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“Good move keeping your parents’ personal belongings to yourself,” Monty told Morgan.
“They’d get lost at the police precinct. Either intentionally or unintentionally.”
“No argument. The Seventy-fifth wants the double homicide—and the D.A.—to go away. The Nineteenth wants to close out today’s incident as a B and E. The precincts won’t play nicely together and neither wants to devote time and resources to a complex case that’s a political nightmare waiting to happen. So keeping your stuff to ourselves and out of the cops’ hands will keep both precincts like mushrooms—in the dark and bathed in fertilizer—and out of my hair.”
“Are Jill and Elyse okay?” Morgan asked abruptly.
“They’re fine.” All banter vanished, and Monty folded his hands on the table in front of him, regarding her intently. “Nothing was taken from Jill’s room, not even the diamond studs sitting in clear view on her dresser. The cops waited while she and Elyse packed suitcases—enough to last each of you a couple of days. Arthur took Elyse and Jill home. He canceled his morning appointments. He’s expecting me to deliver you to his apartment in a couple of hours—after you’ve had a chance to rest.”
“I’m not tired.” Morgan raked both hands through her hair. “Monty, look. You know how I feel. I’m haunted by the fact that whoever killed my parents is still out there. I was willing to risk anything—including my own life—to catch him and put him behind bars. But it’s not just my life he’s threatening anymore. It’s the Shores’. He stalked Elyse on the day of the hit-and-run. And now? In order to pull off that sick break-in, he had to be watching both Jill and me, to know when we’d be out. That means he’s following Jill, too. As for Arthur, his schedule’s an open book, which makes him a walking target. And with that grotesque warning we found on my bed—”
Morgan broke off, struggled for composure. “The threat is clear. Either I back off, or the Shores will die. I can’t let that happen. If I were the sole target…but I’m not.” A hard swallow. “Please understand. They’re the only family I’ve got left. I can’t lose them. I’m dropping the investigation.”
“And then what?” Throughout Morgan’s speech, Monty had sat calmly, his face devoid of reaction. Now it was his turn. He leaned forward, met and held Morgan’s gaze. “Do you think that will make this bastard go away? If so, you’re deluding yourself. He’d pop up again—in your life, in someone else’s life. He’s like a cancer. He needs to be cut out and destroyed. It’s the only way everyone’s going to be safe—and that includes the Shores.”
“But—”
“I need you to trust me.” Monty never changed his tone or averted his gaze. “He’s scared. He knows we’re getting close. That’s why he took the risk of breaking into your house and leaving that crap on your bed. And it was quite
a risk. Before now, law enforcement was leaning toward the theory that some two-bit punk killed your parents during a robbery, and that he might very well be dead by now. But last night changed all that. Our guy exposed his hand. He told us he’s out there. He told us he’s a pro. Most of all, he told us he’s feeling cornered. He took that risk because he’s counting on you to walk away. So don’t.”
Tears gathered in Morgan’s eyes. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “What if he hurts Jill or—”
“He won’t. I won’t let him,” Monty interrupted. “You have my word. Morgan, I was there the first time. I know what he stole from you. I’d never let you go through that again. I’ll get him. I promise. Just trust me.”
“I do. I…” Indecision warred on Morgan’s face. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. We’ll see this through.”
“Yeah. We will.” Monty resumed eating his eggs. “Did Lane feed you enough?”
A watery smile. “More than enough.”
“Then go lie down. Recoup your strength.”
“Good idea.” This time Morgan didn’t argue. She rose, turning to Lane with a self-conscious expression. “May I use your couch? Or a spare bedroom?”
Monty snorted. “No need to stand on ceremony. Not for my sake. I may be middle-aged, but I’m not dead. Use Lane’s room. As you know, it’s got that comfortable, king-size bed.”
“Actually, I—” Morgan broke off, color staining her cheeks as she met Lane’s gaze.
“I’ll take Morgan up and get her settled.” Once again, Lane came to her rescue—this time in an entirely different way. “Finish eating,” he advised Monty. “When I come down, we can get back to the scanned photos.”
Monty paused over his bacon. “Speaking of scanned photos, Morgan, while you’re resting, would you mind if I took a look at your photos and the rest of your parents’ mementos?”
“Of course not.” She went over to her tote bag and pulled out all the material Monty had requested. “Here. I’m not really comfortable carrying this around with me anymore, anyway. I feel like any minute it’s going to be snatched—either by the cops or the killer.”
“How about if I store it here for you?” Lane suggested. “I’ll put it where I keep my negatives—in a fire-resistant safe that’s secured with a high-tech alarm system. We’ll be the only ones with access to it.”
“That would do a lot toward giving me peace of mind.”
“Then it’s settled,” Monty announced. “Now sleep tight.”
LANE WALKED BACK down to the kitchen a few minutes later. Monty had organized Morgan’s memorabilia into piles, and was studying the personal photos.
“Morgan was asleep before her head hit the pillow,” Lane notified him.
“I’m not surprised.” Monty’s head came up. “Given the morning she’s just been through, following a hectic all-nighter—” A pointed look. “I take it you two never even made it upstairs.”
“Butt out, Monty.”
