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That’s when the dam had broken. She’d cried—no, sobbed. Big, gulping sobs that racked her body and tore her heart into fragments. Once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. She’d cried until her body was too exhausted to continue, at which point she’d slid down, curled up across two tattered chairs, and fallen asleep. Vaguely, she remembered Detective Montgomery carrying her into a small, musty room with stacks of files and storage boxes—and a cot. He’d placed her on it, and tucked a blanket around her before he left. He’d made sure the door was ajar so she could hear voices—his included. He’d even left on a light so she wouldn’t be scared.
Months later, after dozens of therapy sessions that enabled her to begin dealing with that night, Morgan had started taking emotional baby steps. She let Elyse in enough to ask questions to fill in the blanks. She’d learned that Detective Montgomery had worked with the Shores and the counselor. He’d called several times over the intervening months to check up on her, to make sure she was holding up.
She hadn’t been surprised. She’d been touched. He was a good, kind man. She’d tried to express that in the note she eventually wrote to him.
But that first night, she’d felt nothing. She’d been numb. She’d stayed with the Shores because they were the closet thing to family she had left, and because that was what her parents had wanted. Anything more seemed impossible. Love them? No way. Not when she was so filled with pain and anger. All she wanted was to turn back time, wave a magic wand and have her parents alive and with her again.
Elyse and Arthur had been wonderful. They’d tried so hard, offering her everything from time and tenderness to the best medical care and the finest crisis counselors and child therapists money could buy.
She was grateful. That part had come easily. But the rest had taken longer.
“Remembering?” Detective Montgomery interrupted her musings to ask.
“Yes.” Morgan raised her head and met his gaze. “I was remembering how astute you were. You never pushed. You never told me what I was supposed to feel. You let me grieve. You didn’t intrude, but you didn’t walk away. Without you, I’m not sure I would have gotten through that night.”
“You’re giving me way too much credit. You had a lot of people in your corner. Besides, you were a trouper.”
“I didn’t feel like a trouper. I felt like my life had ended.”
“It had. You’ve rebuilt it.”
“I suppose.” Morgan folded her arms across her breasts and rubbed the sleeves of her sweater with her hands. She suddenly felt cold. “But scars like the ones I have don’t go away. Not completely. So hearing this bomb you’ve just dropped—it’s like the wounds are being ripped open again.”
“Yeah.” He acknowledged that reality with a scowl. “I wish like hell I could make this go away. The last thing I want is to deprive you of your peace of mind. It took long enough for you to find it.”
The sincerity of his words touched her. “You’re still a very kind man.”
“I’m a very pissed man. Don’t kid yourself. I want this case solved. I plan to keep close tabs on it until the real perp is caught.”
“What makes you think that’ll happen?” Morgan bit out. “The case got botched when it was new. Now it’s old. Plus, you’re out of the picture. To me, that says the odds of solving this are next to nil. The real animal who cold-bloodedly shot my parents to death will keep walking the streets a free man—just like he has been for the past seventeen years.” Morgan’s voice quavered, the impact of her own words sinking in. “God,” she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears, and she pressed her hands against her face. “How can this be happening?”
“I don’t have an answer. But it sucks.” Detective Montgomery didn’t insult her with placating words. He just walked over to the sideboard, picked up the pitcher of ice water that was sitting there, and poured her a glass. “Here.” He pressed it into her hand.
“Thank you.” Morgan took a deep swallow. “I didn’t mean to lace into you like that.”
“You didn’t. You’re frustrated and in shock. You have a right to be. You also have a point. This case has been closed for ages. But don’t underestimate the clout that Congressman Shore wields. He’s a high-ranking member of the House of Representatives, a big shot on the House Committee for Financial Services. New Yorkers love him. So does most of the country. He’s got pull—and visibility. And he’s sponsoring a high-profile bill. The noise Congressman Shore is bound to make will give the powers that be the incentive they need to hang in there until they get it right.”
The censure in Detective Montgomery’s tone was hard to miss—as was its meaning. “You never were totally on board with the
findings of the previous investigation,” Morgan realized aloud.
“I had my doubts,” he replied bluntly. “But that’s all they were—doubts. I didn’t have a shred of proof. Then Schiller confessed. So I assumed my instincts were unfounded.”
“You assumed wrong.”
“Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
Morgan studied his expression. She wasn’t fooled by his flippant remark or his stoic facade. “You’re still beating yourself up for not exhausting all the possibilities.”
“I wasn’t given a choice. Am I kicking myself? Sure. But regret is part of life.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Not this time.” Morgan set down her glass. “Handle this investigation. Find my parents’ killer.”
His brows arched slightly. “I already told you I’m off the force.”
“You also told me you’re a PI. Well, I’m a client. Name your price. I’ll find a way to pay it. I don’t have faith in the cops, or the D.A. I have faith in you.”
“That’s flattering. But the D.A. thinks I’m a pain in the ass. So does my old boss. I wouldn’t be doing you any favors by taking this on.”
