Joseph pointed to his SUV, looking frustrated, which for him was a big deal. The man didn’t show a lot of emotion. ‘Yeah.’ His windows were shot up nearly as badly as those in the SUV he’d loaned them. ‘The good news is the glass holds against a hell of a lot of bullets. My wife will be pleased.’
Frederick wished their glass had held against a few more bullets, because then Thorne and Gwyn would be safe, but he bit the words back. If they hadn’t had the loaner SUV, they’d all have been dead in the first barrage. ‘Does what Tavilla’s man told me make sense?’
‘Not yet. Chevalier isn’t showing up in the marina listings. He could have been lying to you.’
‘Maybe about the marina.’ Because he’d heard sirens by then. ‘I think the name of the boat is real.’
Joseph gave him a long, long look, as if he knew exactly what Frederick had done. ‘All right,’ was all he said.
‘Can my dads go home now, Joseph?’ Taylor asked him. ‘They’re kind of banged up.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll send someone by to get their statements shortly. I’ve got to get to the police station. The evidence found in the search of the judge’s house is starting to trickle in. I’m hoping there’s something there that can tie him to Tavilla.’
Frederick wanted to explode. ‘That he just attacked us and took Thorne and Gwyn isn’t enough?’
Joseph shook his head. ‘Unless I can get the guy you’ve tied up to admit that Tavilla is his boss, no, the attack is not enough. We can’t prove he ordered it. We can search for him, but he’s been in hiding since last summer.’
‘Can you at least put a uniform on that restaurant he likes?’ Frederick asked, frustrated with the slow progress. Because Tavilla had Thorne and Gwyn in his hands. And they all knew what he did to his enemies.
His stomach threatened to revolt again and he battled it back.
‘I have,’ Joseph said grimly. ‘He was there today for lunch, but he manages to lose every tail I put on him. Bastard’s slippery.’
‘It wasn’t Detective Brickman on watch, was it?’ Clay asked acidly.
Joseph gave him a don’t-be-an-asshole look. ‘No. Detective Brickman has been put on administrative leave. The problem is, the detective’s gone AWOL.’
‘For God’s sake,’ Clay muttered. ‘Really, Joseph?’
‘Hey,’ Joseph said sharply. ‘He’d gone AWOL before you told me about his visit to Patricia’s . . . victim. I can’t bring myself to call a newly-turned-eighteen-year-old her lover. Anyway, we’re trying. You have to know that. Thorne and Gwyn are friends of mine too.’
Clay looked away. ‘I know.’
Frederick managed a jerky nod. ‘I need to update Jamie. I’m sure he’s losing his mind.’
‘Wait,’ Clay called when Joseph turned to go. ‘What about the address Thorne gave you? For Anne Poulin?’
‘It was an empty apartment,’ Joseph said. ‘I think you were tricked into leaving your house. They were waiting for you.’
Frederick had figured as much, but it was a bitter pill to swallow. ‘You’ll call us when you hear something?’
‘Of course,’ Joseph said kindly.
Annapolis, Maryland,
Thursday 16 June, 5.05 P.M.
She was on a goddamn boat. This was bad. It would make rescue problematic, especially if Kathryn and company decided to set sail.
Gwyn stumbled into the small room below deck, pushed by an irritated Kathryn. Apparently, something had occurred back at the crash site and Frederick and Clay were not en route. Gwyn wanted to cheer at this, because it meant they were safe. At the same time, it meant she had to save Thorne all alone.
Thorne, who’d been brought aboard in an old refrigerator box. Kathryn and the two men under her command had pushed and shoved the box into a small launch and sailed it out to a yacht that had to have been a hundred-fifty-footer. Gwyn might have been impressed had she not been so fucking terrified.
That they hadn’t blindfolded her didn’t bode well at all. They’d been brought to a mansion on the water outside of Annapolis, then she’d been escorted to the small launch while Thorne had been boxed up and hauled on a handcart. She’d hoped he could breathe in there. She needed him to hold on until she could figure a way out. She was handcuffed, but that was all. And handcuffs might be escapable. She’d done it before, after all.
The box was shoved into the room after her and she heard a quiet moan from inside. So he was still alive, at least. That had her shuddering in relief.
‘Fucker,’ one of the men muttered as he kicked at the box. Not one of the six gunmen who’d attacked their SUV, he’d been riding shotgun with Kathryn in the white van.
Kathryn had called the man Patton as she had driven them from the crash site to this private yacht club. Very private. Gwyn hadn’t seen a frickin’ soul the entire time they’d been in the launch. Which again did not bode well. Even if she managed to escape, who was she going to ask for help?
The remaining gunman had removed his mask once they were a few miles from Clay’s house. Of course it was Detective Brickman. He’d sneered at her and she’d wanted to kick him, but she’d restrained herself. She might need that kick later.
Kathryn and the two men closed the cabin door and she heard a click. They’d locked it from the outside. Which was to be expected. The room was dim, the only light coming in through a porthole close to the ceiling, and the sun was on the other side of the boat. There were overhead lights, but she saw no switches.
Two chairs sat in the middle of the room, bolted to the floor. Manacles on chains hung from the back of them and were attached to the two front legs. The red stains on the legs of the chairs were probably not paint.
A steel table was mounted to one wall, hinged so that it lay flush against the wall at the moment. It too had manacles dangling from chains. And more red stains that were also probably not paint.
She jerked her eyes away, because her mind was already conjuring images of what had happened on that table. Those chairs. And what might happen to me.
Her terrified gaze fell on a person in the corner. A boy. Her heart sped up. Aidan? But as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that this young man was slender and blond, where Aidan was big, broad-shouldered and dark-haired.
She swallowed back her disappointment and her fear. Not Aidan. Was her boy dead? That pool of blood he’d been lying in, was it his? Oh God, oh God, oh God.
‘Stop it,’ she muttered aloud. Dissolving into a panic wasn’t going to help anyone right now. Not Aidan, not Thorne, and not the live kid in the corner.
Who didn’t seem to be moving toward her, so, judging him not to be an immediate threat, she dropped to her knees beside the box that contained Thorne. ‘You okay?’ she murmured. A low moan reached her ears. He wasn’t awake yet, but he wasn’t fully unconscious either.
That wasn’t bad, actually. They were waiting for him to wake up before getting under way with her torture. And I’m not going to think about that, because it’ll scare me to fucking death.
‘Who are you?’ she called softly to the person in the corner. He didn’t answer, so she crawled toward him. She was a few feet away when she realized she’d seen his photo before, in the yearbook, the night they were all together at Clay’s house. ‘Oh. I know you. You’re Patricia’s son. Blake.’
He lifted his head, his eyes sunken, skin sallow in this light. He was grieving. He’d lost his mother less than a week before. ‘Yes. Who are you?’
‘Gwyn Weaver. You haven’t seen any other boys your age, have you?’
He shook his head. ‘Did you lose one?’ he asked, trying to sound snarky, but the tremble in his voice gave him away.
‘Yes, I did. My . . . son.’
Blake’s expression changed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.
‘Do you know why you’re here?’
He shook his head. ‘Do you?’
‘I know why I’m here, yes. There’s an unconscious man in that box and he loves me. They intend to kill me and make him watch.’
His eyes closed, his throat working. ‘God,’ he whispered.
‘I can guess why you’re here,’ she went on. She needed this kid on her side. If she could get her hands free, she might be able to climb out of the porthole, but she’d need a boost. ‘What do you know about your dad?’