Her nod was shaky. ‘I believe so, and I’ve watched. Carefully. Later, after I had my degree, I wanted to change my mind. I wanted him back, but I couldn’t have done it, even if I’d had a legal leg to stand on, which I didn’t. He was happy. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been happy.’
She reached for the dog, palming the side of his head as he leaned against them, once again sensing her mood. ‘I’ve been hoping to hear from him for months. But if I don’t, I’ll be okay. Just the hope . . .’ She faltered. ‘I woke up the morning he turned seventeen and grieved, like I always have. Then . . . I looked around and knew I’d fallen so far into depression, retreated so far from life that even if he did seek me out, I’d be no good for him. I had a year to get good enough. I figured that it had taken me three years to get as bad as I was, that digging my way out wasn’t going to happen overnight, but that I could do it in a year.’
‘You had a goal,’ he murmured. Would she have worked so hard to dig her way out for me if I’d had the courage to tell her how I really felt four years ago? Probably not. She hadn’t been ready then to embrace that part of her that Evan had stolen. But motherly love . . . He thought of Stevie and Lucy and Paige with their babies. That was powerful. Powerful enough to yank Gwyn toward the light.
‘I did. I found the therapist and then I found Tweety.’ She smiled. ‘And then I found you. Right where you’d been all along.’
He opened his mouth to say something wise. Something comforting. But all that came out was a hoarse ‘I’m so glad you did.’ Because he hadn’t been sure how much longer he could have lasted.
‘Me too.’ She drew a breath, checked the time. ‘We should call them now, even though it’s late. If something happens during the night, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.’ She handed him her phone, Alec’s email opened, before sliding off his lap.
‘You want to be here while I call?’
‘No. I think I’ll go upstairs and get some water. Come on, Tweety.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 10.05 P.M.
He zipped his trousers, feeling languid and well rested after fucking Kathryn in his shower. Kathryn lounged on the sofa behind him, looking long-leggedly sexy in his shirt. She’d been especially passionate tonight, because for her, watching him dismember a man was an aphrodisiac. It was just one of the things he’d come to love about her.
Nystrom was dead, his body cooling in the punishment room. Patton would deal with him in the morning.
‘What are you going to do about Thorne?’ Kathryn asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘He’s whisked all his people away. I know where they are, but getting to them will be tricky. They’re getting wise about texts too, so we’ll have to come up with something else.’
She shrugged. ‘They can’t keep their families separated forever. They’ll come home, they’ll return to normal, and when they least suspect it, you’ll get them again. In the meantime, you’ve got his clients angry with him and his club is closed.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, smiling. ‘Are we staying here tonight or going home?’
‘Let’s go home. I mean, Nystrom was fun while he was screaming, but now, knowing he’s dead and getting nasty is kind of a turnoff.’
He didn’t care much. The sight of a cooling corpse had never bothered him. ‘Give me my shirt then,’ he said. He grabbed his cell phone from his desk to slide it into his pocket, but noticed a new text from Margo, accompanied by two photos: one a grainy picture of a young man in an American football uniform, the second of a woman holding a baby. He flicked the screen to expand the photo, then realized the woman was a very young Gwyn Weaver.
Found you something, the text read. His name is Aidan. What do you want me to do with him?
He smiled and held out the phone to Kathryn, who’d tugged on her black dress and was now handing him his shirt.
‘Oh, Margo,’ she cooed. ‘She hit gold.’ She gave the phone back. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Have Patton pick him up,’ Kathryn decided after a moment of thought. ‘Drug him and leave him somewhere to be found.’ She smiled. ‘Just to show her that you can. Send her a photo. That’ll hurt her enough for now. You don’t want to break her yet. She’s Thorne’s favorite. You want to torment her until she has no choice but to leave him. Because she’ll have to blame him sooner or later.’
‘I like it.’ He texted Margo the instructions, then added: Good work. Get some sleep, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 10.05 P.M.
Thorne waited until he’d heard Gwyn climb the stairs, then dialed the number for Aidan’s adopted family.
‘Hello?’ a man answered.
‘Hello. I’d like to speak to Randy York.’
‘If you’re selling something, I’m not interested.’
‘I’m not,’ Thorne said quickly. ‘Please give me just a moment. My name is Thomas Thorne. I’m sorry to be calling so late. Gwyn Weaver asked me to contact you.’
The man sucked in an audible breath. ‘I know who you are. You’re Gwyn’s partner. The one who’s wanted for murder.’
Thorne had to take a second to regroup. He should have anticipated that people outside the city had read about their situation. ‘That is not entirely correct. I am Gwyn’s partner.’ In every way. ‘But I am not wanted for murder.’
‘That’s not what I hear on the news.’
Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Well, I can give you references in Baltimore PD and the FBI and you can check for yourself. For now, I’m calling on Gwyn’s behalf. If you’ve been following this story in the news, you’ll know that my family, my friends and my businesses have been targeted.’
A beat of silence. ‘You’re saying someone’s trying to set you up?’ The man’s doubt was clear.
‘Call Special Agent Joseph Carter. He’ll give you the truth. For now, I am calling on behalf of Gwyn,’ he repeated. ‘Please, Mr York. This is important.’
‘What? What does Gwyn want?’ Now there was fear in the man’s voice.
‘To warn you. Her apartment was broken into tonight. Ransacked. Her safe with her important papers were stolen. Among them were some newspaper clippings of your son she’d collected over the years. It may be nothing, but she’s worried that they’ll go after Aidan to hurt her. Which will hurt me.’
‘That’s . . . preposterous.’
‘My other business partner, Lucy Fitzpatrick, barely escaped a burning house with her two children this afternoon. Her son isn’t quite three. He is my godson. Her daughter is almost one. She is Gwyn’s goddaughter.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘My adopted father is in a cardiac care unit because someone broke into his home and attacked him. One of my investigators has a concussion and the officer who was guarding them is still in critical condition after being shot.’
‘Oh. Oh no.’ He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. ‘And you think these people will hurt Aidan?’
‘Like I said, it could be nothing, but she wanted you to be aware so that Aidan could be on his guard. She figured he’d still be living at home, that he wouldn’t have left for college yet.’
‘Yes, he’s still here.’
‘That’s good. That will ease her mind. You can tell him what you wish. But she trusts that your first priority will be to keep him safe.’
An extended exhale. ‘All right. My wife and I will discuss what we’ll tell him. For now, he’s safe in his room. Do the police have any suspects?’
‘I . . . I don’t know. I’d suggest you call Agent Carter for that information.’ He gave the man Carter’s phone number.
‘I’ll call him first thing in the morning. Why . . . why didn’t Gwyn call us herself?’
‘Because she didn’t want to put you on the spot. And she didn’t want to risk Aidan answering. She especially doesn’t want to pressure him.’