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.’
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.