‘I will try.’
He drew a breath, irritated. He’d been too lax with her. She took advantage of her relationship to his son. And to me. Her obedience was not situational. He inserted cold iron into his reply. ‘You will succeed.’
A beat of hesitation. ‘Yes, sir.’
That was better. ‘Thank you.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 12.15 A.M.
They’d finally left Clay’s very crowded house, and Gwyn was grateful for the quiet of her condo. She loved all of their friends, but she’d felt ready to bolt from the moment Lucy had basically outed her as a victim of sexual assault in front of them.
No. Not a victim. At least that wasn’t all she was. A survivor. Who was finally living again. No way would she go back into the dark. It was too lonely there.
She removed the weapons she’d been wearing all day, placing the knives and one of the guns in her nightstand drawer before stepping around Tweety to lay the remaining gun on the nightstand on the other side of the bed for Thorne’s use.
‘Just in case,’ she murmured to the dog, talking to him as she did every night. Except this night wasn’t like any other, because this night she wasn’t alone.
Through every thought, every movement, she remained acutely conscious of the huge man watching her from the doorway. ‘I was lucky today,’ she said conversationally, because she really wanted to stutter and pull a blanket over her head. She knew what he wanted to know. She knew she’d have to tell him, sooner or later.
Thorne was watching her with a combination of want and a kind of desperate trepidation. The want made her feel desirable, but the fear welling up within her was beating it down pretty damn well.
There were shadows on his face and questions in his eyes. The questions had been there off and on for most of the day, but after Lucy’s little gaffe in front of everyone tonight, neither the shadows nor questions had faded. He wanted to know what had happened to her. With Evan.
And she was trying to think of any conceivable way to tell him without either of them falling apart. And failing miserably.
‘How so?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble that did things to her. Such wicked, delicious things.
Shivering, she threw a look over her shoulder. He’d taken off his shirt, and his biceps were straining as he gripped the sides of her door frame as if it was the only thing holding him upright. Her mouth went dry at the sight of all that beautiful skin. ‘What?’ she asked, having totally lost the thread of the conversation.
One side of his mouth lifted, but sadly. ‘You said you were lucky today.’
She blinked before remembering. ‘Oh. Right.’ She turned to the safe, keying in the combination, but her fingers faltered midway. Her combination was a set of numbers, a birthday whose importance no one knew about. Nobody but me.
Well, her and the boy himself, along with his adoptive parents and anyone else in his world who’d attended his birthday parties over the years. Which does not include me.
She needed to tell Thorne about him too. But one big disclosure at a time. Tackle the Evan shit. Then figure the rest of it out. Briskly she re-entered the combination, because the safe had already reset itself. Popping open the door, she removed her larger .45 with the extended magazine and laid it on the nightstand. It was far too large and heavy to conceal comfortably under her clothing, but it was the weapon she felt most comfortable firing. And if they were surprised in the night, she wanted every advantage.
Leaving her other three handguns in the safe, she closed the door. ‘I was lucky that Rivera was there today,’ she said. ‘He took my guns and held onto them until Joseph got there. Joseph gave them back to me. I mean, I have more handguns, but those conceal the best.’ She turned to face Thorne, her smile firmly back in place. ‘Joseph checked me for a concealed carry permit first, though.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘I wondered about that,’ Thorne said. He shrugged, then dropped his hands from the door frame to his sides. ‘Gwyn. I need to . . . we need to talk. I need to understand.’
She closed her eyes, feeling suddenly naked even though she was still fully clothed. ‘I know. But I think I need some wine for this conversation.’ She opened her eyes and found he’d moved out of the doorway. Silently he followed her to the kitchen, opening the bottle she handed him as he’d done hundreds of times before over the twelve years they’d been friends.
She got the glasses from the cupboard, then turned to him. ‘Would you mind putting on a shirt?’
He took a step back, guilty apprehension in his eyes, and too late she realized that he thought she was afraid of him. ‘No, not that,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just that I’d be able to concentrate better.’
Visibly relieved, he nodded and disappeared back into the bedroom while she filled the glasses. When he returned, buttoning a clean shirt, she’d put the glasses on the coffee table and switched on the gas fire.
He frowned. ‘Are you cold?’
Which was fair, because the evening was warm and humid. ‘No. But the fire is calming. Don’t worry,’ she added, when he looked abruptly worried. ‘I’m not a pyro or anything. Some people find watching waves soothing. But for me, it’s flames. It’s meditative.’
‘All right.’ He sat on the sofa and didn’t complain about its size for what might have been the first time. ‘Tell me what you can,’ he said gruffly. ‘And if you can’t, just tell me what you think I absolutely must know so that I don’t hurt you.’
He looked up then, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were filled with so much pain. So much fear. But there was more there. Something sweet and lovely. Tender. And loving.
Toeing off her shoes, she sat beside him, as close as she could without sitting on his lap, waiting until he put his arm around her to snuggle her cheek into his hard pec. This would be easier if she didn’t have to actually look at him.
‘You won’t hurt me,’ she said quietly. ‘I know that. I always knew that.’
‘Then . . .’ he cleared his throat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The hurt in his voice was unmistakable, and suddenly she needed to see his expression. Twisting to her knees so that they were face to face, she cupped his jaws in her hands. ‘It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, so if you’re thinking that, don’t. Please.’
‘Okay.’ He turned his head so that his lips were on her palm and kissed her there. ‘Then why?’
She sighed. ‘You were my safe place, Thorne. I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to look at me like you were afraid of me. Like you pitied me. Like you knew. Because then I’d have to think about it all over again. He was dead. Gone. It was over. Everyone told me it was over.’
He lifted careful hands to her face, swiping tears from her cheeks that she wasn’t aware she’d shed. ‘But it wasn’t over for you,’ he whispered.
‘No,’ she whispered back. ‘It wasn’t. I tried to forget it. I did. But the only thing that helped was blocking it out. I’m good at blocking things out.’
‘Join the club. You, me and Lucy. All champion blockers.’
‘Until we can’t anymore,’ she said sadly.
He kissed her palm again. ‘It’s not like we’re sharers, not voluntarily anyway. Lucy didn’t tell us her story until she was forced to because she was being chased by a killer. I never told you about my trial. Or Sherri. I might not have ever done so, but you found me with a dead woman in my bed and I was kind of forced to.’
‘Did you love her?’
‘Sherri? Yes, I did.’ His lips tipped up, the picture of melancholy. ‘We’d talked about getting married when we finished college. We had a plan, most of which involved me doing things for her father so he’d accept me.’
Gwyn rested her forehead against his. ‘I’m so sorry she died.’
‘Me too.’ He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry that I never pursued any of this nightmare before. I just let her killer go because it was . . . easier.’