober nod. ‘Fair enough. Phil and I are going to go back to Chevy Chase and find out who’s been digging into Thorne’s past. It’s possible that someone simply obtained the court transcripts, but we can find that out too.’
‘I’m going with you,’ Thorne stated, his tone brooking no argument.
‘We figured you’d want to,’ Phil said. ‘I’ve kept tabs on a lot of the old academy staff, so I can ask questions without getting too much undue attention. You, son, are going to draw plenty of undue attention. So we need to use your presence sparingly.’
‘That means you’ll stay in the car a lot,’ Jamie said, shaking his head when Thorne opened his mouth to protest. ‘We are protecting you, Thorne. As best we can. We need to make sure someone is with you at all times. Your alibi from here on out needs to be unimpeachable.’ He looked over at Gwyn. ‘Ready to stay in the car with him?’
‘Yes,’ Gwyn said without hesitation. ‘Try to stop me.’
‘All right.’ Frederick clapped his hands. ‘We have our marching orders. Let’s go.’
‘Wait.’ Thorne pushed to his feet and looked around the room. ‘Thank you. I . . . I never expected any of this. I don’t know how to repay you.’
‘We’re repaying you,’ Stevie said. ‘You’ve helped all of us at one time or another, Thorne. Not that anyone’s keeping track. You’re . . . family.’
Thorne swallowed hard. ‘Thank you. Be careful. And don’t take any unnecessary risks. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, not physically, and not your careers or reputations. Not because of me. It’s not too late to back out.’
There was a moment of silence, then everyone began to move, taking down the chart pads, clearing up remnants of pizza and beer, and returning Gwyn’s living room to how it had been.
Lucy excused herself to Gwyn’s room to pump, and for a moment Gwyn stayed where she was, studying Thorne. He looked a little lost as he watched everyone busy around him. Mystified. Like he was still unsure of why all these people had mobilized themselves on his behalf.
He’d never been good at accepting the goodwill of others. Not even herself or Lucy, although he did allow them to fuss over him from time to time. She understood his reluctance – she’d never been able to accept kindness either, but Gwyn knew where her own insecurities came from. It troubled her that she hadn’t known the source of Thorne’s until today.
It troubled her that she’d never thought to ask.
I’m kind of an asshole. Dammit.
Her chest grew tight and she didn’t lie to herself about why. Tenderness wasn’t something she often felt. But when she did, it was usually directed towards the man sitting on her sofa, and usually at moments like this when he was clearly blind to his own worth.
Carefully, she moved to perch on the arm of the sofa once again. Just as carefully, he kept his gaze everywhere except her face. I hurt him. I didn’t mean to. But she’d hurt him more if she accepted his declaration before she was ready and had to change her mind later. Instead, she offered what comfort she could.
‘No one is going to back out,’ she murmured.
‘I know. I don’t actually understand it, but I’m thankful for it.’
They fell silent, and for the very first time in all the years she’d known him, it was awkward. Finally he cleared his throat. ‘I’m going home with Jamie and Phil. I’ll stay in their spare room while we sort this mess out.’
A stab of disappointment speared her and she frantically searched her mind for words that would make him stay. Because she was afraid that if he left, it would be over. What ‘it’ was, she didn’t yet know. But her gut told her to keep him close.
If only so that she could take care of him. As his best friend, that was her right. Right? But as his best friend, she’d die before she hurt him any more than she already had. ‘If that’s what you want to do.’
His laugh was quietly brittle. ‘What I want and what I’m likely to get are often two different things.’
‘You don’t know that. I don’t know that. What I do know is that I’d like you to stay. I have a spare room too. This condo has better security than Jamie and Phil’s house. I know, because Clay installed it for me.’
Because after Evan, she hadn’t been able to sleep, worried that someone would invade her space. Even though she’d let Evan in. Voluntarily. And . . .
Stop. You’re not thinking about him right now. Evan was gone. I am still here. And Thorne was not Evan. The very notion
that the two shared anything in common was beyond ludicrous. Thorne would never hurt her.
‘And,’ she added when inspiration – and reality – struck, bringing with it a brand-new fear, ‘I’ll be safer wherever you are. You’ll have police protection, even if Hyatt is calling it surveillance.’
