‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ he whispered back. ‘It was easier to change my name to Thorne and start out fresh and never look back. I should have kept searching until I found her killer. I should have gotten her justice.’
‘Baby.’ She kissed his brow, then his eyelids, then his cheeks. ‘You survived. You went through hell and came out the other side. Do you think she’d want you to suffer?’
Another melancholy smile. ‘No. But she would have wanted me to fight for justice. The last day we had together, she was trying to get me to sue the school, to force them to let me back in after I was expelled.’ His chuckle was watery. ‘She wanted to contact the ACLU.’
‘Sounds like she was a spitfire. What did you say?’
‘About suing?’ He chuckled again, this time fondly. ‘I told her nothing good ever came of going to court.’
Gwyn grinned. ‘Oh, wow. And look at you now. She would have been so proud of you, Thorne.’
He swallowed hard. ‘I hope so. I really hope so. But I didn’t mean to make this about me. I just meant that I don’t blame you for keeping things to yourself. I’d be a hypocrite if I did.’
She kissed him again, softly. ‘I know. I get it. I might have never told you about . . . what I’m going to tell you. But I did tell someone, and it did help.’
‘Who?’
‘My therapist. I’ve been seeing her for over a year, and I don’t think I could have ever been here, taken this step with you, without her. But I didn’t even tell her what really happened right away. I didn’t have the words for months.’
‘What made you seek her out?’
‘I woke up one morning and my life was a mess.’ She remembered the morning specifically. February seventeenth. Seventeen years after she’d given birth to a beautiful boy. For the past sixteen years, February seventeenth had been the day she’d woken to cry over the one photo she had of her holding her son. Knowing that he’d be eighteen in a year and that he’d be told of her existence was the motivation she’d needed that particular day. ‘I needed to fix my life, but by then I didn’t have the first idea of where to start. I went online and started researching therapists who worked with PTSD. I figured that was what I was experiencing.’
‘And was it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, and the underlying reason was . . .’ She closed her eyes, unable to look at him when she whispered the words. ‘Being raped. By Evan.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 12.40 A.M.
Patton had actually returned. He hadn’t expected him to, but the man now stood in front of his desk, feet spread, hands clasped behind him, expression one of grim determination.
‘I have to say, you continue to surprise me, Mr Patton.’
‘I know what you think. And it isn’t true.’
He leaned back in his chair, giving Patton a serious study. ‘What do I think?’
‘That I was careless and brought the judge here on my own.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. Your daughter-in-law told me to. Sir.’
He frowned. ‘Margo wouldn’t have done that.’
‘She did. I know you don’t believe me, but that’s the truth. She said you’d told her to send him over.’
His frown deepened. ‘What I said was that I would come to the office downtown.’ Which was where the judge had shown up demanding to see him.
‘She must have misunderstood. She looked . . . tired. I think the baby is teething. Maybe she hasn’t gotten enough sleep.’
‘That could be true. Thank you for telling me the truth, Mr Patton.’
The man narrowed his eyes. ‘You believe me?’
‘You’re here. If you’d been lying, you would have run. Or maybe you are lying and trying to employ reverse psychology?’
Patton shook his head. ‘I have enough trouble with straight psychology.’
His lips twitched, certain that Patton was much smarter than he wanted anyone to believe. ‘Well, I’ll talk to Margo about getting more sleep. In the meantime, I have another assignment for you.’ He handed him a list of names and phone numbers, each with a single sentence that would bring that person the most fear. ‘Starting in the morning, call each of these people and read the sentence next to his or her name, then hang up. Use a throwaway phone with a voice-altering app so that each person hears a slightly different voice, just in case they get brave and go to the cops. I don’t think they will, though.’
‘Who are they?’
He smiled. ‘The less you know, the less you can mistakenly tell them.’
Patton folded the paper and put it in his pocket with a shrug. ‘Yes, sir.’
The man was learning.
Baltimore, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 12.40 A.M.
Being raped. By Evan.
Thorne had thought he was strong enough to hear the words. I was wrong.
Bile rose in his throat and he began to tremble where he sat, white-hot fury rendering him helpless as she knelt beside him, pressed against his side, her hands still holding his face like he was precious to her.
But her eyes were closed and she’d whispered the words as if they still shamed her. Being raped. By Evan.
‘You don’t have to tell me any more,’ he choked out.
She opened her eyes and they held mild challenge. Milder reproach. ‘You asked, Thorne. Which is it? Do you want to know or not?’
This was important. His answer was important. But he felt paralyzed, unsure of what to say. ‘Do you want me to know?’
‘No. But now that you’ve opened the box, you need to look inside or you’ll always wonder. I’ll know you’re wondering and it’ll make me crazy. So let’s look in the goddamn box, then close it again.’
Her voice was calm. So calm. It unnerved him. ‘All right.’ If she could tell it, he could listen.
She nodded once, then slid back down to sit beside him, her head tucked against his chest. The two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table untouched, but he didn’t think he could choke down a single sip.
‘If you want both of those, you’re welcome to them,’ he said, pointing to the glasses.
‘No. I . . . um . . . I pour it and usually end up dumping it down the drain.’
He hadn’t known that. ‘I think I’ll buy you cheaper wine, then.’
She chuckled. ‘Fair enough. Once the fire is going and I get into meditating, I don’t want it any more. And tonight I’m thinking about Patricia, drinking too much. I don’t want to fall into the same trap.’ She sighed, her breath warm on his chest. ‘My dad was a mean drunk. When I’m centered, I remember that. I don’t want to go there.’
She’d not spoken of her father, not in a long time. All Thorne knew was that her parents were very strict and she’d run away to join the circus. He wondered now how much of that story was true.
But first things first. ‘So. Evan. You said you weren’t drugged.’
‘Not the whole time, no. I don’t think he meant to kill me. Not at first. At least that’s what he said when he . . .’ She trailed off and he felt her body shift. ‘I figured out who he was, you know. That he was the killer. He’d put a tracker in Lucy’s purse.’
‘I remember that.’ He’d been so fucking angry. He was so much angrier now.
‘Well, he put one in mine too. When Lucy told me about hers, I got curious and checked, and sure enough, he’d been tracking me too. But he came in and found me looking for more.’
‘In your purse?’
‘No. In his gym bag. I’d seen something like the one in my purse before, but I didn’t know it was a tracker. I found five more in his things. I think I just stared at them for the longest time. I wish I’d acted more quickly, looking back. I’d just started to dial Lucy when he came in. He was . . . not pleased.’
Thorne’s stomach heaved, because he remembered visiting both Gwyn and Lucy in the hospital after their rescue. Lucy had a broken nose and a broken leg. Gwyn had two broken ribs, a broken finger and bruises. All over.
He clearly remembered the bruises in the shape of fingerprints around her throat. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to think about how she’d received them.