‘Because if he woke up, he’d kill whoever was messin’ with him,’ Ruby concluded, her tone matter-of-fact. She snapped her fingers. ‘Like that.’
Thorne wanted to point out once again that he was right there, listening, but he didn’t. The thought that this man had moved around so freely – in my home – was truly unsettling. ‘He changed his clothes at some point,’ he pointed out instead. ‘His T-shirt is dark there and it was white before.’ His stomach roiled, telling him that the sandwich waiting on his plate was no longer welcome. ‘He probably did that after he killed Patricia.’
‘Probably,’ JD concurred, but he looked troubled, and that bothered Thorne more.
Phil frowned. ‘But . . . the video still clears Thorne, right? It shows these men going into and out of his home. Shows this man’ – he pointed to the screen – ‘there for two hours.’
JD shook his head, and now Thorne understood what troubled him. And . . . yeah. It was a problem.
He hoped his voice was steady. He didn’t want to frighten Phil any more by showing his own fear. ‘I’m not visible in any of these videos. Nothing shows me drugged and unconscious at this point. The police or the prosecutor could still say that I was there, directing the whole thing. That I paid those thugs to bring Patricia to me and that I killed her. And then OD’d on GHB out of remorse or a desire to kill myself or something. The time when I was dosed is really just a guess. These videos don’t exonerate me, I’m afraid.’
JD’s expression said he’d nailed it. Damn.
Phil paled. ‘Goddammit, Thorne.’
‘Hold on,’ Sam rumbled, giving Phil an encouraging smile. ‘I wasn’t finished. We do have video of you leaving your house. It was before you got the phone call luring you to Barney’s, though.’
Thorne felt his cheeks heat. Oh, right. He’d actually forgotten about that. Forgotten that he’d been read the riot act by Lucy and was going to the club to come clean to Gwyn about his role in her canceled dates. ‘I was going to the club. Our club. I got the call shortly after I’d left the house.’
Lucy lifted her brows at him. ‘Really?’
His cheeks flamed hotter. ‘Really,’ he mumbled.
Gwyn’s eyes flashed with sudden understanding, and damned if her cheeks didn’t heat too. ‘All right,’ she conceded.
Sam was giving them all an appraising look, one side of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. ‘All right,’ he echoed. ‘After I viewed all this video, I went back to the liquor store’s tapes and rewound another hour’s worth of footage. And got this.’ Once more he turned his laptop to show them. Thorne’s car was racing past, headed toward Barney’s Bar. ‘You drove away from your house and to the bar, but you’re not shown returning. Yet you were found in your bed, so you can argue that you were unconscious the whole time.’
Phil shuddered visibly, glancing over at Thorne with raw relief in his eyes before turning to Sam. ‘Thank you, Sam. We appreciate it.’
Sam’s smile was gentle. ‘We’re going to get through this,’ he promised, then pulled up a grainy photo showing the lower two thirds of a man’s face. ‘This isn’t a clear picture of Thorne, but this is how tall he sits in his car. You can see it in the video taken as he leaves his house earlier. So we don’t have a perfect alibi for you, Thorne, but it does support your story. That’s all I’ve got for now.’
‘That’s a lot,’ Frederick praised. ‘I’ll go next.’ He told them how he’d found Bernice Brown and how frightened she’d been. And how she’d thanked Thorne for being willing to come to help her even though she’d been used to lure him. ‘Then I met with the friend she told me about, the one who’d gotten a call from a Detective Hooper – who, by the way, does not exist. The “detective” was asking her questions about her friend’s whereabouts and her attorney. The friend, Sally Brewster, felt uneasy and hung up. She gave me the number, which was providential,’ he finished grimly.
Thorne could feel Frederick’s fear. It was palpable even from across the room. ‘Why? What happened?’
Clay gave Frederick a sympathetic look. ‘Someone messaged Julie from the same number to try to get her to give them her home address.’
New dread – more new dread – settled on Thorne’s shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
Frederick shook his head. ‘We are not going there, Thorne. Miss Brewster, Bernice Brown’s friend, had messaged her first and Julie gave her our home phone number.’
‘What? Why?’ Gwyn demanded.
‘Because she was scared and she wanted to check me out. I’m grateful, actually. I didn’t realize that Julie was so connected into the Internet. I didn’t realize a lot of things about Julie,’ he added ruefully. ‘The point is, we know someone has used that number at least twice, once to try to find Bernice Brown, and once to try to find – presumably – me.’
‘I haven’t been able to trace the number,’ Alec said, sounding annoyed with himself.
‘I thought you couldn’t track disposable phones,’ Phil said.
Alec shrugged. ‘There are ways. Not necessarily pretty ways, but ways. The number’s 301-555-2495, right? I’d hate to be chasing down the wrong number.’
Frederick checked his notes. ‘That’s right.’
Thorne sucked in a harsh breath. That was Ramirez’s number. Goddammit. His chest went tight. This was very, very bad. Shit. Damn. Fuck.
But before he could utter a single word, a piercing alarm ripped the air and Clay jumped to his feet and ran to the monitor on the wall. ‘Somebody just cut the fence and came through. They’re somewhere on the property.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 5.35 P.M.
Gwyn fought to stay calm, but the screeching alarm had hold of her brain and she just wanted to run as far and fast as she could. Thorne lifted her, setting her on his lap, then wrapped his arms around her. It was then that she realized she was trembling so hard that her teeth were chattering.
‘Shh,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Look. They know what to do.’
It was true. Everyone except for Gwyn, Thorne, Phil and Jamie had scattered in an organized way that helped her calm herself a little. Just a little, because the alarm was still blaring.
Clay, Sam, JD and Frederick were standing around an enormous gun safe that had been hidden in a closet behind a normal-looking door. Clay was passing out weapons. Paige and Stevie had already drawn their guns from holsters Gwyn hadn’t noticed but was unsurprised to know they had. Paige was scanning the monitors while Stevie and Lucy headed down the stairs to where the children were.
‘Oh God,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘The kids.’
‘The kids are safe,’ Thorne assured her. ‘Do you really think Clay would allow a playroom for children to be breachable?’
‘No.’ She’d seen Clay’s security first-hand. He’d installed the system in her own condo, for God’s sake. The man took care of his family. The babies were safe.
‘Remarkable,’ Jamie murmured. ‘They’ve practiced this, clearly.’
‘Like a finely tuned machine,’ Phil agreed. ‘I feel like a slug, just sitting here.’
The alarm was abruptly silenced and Gwyn’s bones seemed to crumble into dust. She’d held herself so tensely before that she was a puddle now. A puddle whose arms were tightly wrapped around Thomas Thorne’s neck.
His hand was slowly gliding up her spine and down again. Gentling her. Just as he’d done in those horrible days after Evan. Thorne had been the only one who’d held her afterward. Because Thorne had been the only one she’d trusted.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered, mortified by her reaction to a stupid alarm. But obviously not mortified enough, because she hadn’t let him go. I don’t want to. I don’t want to ever let him go. He was solid strength and he’d been so generous, sharing that strength with her whenever she’d needed it.
‘Shh.’ Thorne’s deep voice rumbled up from his chest. ‘It’s fine.’ She felt his chin lift. ‘What can I do, Clay?’
‘Depends.’ Clay’s voice reached them from the other side of the large living room. ‘Which of you is the best shot?’