Jamie nodded. ‘I would have done it because he asked, but I was compelled to fight for Thorne after talking to his mother and stepfather. He was this awesome kid, and they just threw him away,’ he said sadly, and Thorne’s throat closed at the memory.
Jamie cleared his throat. ‘His stepfather painted Thorne as a violent boy, said he feared him. Told the police that too. He told the jury that Thorne had beaten his mother, that when he tried to stop him, Thorne would hit him too. He made a credible witness on the stand. The fact that Thorne was so much bigger than he was by that point didn’t help. The jury believed Willy White. I could tell.’
‘But that night after he testified,’ Thorne said bitterly, ‘Willy went home, argued with my mother, and she ended up dead.’
‘Oh, Thorne,’ Lucy murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. He’d never stopped missing her, despite her betrayal. ‘My stepfather was tried for her murder. Went to prison. Died there.’
‘Good,’ Ruby stated furiously, and Thorne found himself smiling at her again.
‘You’re very bloodthirsty, Ruby,’ he said.
She firmed her trembling lips. ‘Damn straight.’ Then leaned into Sam, who kissed the top of her head tenderly.
‘Jamie was able to get the judge to issue special instructions to the jury to disregard my stepfather’s testimony. The prosecutor didn’t fight him because he’d witnessed my mother and stepfather arguing over it. My mother apparently had some conscience. She wanted to tell the truth the next day, that I had never laid a finger on her, that my stepfather lied. But she never got to. That’s what they’d argued about the night she died.’
Gwyn rubbed her cheek into his back and he could feel his shirt growing wet. She was crying. For me. It gave him . . . hope. ‘So, the jury found me not guilty because there were 911 records of an earlier call. And they did have Sherri’s statement from her trespassing arrest. That was allowed into evidence. And right after that, I changed my name to Thorne and moved in with Phil and Jamie. Tried to put all the ugliness behind me.’
‘Until today,’ Frederick said. He’d been so quiet that Thorne had almost forgotten he was there. Frederick had a way about him. Like he could fade into the woodwork if he wanted to go unseen. But the older man’s eyes were sharp and Thorne wondered what he was thinking. Frederick had proven himself a formidable man. He never spoke much about his past, but he wore . . . strength like an invisible mantle. It was something about the way he moved. The way his eyes were always assessing. Clay moved that way. So did JD Fitzpatrick. Thorne attributed it to their military training.
Thorne himself was far too big to disappear. He’d never wanted to. His strength was his physical presence and he’d learned to use it to his best advantage.
Regardless of how Frederick moved in the physical plane, his mind was always working the angles. He’d proven himself invaluable in the short time he’d been handling cases for the firm pro bono. Thorne was interested to hear his proposal for action. That the man already had a plan was not even in question.
‘Until today,’ Thorne agreed.
Stevie’s forehead was bunched in a frown. ‘Was no one else ever arrested for the murder?’
‘No,’ Phil confirmed. ‘I don’t think the cops even tried.’
‘So the real killer walks free,’ Stevie said thoughtfully. ‘At least one person knows what really happened that day.’
Gwyn came to her feet, her hands on Thorne’s shoulders. In the mirror he could see her looking at the assembled group with grim determination.
‘Somebody knows about Thorne’s past. Somebody who wants to hurt him. All this shit is going to come to light and people will wonder. They’ll make assumptions. That the victim this morning is the sister of the victim from nineteen years ago will make everyone ask if Thorne was guilty before as well. Just the hint of scandal could ruin his career. Let’s figure out how to keep that from happening.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 8.00 P.M.
He was smiling as he rejoined Margo, who’d taken her brandy to the library, curling up in one corner of the sofa. She smirked when he sat beside her. ‘How many times did Benny get you to read it?’
He had to chuckle. ‘Only three. Well, two and a half, technically. He fell asleep halfway through the third time.’
‘You spoil him,’ she said without any real heat.
‘He is my grandson.’ His throat grew suddenly thick as grief for Colin hit him hard. ‘My only grandson. All I have left of my son. Lo extra?o.’ I miss him. Sometimes so much he thought he’d die from it. That his heart would simply stop beating.
He missed Madeline. She was his heart. His soul. But she’d been sick for a long time before she died, and he’d had time to prepare himself. Colin . . . ‘He was too young.’
Margo leaned toward him, brushing her fingertips over his upper arm. Her dark eyes were haunted. ‘I miss him too.’
‘I know you do,’ he murmured. Closing his eyes, he held out his palm and she grasped it, sharing his pain. ‘How could you not?’
They’d grown up together, she and Colin. They’d been best friends from the time they could crawl, and from there had become so much more.
‘When did you know you loved him?’ he asked, his eyes still closed.
‘I always loved him,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘From my first memories, I loved him. But when did I know that I loved him like I do now?’ She cleared her throat. ‘We were fifteen and he brought a DVD of my favorite movie when I had a bad cold.’ Her chuckle was teary. ‘He hated that movie, but he endured it so bravely. That’s when I knew.’
He smiled, grateful for the shared confidence. For just a little bit more of his son to tuck away in his heart. ‘What was the movie?’
‘Twilight.’
He grimaced. ‘My son has more bravery than I.’ And then he realized . . . ‘Had,’ he corrected himself. ‘He had more bravery than I.’
For long moments they said nothing, the ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound in the otherwise silent room.
‘We will make him pay,’ Margo whispered.
‘Yes.’ His tone was flat to his own ears. ‘We will.’
She squeezed his hand hard. ‘Let’s get down to business, Papa.’
Opening his eyes, he drew a breath and sat up straighter. ‘You have all the information we need?’
‘Of course.’ Margo looked insulted. ‘I know how to dig for information, Papa.’
He released her hand, then patted it fondly. ‘I know you do.’ His daughter-in-law had many talents, including fluency in six languages, necessary for the international trading deals he made routinely. He’d long planned for her to take her mother’s place as his office manager, but now . . . now he was considering grooming her to take over the organization he’d built over the course of his life. She might even be better at it than Colin would have been. I mean, I loved him, but I knew his strengths . . . and weaknesses. ‘Indulge me, if you would. They do not suspect you?’
‘Not even a little bit.’ Her lips curved, giving her a feline look. ‘They’re distracted at the moment.’
‘All part of the plan,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me everything you’ve learned.’
Five
Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 12 June, 10.00 P.M.
‘Thorne, wake up. Wake up, honey. Goddammit, Thorne, wake your ass up!’
Thorne blinked hard, the voice familiar but his surroundings not. Gwyn was punching his shoulder and he winced. ‘Fuck, Gwyn. That hurts.’
She pulled back immediately. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t wake you up. I got scared.’
He rolled onto his back and looked around the room. Gwyn’s bedroom, actually. Over the years, he’d had a lot of fantasies about this room. This bed. But nothing like that had ever happened. And it definitely hadn’t today, especially since he appeared to be fully clothed, dammit. ‘How did I get here?’
She perched on the side of the bed. ‘That you can’t remember should tell you that you really did need to sleep. You’re a stubborn sonofabitch, Thorne.’ But her voice was soft, the fingers on his cheek gentle. ‘I kept trying to get you to lie down, but you wouldn’t. Then you just . . . passed out. Nearly rolled off the sofa.’