‘What?’ he asked. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ Brent shrugged. ‘I told the cop what I saw. Not the detective, but the first-responder cop. Nobody ever followed up and nobody ever mentioned it. And if you tell anyone I told you, I’ll call you a liar.’ He straightened abruptly, frowning again. ‘Are you wired?’
Gwyn rolled her eyes. ‘No.’
‘Good. Nobody ever threatened me.’
Gwyn’s brows shot up, struck by his odd segue and the emphasis on me. ‘But your partner was threatened?’ she guessed.
Brent just toasted her with his beer can. ‘He pushed because it wasn’t in the police report. The cops gave some song and dance about how they were holding it back so that they’d have details only the killer would know. I figured it was healthier to keep my mouth shut.’ He opened his arms and gestured broadly to the room. ‘And here I am.’
‘Where’s your partner?’ Thorne asked quietly.
Because neither Jamie nor Anne had been able to find his address.
Brent shrugged. ‘Don’t know. He up and walked a few months after your trial. Well, limped. Had a car accident. Some asshole came at him broadside, shoved him off the road and into a ravine. He managed to climb out with a broken leg. When he got the cast off, he quit and walked. Never saw him again.’
‘So why are you telling us this now?’ Thorne asked.
‘I’m not,’ Brent said with a slight smile. ‘I said nothing.’
‘Meaning you won’t tell anyone else,’ Thorne said with a frown. ‘Like the cops, even if this is important somehow.’
Brent shook his head. ‘You were a nice kid,’ he murmured. ‘You stayed there at Richard’s side and did all you could to save that prick’s life. If you hadn’t been acquitted, I’d planned to tell what I knew to the papers. That evidence had been manipulated. But you were acquitted. And I liked my legs, attached and unbroken. So I shut up.’
From the corner of her eye, Gwyn saw Thorne nod. ‘Did your old partner see the truck that hit him?’ he asked.
Brent gave Thorne a mock salute. ‘I saw what you did there. I never said it was a truck.’
‘Was it?’ Thorne asked levelly.
Another shrug. ‘Yeah. Just like the one that killed your girlfriend the year before. Scared the shit out of me. So I kept quiet. Call me a coward, but I had kids to feed.’ He looked around him morosely. ‘Not anymore, though. They’re in college, and when they come home, they stay with their mother.’
‘You’re divorced,’ Gwyn said softly. ‘When?’
Another salute. ‘You’re smart,’ he said with undisguised admiration. His eyes dropped to her breasts again, then jerked back up to her face when Thorne growled. ‘My wife left me right after his trial.’ He pointed at Thorne. ‘I’d started drinking. Partly because I was so damn scared that truck would come after me or my kids. Partly because I knew I’d stayed silent to save my own skin and I was ashamed. So, now you know it all. I won’t share this again. With anyone.’
‘Got it,’ Gwyn murmured. ‘Okay. Thank you for your honesty. You take care of yourself, okay?’
He nodded, but didn’t move from the recliner. ‘You can show yourselves out.’
Gwyn rose and left, Thorne close behind her. ‘That was enlightening,’ he murmured when they were back in the hall, headed for the stairs.
‘Yeah. I’m thinking we’re not going to find his old partner. If he’s still alive, he’s reinvented himself as someone new.’
‘I agree. You were good in there. Thank you.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the van so you can stop looking around for ninja assassins.’
Because he was, his eyes constantly circling, checking the corners for anyone lurking. ‘Fine,’ he grunted. ‘And for the record, I really don’t like assholes like him checking you out like that.’
Surprised, she could only stare up at him as they made their way down the stairs to the lobby. ‘I . . . I wasn’t provoking him.’
He shot her a startled glance. ‘I know that. Did I say that?’
‘No.’
‘I never even implied it, and if I did, I’m sorry. I just meant that I don’t like it. It’s disrespectful.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘And I wanted to rip him apart for making you feel afraid.’
‘I wasn’t afraid.’
He glanced down. ‘No?’
She smiled up. ‘No. I knew you were there.’
The taut line of his jaw seemed to relax. ‘Good,’ he said as they exited the apartment building. The sun was bright and Gwyn stopped abruptly, dropping her head to keep the glare from her eyes while she searched her handbag for her sunglasses.
Then it all seemed to blur. Glass shattered and she was suddenly being launched to the grassy area to the left of the sidewalk. She coughed when Thorne landed on top of her, nearly suffocating because her face was buried in the grass. She struggled, her protests coming out as muffled noise.
The weight pressing her into the ground receded as Thorne braced his body on his forearms. ‘Stay down,’ he barked. ‘Somebody just shot at us. At you.’
What the fuck? Her breath was coming faster, warm against her face because the pocket of air was so small. Thorne. He was vulnerable, all six and a half feet of him. She wanted to throw him off her, to drag him to safety, but she couldn’t move and he wouldn’t budge.
Behind them, a vehicle gunned its engine and approached. How? They were at least fifty feet from the parking lot. It came to a screeching stop on the sidewalk, and suddenly Thorne’s weight was gone, and Gwyn was scooped up in strong arms and all but thrown through the open side door of Jamie’s van. She landed on the floor between the front and middle seats, pain streaking up her back.
‘Hurry!’ Jamie barked.
Thorne climbed in behind her and the van sped away before he could even close the door. It shut automatically and she could see a white-faced Phil looking around wildly, his cell phone in his hand. He’d called 911 and was on the line with the operator now.
Jamie threw the van into reverse, drove across the grass to the parking lot, and took off with a squeal of tires. ‘Stay down. All of you.’
‘Where are you going?’ Phil demanded.
‘I have no fucking clue,’ Jamie snarled, then ground his teeth and grabbed his partner’s hand, quieting his voice. ‘Yeah, I do. To the hospital. I’m getting everyone checked out. No arguments.’
‘All right,’ Phil said calmly. He spoke into the phone. ‘We’re going to the closest hospital . . . No, I don’t think it’s smart for us to stay put.’ He glanced back at Thorne. ‘You can send your officers to the address I just gave you. We’ll be at the hospital if they wish to interview us.’ He gave the operator his phone number, then disconnected. ‘I’m all right, Jamie,’ he said quietly.
Jamie’s nod was frantic. ‘Let’s make sure, okay?’
Gwyn stared at Thorne’s pale face. ‘What the fuck just happened?’
‘You were almost shot in the head,’ he whispered. ‘If you hadn’t stopped to look in your bag . . .’
‘For my sunglasses,’ she murmured, still feeling numb. ‘My bag’s back there somewhere. My ID is in it. I’ll need it back.’
‘We’ll have the cops pick it up. We’re not going back there.’ Thorne was already punching a number into his phone. ‘JD? It’s Thorne. We have a situation.’
Ten
Annapolis, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 11.15 A.M.
He hit the button on his intercom when it buzzed. ‘Yes, Jeanne?’
‘Mr Patton is on line one, sir.’
He pressed the blinking button. ‘Yes, Mr Patton? What news do you have for me?’
‘I did what you said to do,’ Patton said, his confusion still evident from his tone.
‘Excellent.’ He consulted the notes on his desk. ‘Your next mark will soon be leaving a Greek restaurant at the corner of Old Georgetown and Wisconsin. The place is called Kaia’s Kouzina.’
‘Same instructions?’
‘Yes. Call me when it’s done. I’ll have the next mark and the next location.’
‘Yes, sir.’