He drummed his fingers on the desktop, attempting not to feel like a child who’d had his favorite toy stolen. ‘I see. What about the fire? Patton left the box?’
‘Yes. When the fire cools, they’ll find it filled with matchbooks from the Crabshack and Circus Freaks patches. But I don’t think they’ll buy it.’
‘Why not?’ he snapped. ‘Alistair’s love of fire is well known.’
‘Because Alistair doesn’t believe Thorne is responsible for the deaths of his two gang members. He and Thorne met today at the Crabshack, right about the same time that Patton was setting fire to the Fitzpatrick home.’
Margo delivered the words with no emotion whatsoever. Still they felt like a rebuke. A reprimand. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Same way I know that they’d planned to ship everyone to Chicago by van. I can still hear every word they say in the Maynard home. The men, along with Gwyn, arrived moments ago. Thorne and Gwyn were arguing because Gwyn refused to get on the plane.’
‘So she’s still here? She’ll have to be good enough for now.’
Margo hesitated. ‘They also know about me.’
His hand closed into a fist. ‘How?’
She shrugged delicately. ‘I don’t know. But there was a lot of “Fuck Anne” and “If I get my hands on her . . .” You know. The usual. They don’t know who I am, but they know I work for you.’
‘You heard all this?’
‘Clear as a bell. The microphone I stuck in the box of client files broadcasts beautifully. And so far there’s been no attempt to block our signal.’
He blew out a breath. He hadn’t thought this would be easy. Thorne’s friends were a formidable group. He had, however, expected them to turn on the defense attorney, or at least abandon him. He had to admire their loyalty. ‘They don’t know that we can hear them?’
‘No. They think they’re arranging a temptation that you won’t be able to resist.’
‘The christening on Saturday.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Let’s let them keep thinking that. Let me know as soon as you find out where the women and children have gone. I haven’t finished playing with them yet.’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you found a way into the judge’s safe deposit box for that incriminating letter?’
‘No, sir. Not yet, but I’m still working on it.’
‘Work faster.’
She rose. ‘I will. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.’
Twenty-three
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Wednesday 15 June, 4.45 P.M.
The mood in Clay’s living room was more than dark, Frederick thought, wishing he knew what to do but too deep in his own funk to help the others. The normally noisy house was strangely quiet.
The kids were gone. The moms were gone. In the end Joseph had taken Stevie, Paige, Lucy and all their kids, including Cordelia and Julie, plus Ruby and Sam, because if the shit hit the fan, the man might not be able to get out of the way. If Clay’s house was set on fire like JD’s had been, Sam would be a liability, his concussion still causing any fast movements to result in debilitating vertigo. It had been a bitter pill, but he had swallowed it stoically.
Joseph had even arranged for Phil to be transported to a private hospital with security equivalent to that of the Secret Service. But that meant that Jamie had needed to decide whether to stay with Phil or Thorne. Both Phil and Jamie had decided that Thorne needed him more, so Jamie sat in his chair next to his son. Because Thorne was his son, in every way that mattered.
Frederick had taken a seat next to Jamie, because he was certain that even though Jamie felt no regrets about his choice, he still worried about Phil. Giving Jamie his support seemed like the only thing Frederick could do, at least as long as they were all in this waiting pattern.
Because Taylor had gone with Julie, Gwyn was the only woman left in the room, and that had been a truly epic battle. Thorne had tried to bodily force her to get on the plane, but Gwyn had more grit than anyone had expected.
And more moves. The woman could slither and slide and contort her body in ways that still confounded Frederick, and he’d witnessed the whole thing. It was like Thorne had been handling a slippery fish.
Now Gwyn perched on the arm of the loveseat that Thorne had commandeered. Both sat with their arms crossed, still angry with each other. Clay stood at his back window, brooding at the sunset, and JD alternately paced and brooded with him.
JD’s house had burned to the ground. Lucy had grabbed her children, then had gone back in for her violins. Everything else had been destroyed, and they now had only the clothes on their backs. And the violins. JD had been too relieved to see her alive to scold her about risking herself to save the instruments. Frederick suspected that might become an issue later, however. The rest of them had wisely maintained silence on the matter.
Everyone, including Frederick, glanced at their phones with irritating frequency. The plane was still in the air, but would be landing very soon.
‘Anything?’ Jamie murmured, leaning to glance at Frederick’s screen.
‘That depends,’ Frederick answered quietly, feeling as if he were in an oppressive library. ‘The plane has Wi-Fi, so Julie’s sent me lots of pictures. She’s having a ball. It’s only the second time she’s been on a plane. Taylor has Julie, Cordelia and Paige singing “Ninety-nine bottles of chocolate milk on the wall”, and Stevie’s about to go nuclear.’
Jamie chuckled. ‘Chocolate milk?’
‘They’re not old enough to sing about beer.’ He touched the photo of his smiling daughters, feeling wistful. ‘I guess Julie is, but . . . not really. I haven’t done a good job with her.’
‘What?’ Jamie shook his head. ‘You’ve done a fine job. Stop that.’
But Jamie was his friend, so he had to say that. ‘A stranger found out more about my daughter in an hour than I ever knew.’
‘Sally Brewster?’ Jamie asked. ‘Look, she’s a nurse. A pediatric nurse. She’s trained to talk to young people. And it sounds like Julie connected with her. Maybe she just misses having a mom.’
‘Maybe. Sally’s offered to spend time with her after all this is over.’
Jamie’s brows rose. ‘Sally? Huh. You gonna let her?’
‘I think so. I’ve checked her out. She’s legit. A really nice person.’ Frederick hesitated. ‘And we’ve been texting.’
Jamie’s grin spread across his face. ‘You sly dog, you. You like her.’
‘God. You sound like Taylor.’
‘Taylor’s smart. I don’t mind sounding like her.’ Jamie leaned over, bumping shoulders. ‘So what do you text about?’
Frederick shot him a withering look. ‘I’m going to hurt you.’
Jamie snickered. ‘Fine, fine. Just go with it, man. You’re too tight.’
‘You two sound like teenaged girls,’ Thorne grunted from where he sat sprawled on the loveseat, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of manspreading.
Gwyn smacked his chest with a backhand that made her wince. ‘That is a patronizing and condescending thing to say. And shit, why didn’t you take off that damn vest? It hurts.’ Joseph had insisted they all don Kevlar vests for their trip from the airport back to Clay’s house, handing them out like candy on Halloween.
‘Still wearing mine,’ Frederick said.
‘Me too,’ Jamie added. ‘Why aren’t you? They’re not that uncomfortable.’
And would come in handy should Clay’s house be torched by a gunman, forcing them to flee like rats off a sinking ship. The knowledge that that could happen, coupled with the memory of the smell of smoke on Lucy and her children’s clothing when Frederick had hugged them goodbye . . .
Yeah. It was sobering, all right. He was relieved he’d gotten his girls far away. He’d be even more settled when he heard from Daisy. She was not answering any of his calls. He’d had radio silence for the past week, and that wasn’t like her. She’d texted him twice. Once to give him her travel itinerary, and then to tell him that she was alive and receiving his texts, but that was before he’d told her not to come to Baltimore yet, to delay her departure. Since then, he’d heard nothing.