Because she might be targeted. Again. Because of who her friends were. Evan had targeted her because she’d been his gateway to Lucy, but Gwyn wouldn’t have abandoned Lucy even if she’d known Evan’s intent. She wasn’t abandoning Thorne now. Still . . . the sudden realization scared the piss out of her.
He looked up at her sharply. ‘You’re not involved in this.’
She shrugged, trying to be calmly logical. ‘If someone has researched your past enough to stage a murder just like the one you were accused of nineteen years ago, they know that your girlfriend was also murdered because she was a witness.’
His mouth twisted, then firmed. ‘But you’re not my girlfriend.’
That stung. ‘No, but we’re publicly very good friends. And what better way to hurt you than to hurt those you care about? Everyone in your sphere needs to be on their guard.’
Thorne shuddered out a horrified breath. ‘Oh my God. I didn’t think of that. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘You’ve been a little busy,’ she said, fighting the urge to pat his shoulder the way she might have before he dropped that whole seven years bomb. Because now it was awkward between them when it never had been before. She wanted to snarl at him about that.
But . . . what if he was right? What if they could have more than mere friendship? What if they could have a life together?
Goddammit. Focus. Everyone in Thorne’s sphere could be in danger. Everyone, including the men who were basically his parents. ‘You should go to Jamie and Phil’s, and I should go with you. Jamie can’t stay here because my place isn’t wheelchair-adapted. If I go there, we can all be monitored by Hyatt’s surveillance. Plus, the four of us can get an early start down memory lane in your old hometown. Okay?’
Thorne’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth. ‘Jamie and Phil only have one extra bedroom.’
‘Not a problem. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’m small. I fit nearly anywhere.’
Jamie rolled his chair up next to them. ‘We overheard, and we all agree.’
Gwyn lifted her brows. ‘That I’m small?’
Jamie’s grin was quick. ‘That too. But mostly that you should both come with us, for all the reasons you said, Gwyn. Everyone else here either lives with a cop or was a cop, so they can protect themselves. But we should band together. And we do have a state-of-the-art security system, by the way. Maybe not as good as one Clay might install, but still top-notch. You’ll both be safe with us.’
‘We’ll all be safer if I stay alone,’ Thorne growled. ‘I’m not putting anyone else in danger. I’m not going anywhere with any of you.’
Jamie frowned at him. ‘Thomas,’ he said quietly. Disapprovingly, even.
Thorne instantly went quiet. That was a really good trick, Gwyn thought. ‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt,’ he murmured. ‘Not because of me.’
‘Well,’ Jamie said pragmatically, ‘now that you know to watch your own back and you’re bouncing back from the GHB, don’t you think we’re safer with you? I mean . . .’ he indicated Thorne’s size with a wave of his hand, ‘if I didn’t know you, you’d scare the shit out of me.’
Thorne stared at his hands. ‘Gee, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Jamie said, a little curtly. ‘Do we have to have this conversation again?’
Gwyn looked from one man to the other. ‘What conversation?’
Thorne’s shoulders sagged wearily. ‘The one where he reminds me that I’m not a thug, but that if people are stupid enough to be afraid of me, then I should make the most of it.’
‘The conversation that you and I have had a hundred times?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t realize anyone else was telling you the same thing.’ She lightened her voice to hide the anger that speared at the slump of his shoulders. ‘You’ve been double-dipping in the wisdom well, Thorne.’
He didn’t smile. ‘It’s not just my size.’
‘I know,’ she said softly.
She’d heard the racial slurs over the years, both as his paralegal in the early days and as the club manager more recently. Thorne was a burnished bronze all over. All. Over.
Not a tan line on the man. Anywhere. Which she only knew because she’d once accidentally walked in on him in the shower at the club. She’d nearly swallowed her tongue. The memory still made her want to fan herself.
All that gorgeous, flawless skin made him even more beautiful, but people were often assholes, and the fact that Thorne loomed over nearly everyone he met didn’t seem to deter the most stupid of them. Racists usually spewed their toxic bullshit when they were thrown out of Sheidalin or if Thorne refused to take their case, whatever his reason. If he lost their case, the slurs sometimes morphed into death threats.
Which could be the case here. This whole orchestration could be an angry client or family member looking for revenge. It made her so furious, because Thorne was the best man she’d ever known.
