Joseph’s eyes flared wide in surprise, but the reaction was so brief that Frederick might have missed it had he not been watching closely. ‘Oh. Hidden. Got it.’
Frederick exchanged glances with both JD and Jamie. ‘Oh my God,’ he murmured. ‘He hid it up his . . .’
JD winced. ‘So it would seem.’
Jamie closed his eyes, his relief palpable. ‘Muddy Creek Road. That’s a relatively small search area. They’ll be able to find Thorne. They can get to him in time.’
Joseph lowered his chin to speak into the microphone clipped to his lapel. ‘Detective Rivera, did you get that?’
The door to the interrogation room opened and Rivera stuck his head in, an earpiece clearly visible. ‘Yes, Agent Carter. I’ve relayed it to the search team. They’re changing course to intercept Tavilla’s boat.’
‘Any other news from Mr Thorne?’ Hyatt asked.
Rivera shook his head, chancing a quick glance out of the corner of his eye at the mirror. ‘No, but we’re still connected.’
‘To Thorne,’ Jamie whispered. ‘They still have Thorne on the phone. He’s still alive.’
Annapolis, Maryland,
Thursday 16 June, 5.50 P.M.
Gwyn felt like throwing up. Swimming in the bay was completely different to swimming in the pool. It wasn’t a windy day, but the waves still tossed her around, and she’d swallowed too much water. But she’d made it. Thank you. Thank you.
Swimming under the dock, she dragged herself onto the sand, giving herself a moment to rest before inspecting the boat’s ignition. Please let the keys be in it. Please.
It was quiet here. Quiet enough that she heard the slamming of a car door.
Dammit. Somebody’s here. Hurry. Forcing herself to move, she waded over to the boat. It had a small ladder on the side so that anyone in the water could easily climb aboard. She pulled herself high enough on the ladder to see the ignition.
No keys. Fuck. She could pick a lock, but she’d never been good at hot-wiring. That had been Thorne’s expertise.
Voices suddenly split the quiet. Two women, calling to one another.
Fuckety fuck, fuck, fuck. Gwyn knew one of those two voices. Laura or Kathryn or whatever the fuck her name was.
Stop. Calm down. Drawing a breath, she focused, because in that split second she’d become over-the-top angry and frustrated. The voices were coming closer, and she needed to think.
As smoothly as possible, she slipped back into the water and under the dock just as footsteps thudded above her head.
‘You okay?’ That was Kathryn. Fucking bitch.
Stay calm.
‘Not really.’
Gwyn blinked, because that sounded like Anne, her voice small and tentative, much as it had been when she was working for Thorne. Not French, though. Faker. But maybe the tentativeness wasn’t faked.
‘Is he very angry?’ Anne asked.
A long pause. ‘Yeah, hon. He is.’ Kathryn sighed, her words full of gentle reproach. ‘You really fucked up, not making sure that Colton Brandenberg was dead.’
‘But that was Patton’s fault, not mine.’
‘I wouldn’t take that tone with him. Just . . . say a lot of “yes, sir” and “no, sir”. I’ve noticed how tired you are doing double duty. Triple duty, really. You were working for Thorne during the day and Cesar in the evenings, as well as taking care of Benny. Of course you’re going to be tired. I even commented to him last night that you needed a vacation. Just play that up. He’ll be angry and he’ll yell and scream, but we have this contained.’
‘You have the judge?’ Anne asked hopefully.
‘No. The cops have him. But we do have his kid. Had to kill the butler to get him out of the house, but the kid’s on the boat. The judge will stay quiet.’
‘What about Thorne?’
‘We have him too. Him and his bitch girlfriend.’
Gwyn scowled. Calling me a bitch? Cocking her head, she listened harder, because those last words had been muttered.
‘What did she do?’ Anne asked.
‘She and her flunky bodyguards took out three of my men.’
Another long pause. ‘Your men?’
‘Well, Cesar’s men.’ Kathryn laughed. ‘Don’t get upset, little sis. I’m not horning in on your territory. But he will need some help while he regroups and you tend to Benny.’
Sisters. Kathryn and Anne, or whatever her real name is. They’re sisters.
‘Tend to Benny?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Kathryn had stopped laughing. ‘He’s not going to trust you again anytime soon. You realize that, don’t you? Margo?’
Margo. Anne Poulin is really Margo. Things were starting to fall into place now.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Margo insisted. ‘I’ll convince him. Will you stand up for me?’
‘You know I—’ The sultry tones of a tango interrupted. ‘Cesar, we’re on our—’ She stopped short. ‘Nowhere? She’s tiny and bendy. Did you check under the beds and in the closets?’
Shit. They know I’m gone. I should have been quicker. But she’d swum as fast as she’d been able. She knew that. Holding her breath, she waited.
‘The kid too? Fuck, Cesar! I had them tied up. I patted them down myself.’ Kathryn sounded annoyed. ‘I’ll check the security tapes. Give me two seconds.’
‘Do we need to go inside to check?’ Margo asked.
‘No. I can access the cameras from my phone.’
Of course she can. Gwyn’s pulse began to race and she felt for the knife she’d buttoned into the pocket of her skirt. Closing her hand over the hilt, she flicked the catch, releasing the blade. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
‘Gwyn?’ Kathryn called. ‘We know you’re under the dock. I can see you right now.’
Gwyn looked up at the piling. Sure enough, there was a camera. Dammit.
‘You might as well come out,’ Margo added. ‘There’s nowhere to run.’
Gwyn said nothing. Come down here and get me. She might not make it out alive, but she’d do her damnedest to take one of the bitches with her.
There was quiet above, and then footsteps along the dock above her head. Gwyn backed up until she was wedged between the top of the dock and the beach. Tavilla wants to use me to hurt Thorne. So they probably won’t shoot me. At least not much.
Still her heart hammered. Tightening her grip on the knife, she waited.
There was a loud thump in the boat. One of them had climbed in. Gwyn glimpsed a long blond ponytail. Anne. No, Margo.
And then a hand grabbed her hair, twisting and yanking. And even though she knew it was Kathryn . . . it wasn’t. Even though she knew Evan was dead . . . it didn’t matter.
She froze, her heart pounding out of her chest, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. He’d grabbed her by her hair and . . .
Bile rose in her throat as she remembered the things he’d done. Again and again. An agonized cry burst from her throat and she struck out, twisting in his grip, the knife in her hand hitting something hard.
A screech cut through the air, followed by a torrent of curses.
It was the screech that snapped her back into her mind. It was high. Falsetto. Not deep. Nor were the curses. Not Evan.
The hand in her hair fell away and she backed up, crablike.
Kathryn. Not Evan.
Though it didn’t really matter, because both of them had pointed a gun at her face.
Gwyn blinked at the barrel as it came closer.
‘Get in the fucking boat,’ Kathryn gritted out. ‘Now.’
Gwyn heard a splash behind her, followed by Margo’s not-French voice. ‘I’ve got her, Kat. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’ But Kathryn sounded breathless, and there was pain in her voice. The water around her arm was red. She was bleeding profusely.
I’ve got her. Ha! But Gwyn’s joy was short-lived, because Margo had a gun of her own, this one with a silencer.
‘Get in the boat, Kat. I won’t let her get away. Once we have her locked down, I’ll stitch up your wound.’
Kathryn waded by Gwyn on her way to the boat. ‘Fucking cunt,’ she muttered, and Gwyn felt a blinding pain as the butt of Kathryn’s gun connected with her cheekbone.
Margo focused on Gwyn. ‘Thorne lives as long as you’re alive. I’m already in trouble with my father-in-law.’