Gwyn narrowed her eyes at the older man, her temper closer to boiling than it had been in years. ‘No. There is no “oh”. There is no anything. There is only a dead woman in his bed.’
Thorne was blinking at her, confusion clouding his handsome face. Why did he have to have such a handsome face? She wanted to smack it. She wanted to smack Lucy for getting her hopes up, for insinuating that Thorne had cancelled her dates because he might have feelings for her. She sneered as the word bounced around in her mind. Fucking feelings.
He’d had another woman in his bed. Naked in his bed. Tears stung her eyes, making her even angrier. Sucking in a breath, she concentrated on cutting the waterworks. She would not cry.
‘Gwyn?’ Thorne’s voice rumbled in the quiet of the room.
She looked away. ‘What?’
‘Look at me. Please.’
Gritting her teeth, she dragged her gaze to his. ‘What?’ she repeated as coldly as she could muster. But it wasn’t nearly as cold as she wanted, because understanding filled his eyes. Understanding and something else that she was not going to allow herself to even consider.
‘I got a phone call last night,’ he murmured. ‘From Bernice Brown.’
Jamie rolled his chair closer to Thorne’s bed. ‘What time?’
‘Close to midnight.’ Thorne spoke to Jamie, but his stare remained fixed on Gwyn’s face. ‘It came through the answering service to my cell phone. There will be a record.’
Gwyn tried to draw a breath, then realized she had her arms clamped tight across her chest. She forced herself to relax her grip, closing her eyes to visualize her arms dropping to her sides, relieved when she felt it happen. It had been a useful takeaway from therapy, visualizing her body relaxing. If she could see it happen, she could make it happen.
‘Gwyn?’
His voice was deep and quiet and . . . calming. He’d always been able to do that. To calm me. You trust him, she told herself. You’ve always trusted him. He didn’t kill that woman. He’d been set up, that was already a fact in her mind. So maybe the woman was a setup too.
Opening her eyes, she watched his shoulders sag in relief as he correctly read her expression. Another thing he’d always been able to do. ‘Who is Bernice Brown?’ she asked.
‘A client. She’s been in hiding from her husband, who she’s in the process of divorcing.’
It was Gwyn’s turn to be confused. ‘You’re not a divorce attorney.’
‘No. She has one of those too.’ Blinking hard, Thorne rubbed his eyes. ‘What the fuck was I drugged with?’
‘They don’t know yet.’ The memory of him in his bed, so damn still . . . She shuddered. ‘Lucy asked your doctor to run all sorts of extra tests to try to figure that out. But whatever it was, they gave you a shitload of it.’ Because he was so big. So big that they’d had to extend the hospital bed to its full length and his feet still bumped against the footboard.
Gwyn had always thought Thorne was invincible. Indomitable. But this morning they’d nearly lost him.
‘Hey,’ he murmured, once again reading her mood. ‘I’m here.’
Yes, he was. Here. Alive. She lowered herself to the chair beside his bed. ‘So why are you this woman’s attorney, and why did she call you?’
‘She’s accused of trying to kill her husband. She stabbed him. She says it was self-defense. I believe her. She was released on bail, but has been hiding because her husband was stalking her. He denies it. She called because someone had tried to run her off the road.’ He sucked in a sudden breath. ‘Describe the dead woman,’ he demanded.
‘Brunette, maybe five-nine.’ Gwyn grimaced, remembering. ‘Her features were unrecognizable. Whoever killed her didn’t want her visually identified.’
Thorne exhaled harshly. ‘Not Bernice Brown, then. She’s only five-two.’ He glanced at Jamie. ‘Check on her. I never made our meet. I hope she’s safe.’
‘Which bar?’ Jamie asked calmly.
‘Oh.’ Thorne rubbed his eyes again. ‘Dammit. My brain is all foggy. She called me from Barney’s. I told her to sit at the bar where lots of people could see her, and wait for me there. I got there about twelve fifteen, parked in the lot, and . . .’ He closed his eyes. ‘I can’t remember going into the bar, but I might have.’
‘We’ll check,’ Jamie promised. ‘And then?’
‘I woke up here.’
Jamie sighed. ‘Well, this is what we know. You were found by Gwyn in your bed at six thirty-five. You were unconscious, your blood pressure dangerously low. There was a knife that matches the set in your butcher’s block on the floor by your bed, where it would appear you’d dropped it.’
‘If I was guilty,’ Thorne said from behind clenched teeth.
Jamie nodded once. ‘The blood on the knife matches the victim’s type. Your fingerprints are on the handle.’
‘Of course they are,’ Thorne bit out. ‘It’s my fucking knife.’
‘Both under and on top of the blood,’ Jamie added, still calmly. ‘There was blood on your hands.’
‘Of course there was.’ Thorne stared up at the ceiling. ‘Hyatt’s going to arrest me, isn’t he?’
‘Probably not today,’ Jamie said. ‘He’s going to want all his ducks in a row before he does that.’
Because the state would have only seventy-two hours to arraign Thorne if charges were brought.
‘Plus,’ Jamie continued, ‘I don’t think he believes you did it.’
Thorne lifted his head at that. ‘He doesn’t?’
Gwyn agreed with Jamie’s assessment. She’d seen the flash of relief in the lieutenant’s eyes when the lawyer had shown up and interrupted the interview. She didn’t like Hyatt because he was an overly dramatic, condescendingly arrogant asshole who reminded her far too much of her father. Both of them could make her feel like a worthless piece of shit with barely an effort.
Hyatt had insinuated that she’d gotten what she’d signed up for when she’d cozied up to a strange man like Evan so quickly. Even though it hadn’t been quickly. She’d waited months before letting her guard down. Evan had been determined. He’d been so slick that he’d fooled everyone.
So they’d all told her. Except for Lieutenant Hyatt. When he’d interviewed her in the hospital, he’d treated her as if Evan’s killing spree had been her fault, or worse, that she’d somehow suspected. Even though he’d fooled everyone.
At least Hyatt never hit with his fists, so in that way he was better than her father. Still, the very sight of him made her furious. She couldn’t even think about the time he’d set Lucy up to be human bait to lure their would-be killer. He didn’t care who he used or who he hurt.
And now Thorne’s future was in his hands. She’d just have to be extra vigilant, to make sure the lieutenant kept everything above board. At least at this point she didn’t think Hyatt believed Thorne was guilty. If that changed, though . . .
‘The whole setup was too pat,’ she said. ‘And your alcohol level was under point zero two when the medics arrived. Barely registered. Plus, you’ve got bruises all over your body. Some are finger-shaped. Like you were grabbed. Some are big and nasty-looking, like you were kicked. Whatever happened, you put up a fight.’
Jamie nodded. ‘And Hyatt knows all this. But . . .’ he shrugged, ‘he’s got the prosecutors watching him, making sure he doesn’t play favorites because so many of his people like you. He’s going to be playing this by the book, every step of the way. For your protection as much as anyone’s. You’ve done favors for Hyatt’s detectives in the past. He knows where key leads have come from. The man’s a damn bull in a china shop, but he’s fair. And, to a certain extent, loyal. We just have to figure out how to play this ourselves.’
Thorne’s expression had gone neutral. Which meant he’d shut his emotions down and was thinking. Good. ‘The scene was contaminated by the medics, so CSU didn’t get photos of the original setup.’ It wasn’t phrased as a question. ‘That could be good or bad for me, depending on how well those responsible set the scene.’
Jamie handed Thorne his phone. ‘Gwyn took photos of your bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom before the medics got there.’