‘What’s really bothering you?’ she asked softly.
He didn’t say anything for a few beats, then shrugged. ‘All this talk of those days brought back a lot of bad memories, I guess. The prosecutor made me out to be some juvenile delinquent, even suggested I ran with one of the gangs, despite the fact that there was no actual evidence of that at all. Gang activity had begun taking hold in the city then. White neighborhoods were afraid of anyone who . . . didn’t look like them. And I didn’t. Jamie shut the prosecutor down fast, objecting that there was no basis for the intimation, but it still hurt, hearing someone accuse me of being a thug. I’d tried so hard to stay out of trouble.’
That didn’t come as a surprise either. Thorne had a kind of fluid ethnicity. He could pass as a member of several minority groups and had occasionally used that fact to go undercover, doing his own investigation into prospective clients. He was choosy about the cases he took on. He wanted the facts before agreeing to representation.
He enjoyed all the undercover intrigue. Gwyn had enjoyed going with him, but she hadn’t participated in any of his UC adventures in . . . She wanted to sigh. Four and a half years. Dammit. He’d been doing it all on his own since Evan. How many things had she just let go because of that fucker? Too many.
‘Good thing you didn’t have the tats then,’ she said, tongue in cheek. She knew he hadn’t, because she’d gone with him the day he’d had his first session. They’d just met, but there had been a connection from the beginning, fast and fierce. So fierce that he’d trusted her to accompany him to the tattoo artist. His first visit had been on the anniversary of his father’s death, taking on the tattoo that had adorned his father’s skin. The entire design had taken four visits. She’d held his hand through all of them.
They had history, she and Thorne.
Her comment finally elicited a small grin. ‘God help me if I had,’ he agreed. ‘I figured I’d never get a fair trial as it was.’
‘But you did,’ Jamie said firmly, bringing both of them back to the present. ‘I, for one, am happy you’re as big as a freaking house. I’ll feel safer tonight.’ He gave Gwyn an approving nod. ‘Go pack a bag. Bring a sweater. Phil keeps the A/C on sub-arctic.’
‘What about my dog?’
‘Bring him,’ Jamie said. ‘We’ve got a fenced-in yard with a lot of shade. Does he like to swim?’
‘Like a fish.’
‘Then we’ll put him outside tomorrow and he can play in the pool if he gets hot.’
Gwyn slid off the arm of the sofa. ‘I’ll be quick.’
College Park, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 11.30 P.M.
Frederick accepted the cup of coffee wi
th a smile. ‘Thank you for seeing me so late, Mrs Brown.’
Bernice Brown frowned as she took the chair at her cousin’s kitchen table, sitting opposite Frederick. ‘I saw the news about Mr Thorne. I don’t understand any of this.’
‘None of us do. Yet. But we know he’s not guilty. And it seems you’ve been involved in the situation.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Me? How? I never . . .’ She trailed off, her words suddenly failing her.
‘Bernie?’ Her cousin came into the room, his expression concerned. ‘What’s going on?’
Bernice threw him a panicked glance. ‘Wayne, they think I’m involved in that woman’s murder! The one on the news!’
‘Whoa,’ Frederick said soothingly, trying to calm her. ‘I don’t think that’s the case. I said you’d been involved – we believe by someone else.’ He gestured to her cousin. ‘Would you mind joining us?’
Wayne complied, sitting close to Bernice and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Wayne Bullock was in his mid fifties, Bernice a decade younger. From what Frederick had gleaned from Thorne’s files, Wayne had been a father figure in Bernice’s life. Now retired, he lived in a trailer, which had provided a convenient hiding place for his cousin. When her husband had begun stalking her, Wayne had moved his trailer to a park two counties away. Having a portable home had its advantages.
‘Start talking, Mr Dawson,’ Wayne ordered.
‘I will. I’m Mr Thorne’s associate. I’ve been with him for about a year. I’ll be taking over your case, Mrs Brown, while he is under investigation. As I said, we have the utmost confidence he’ll be cleared.’
‘How is Bernie involved?’ Wayne asked.
‘Mr Thorne was attacked and abducted from a bar called Barney’s last night.’
Bernice frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of that place. What does it have to do with me?’
‘He was going – he believed – to meet you, Mrs Brown.’