‘Sorry we took so long,’ Jamie said, wheeling himself up the ramp that led into the house. ‘We went by our house first to pick up Gwyn’s dog. Now that we’re finally here, thank you for the invite. And the ramp. That doesn’t happen very often.’
Clay closed the door, locked it, and reset an alarm panel. ‘Stevie and I put in ramps. Steps are hard for her.’ He pointed to a frosted glass door through which an elevator was barely visible. ‘If you need to go upstairs or down for any reason, feel free to use the lift. All the rooms upstairs are accessible, wide doorways and all.’
Jamie smiled his thanks. ‘Good to know.’
Clay took a moment to peer up at a monitor on one of the walls. It was the feed from six different security cameras. He pushed a button and the screen flashed, six new feeds appearing. One of them was from the front gate, where an unmarked car sat parked. ‘Please tell me that your tail’s not that prick Brickman.’
Thorne shook his head. ‘It’s Agent Ingram. He works for Joseph’s joint task force.’
‘I know Ingram,’ Clay said. ‘He’s a good man.’
Thorne had heard the same. ‘Joseph handpicked him, apparently. I hope Brickman’s getting himself a new one torn by Hyatt right now. Guy really is a prick.’
‘Brickman’s the one who cuffed you to the hospital bed,’ Gwyn said, resentment clear. ‘Fucking asshole.’
Thorne found himself chuckling. ‘He should have been more afraid of you.’
Gwyn craned her head back to glare at him. ‘You should be more afraid of me too.’
Thorne abruptly sobered. ‘Oh, I am. Trust me.’
Clay’s lips twitched. ‘Then you are a wise man, Thorne. Come. We have food. Have you eaten?’
Thorne’s stomach had been rumbling for the past hour. ‘No. Thank you again.’
Clay aimed an irritated look his way. ‘Shut up, Thorne. Stop thanking us. Just get your ass in there, get some food, and find a chair.’
‘There’ was Clay’s living room, filled to capacity. Everyone who’d been in Gwyn’s condo the night before, plus a few others – old and young and super-young. The group was having a late lunch, a buffet laid out on a table in the dining room, visible through another wide doorway.
‘Uncle Torn!’ The squeal was followed by a shock of dark hair and chubby little legs running across the room, a small body flinging itself into Thorne’s arms. Lucy’s son, Jeremiah. His godson. He lifted the boy off the floor and swung him around, and was rewarded with another squeal, this one so joyful that his heart squeezed. He wrapped Jeremiah in a bear hug before kissing the top of his head.
‘What are you doing here, little J?’ he asked, tickling the boy’s ribs.
But no giggles ensued. Just a sober-faced little boy, who reached out and grabbed Thorne’s cheeks. ‘To see you.’ Dark blue eyes studied him with an uncharacteristic concern. ‘Still hurt?’
Lucy sidled up next to them, Wynnie on her hip. ‘He knows you were in the hospital yesterday. He was worried. We told him you were okay, but he needed to see for himself.’ She kissed her son’s soft cheek. ‘You’ve seen him now, Jeremiah, so it’s time to go back downstairs with Taylor.’
Frederick’s adopted daughter left his side to approach, arms outstretched. She transferred Wynnie to her own hip, then smiled down at Jeremiah. ‘Come on, kid. Ford’s got Legos downstairs. Let’s go play.’
Those were evidently magic words, because Jeremiah wriggled out of Thorne’s arms. ‘Down.’ Then, at his mother’s raised brows, he added, ‘Please.’
Thorne set him down, wishing he could go downstairs and play too. He wished all of these people had gathered for a party rather than for his sorry ass. But they had gathered for him, so he shoved away his longing for Legos and straightened. ‘Thank you, Taylor. And thank you for sending me that photo of Jazzie. That was nice of you.’
Clay’s biological daughter smiled. She always looked like him, but when she smiled, the resemblance was enough to make a person blink. ‘I heard that whatever you did to help her has caused you trouble. I’m sorry for that, but I still appreciate that you did it. So does Jazzie. Every so often we get that magic moment when she smiles and . . . forgets what happened to her. You gave her that chance, so . . . thank you.’
Thorne swallowed hard. Knowing that a little girl was alive and happy made whatever happened to him personally worth it. He only hoped he hadn’t doomed his dearest friends in the process. ‘Thanks, Taylor.’
With a nod, Taylor held out a hand for Jeremiah. ‘Let’s go, pumpkin.’ To the rest of the room she said, ‘I’ll take him downstairs to Ford and then come back for the others.’
‘The others’ were the two infants in the room. Paige and Stevie had given birth within months of each other, so Taylor and Ford would have their hands full. Literally.
Clay pointed the new arrivals toward the food. ‘Help yourselves. We’re ready to begin whenever you are.’
A few minutes later, the four of them had found chairs in the Maynards’ homey living room – where another large flat-screen security monitor hung on one wall. ‘How many rooms have monitors?’ Thorne asked Clay.
‘All of them. I take my family’s safety very seriously.’
Thorne nodded, wondering if Gwyn, Phil and Jamie might be safer here. Without me. But he bit back the question, because Gwyn was giving him a warning look, almost as if she were reading his mind. Instead, he studied the faces of the people in the room. No one looked angry or put out.
Two faces stood out, having not been with them the night before. Clay’s IT manager, Alec Vaughn, sat on the floor, a sleek computer on his lap. The young man frowned at the screen, his fingers alternating between being still and flying over the keyboard. He had a reputation as something of a wunderkind in the hacking world. Thorne was happy to see him there.
‘I hope you don’t mind that I asked Alec to join us,’ Clay murmured. ‘I have him running some searches for us.’
‘It’s fine with me,’ Thorne told him, because his attention was already focused on the only other person who hadn’t been with them the evening before.
JD Fitzpatrick sat next to Lucy on one of the loveseats, his arm protectively around her shoulders.
He caught Thorne’s questioning gaze and gave him a sober shrug. ‘I’m officially on vacation. Lucy could become a target – which is not your fault. That doesn’t change the danger, though. I’m here as a private civilian through the duration.’
Thorne was well aware that wasn’t how it worked, but he said nothing. Nothing he could have said would’ve made a difference anyway. JD was immovable and he was relieved to see it.
He clapped his hands. ‘So. Who’s leading this clusterfuck?’
Chuckles rippled through the room, and Frederick raised his hand. ‘I guess that’d be me. Before we debrief everything we’ve discovered since last night, I think we need to understand about Tavilla. What is the threat level?’
Thorne took out his phone and checked his messages. Still nothing. ‘I don’t know. I sent a message to my contact inside Tavilla’s organization while we were driving here, but I haven’t heard back. I got a message from him last night saying that all was quiet and that no one wished me ill. Now . . . I have to wonder if he’s all right.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Frederick pressed.
Thorne forced his mouth into a small smile. ‘What makes you think I’m going to do anything?’
Everyone in the room scoffed in unison.
‘Give us a break, Thorne,’ Sam said from the sofa where Ruby sat on his lap. ‘We’re not stupid.’
Thorne sighed. ‘I wouldn’t have hired you if you had been. I don’t hire fools.’
‘Fuck,’ Paige muttered. ‘He’s flattering us now. Which means he’s going straight to his contact’s house when he’s done here. Luckily I know where that is.’
Frederick’s head tilted in interest. ‘You do? How?’