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“Does it really matter? You don’t know one end from the other?”
“Morgan,” he warned.
“It’s a .9mm Sig Sauer. Easy to load. Easy to shoot.”
“What about you? Aren’t you going to take one?” he asked.
“Mine is a 9mm Glock. It’s been in my backpack since we left the caretaker’s cottage. It was wedged under the mattress when it was burglarized.”
He took a few steps back. Dumbstruck.
“See. I didn’t need a knife and a basement with a trap door to make you a prisoner. I’ve had a gun this whole time. Get this through your thick skull—you are not that irresistible! Now get your head out of your patootie and take this sucker. The safety is on, so you won’t shoot yourself. When we get settled, I’ll teach you the basics of loading and firing.”
He stared at it for a few seconds. When he glanced down at her, he spoke with decisiveness. “I’m not dropping you anywhere. We are in this together. Until both of our screwed-up problems are resolved.”
She nodded, and he took the gun. “Slip it in the back of your pants until you can pack it in your bag.”
The cold metal against his back sent goosebumps across his skin. The ring of a phone startled him.
“It’s not mine,” he said.
“Mine either.”
They frantically searched the room until they found a satellite phone in the corner on a small pedestal table. As Morgan picked it up, he leaned in to listen.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Skylar?”
“Who is this?”
“Robert Watson, your grandfather’s attorney. Mr. Skylar gave me this number for emergencies if I couldn’t reach you. Something happened yesterday that has me concerned. I wanted to notify you in case you were in danger.”
They exchange worried looks.
“Go on, Mr. Watson.”
“Mr. Skylar was a very private man, as I’m sure you know. He found out he was sick a couple of years ago. That’s when he sold the house and his shop and moved into a small apartment. He was afraid if something happened to him, no one would know to notify you. I suggested he send a letter to the local sheriff with instructions to contact me in the event of his death. Since he lives in a small community, the county paper listed his death with the other police incidents. One of the patrons of his shop saw it and wrote a lovely obituary about his business, expertise, and his big heart. Apparently, he’s been fixing cars for people who couldn’t afford it for years. The man had a picture of him sitting on a big motorcycle in front of his shop. You can tell he wasn’t aware it was being taken. That letter gained a lot of attention and made its way to a popular motorcycle magazine.
“Anyway, the sheriff called yesterday to tell me about a man in his early fifties who came to see him. Claimed to be Mr. Skyler’s son but he had a different name. Asa Kline.” They both audibly gasped. “He had seen the obituary of his father’s death in the magazine and recognized his picture. Wanted to know if there was anything left of his dad’s possessions. Didn’t even know where his dad had lived. The sheriff was leery, but the man seemed to know a lot about him. The sheriff told him that Mr. Skyler hadn’t had anything of real value on him when he passed. Thankfully, the sheriff didn’t know his apartment address. He did give the man your grandfather’s wallet with $50 and his driver’s license with an old address. The only other thing Mr. Skylar had on him was a piece of paper with vague directions to a cabin near Topton, North Carolina. It apparently had your name on it.
“A few minutes after Mr. Kline left, another officer came in and said he saw the man get on a motorcycle and join some men at the diner. They were some sort of motorcycle gang. The sheriff ran a quick check on the man and found out he had a violent record. Was just released from prison. Anyway, he called me in case I knew if any of Mr. Skyler’s family needed to be warned. I had a suspicion Topton might be where your cabin is located. You need to be careful.”
“Does he know about me?” Morgan asked in a weak voice.
“The sheriff doesn’t know who you are, but there is no denying this Kline fellow now has your name.”
“This was yesterday?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Around 4 p.m. If you’re at that cabin, Ms. Skylar, I suggest you get out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Watson,” her voice quivered.
Chapter Fifteen
So many thoughts ran through Morgan’s head that she didn’t know what to do first. She desperately wanted time to absorb the letter Pops left her. Analyze every word. So many things she never understood suddenly made sense, but now wasn’t the time.
Don’t panic. Keep a level head. First priority: get to safety. Pops’ voice spoke in her head.
