Don’t You Dare: (Morgan Young 3)

by Nicholls, Adam

  Copyright © 2019 by Papyrus Publishing.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

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  Don’t You Dare

  (Morgan Young 3)

  Adam Nicholls

  Contents

  Don’t You Dare

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Also by Adam Nicholls

  Afterword

  Subscribe

  About the Author

  Don’t You Dare

  Chapter One

  She’d dubbed herself The Taker, and it was a very fitting name. Over the years, she’d fallen for and captured multiple people, keeping them for herself. While the newspapers and TV anchors went wild, she would be at home playing with her latest toy. Somewhere down the line it’d become something of a habit for her, and that habit had evolved from a raw, primal urge of seeing what she wanted and just… well, taking it.

  Mason Black was no different.

  He was a hotshot San Francisco homicide detective, and The Taker had followed his career for a number of years. As far as she could tell from digging up his life story, he’d left the police force, spent some years as a private investigator—where he’d tracked and stopped more than three serial killers—and then finally returned to the SFPD. It was an impressive career to say the least, but not nearly as impressive as his stature.

  The Taker stood in the midst of the dark, nighttime shadows, watching him. Mason had always looked big on the TV, but in person he was a burly bulk of a man. She knew from watching videotapes that he was a gentle soul—at least once you got past the get-out-of-my-way attitude—and that made him even more irresistible.

  She could barely contain herself.

  Across the parking lot, Mason paced around his Mustang, checking his watch. There were no other cars in sight, but he was expecting her. Or rather, he was expecting somebody. All the messages she’d been sending him up until this point promised his childhood friend would be arriving tonight.

  Boy, was he in for a shock.

  Adrenaline spiked her cold skin, drawing goose pimples. The prospect of catching him made her giddy as she rounded the dark perimeter of the parking lot. She kept to the shadows, perfectly concealed as she drew closer to her prey.

  This was it, she realized.

  Mason Black was going to be hers.

  Forever.

  The wind picked up, whistling as it brushed through the naked winter trees. Mason buttoned up his trench coat and leaned against his car, checking his watch once more. The Taker knew she was running out of time, and the fear of missing her one and only chance made her pick up speed. She had to be careful though; one wrong movement and he’d see her. Then she could kiss goodbye the chance to have this perfect man in her possession.

  By the time she reached the opening behind the car, Mason had stood up straight again. He pulled out a cell phone, the bright light from the screen glowing against his rugged features. The Taker found herself overwhelmed with sexual excitement, but she had to remain composed. Even more so, she had to hurry this up. If Mason made a phone call and then got into his car, he’d be out of there in a flash and then probably never return again.

  She crouched, keeping low while she rounded the car.

  Mason was only a few feet away with his back turned, and soon he’d be completely helpless. The Taker licked her lips and pulled the needle from her pocket. She slid off the plastic cap and took another silent step, gripping the syringe tight in her sweaty palm.

  That was when her phone rang.

  A wave of heat flushed through her face. She froze, dread filling her as Mason turned on the spot. They locked eyes for a fraction of a second, and The Taker knew it was now or never. She shot forward, throwing out her left, empty hand as a distraction. Mason must have seen it coming, as he slapped it out of the way, moving his huge frame in close to restrain her.

  The Taker had anticipated this, using the extra second to raise her right arm high.

  She plunged the needle into his neck.

  At first Mason squeezed her in a viselike grip, his shocked eyes meeting hers. Then that grip loosened, and The Taker felt his hand begin to slip. The needle wobbled, lodged in his skin as his eyes searched everywhere for… what? Hope? An explanation? She had no idea, but as she heard his body thud against the cold ground, she let relief breeze through her like the freezing wind that assailed her cheeks.

  She’d done it; she’d captured Mason Black, and now he belonged to her.

  It was only a matter of time until someone came out here—probably a night-shift worker doing the rounds or a car full of kids looking for somewhere to smoke. This meant she had very little time to get out of there, so she acted immediately.

  Heaving Mason into the passenger seat was no easy feat, but she managed it with a great deal of excitement fueling her. She sat him upright, fastened his seat belt, and rolled his head to one side. Hopefully, anyone they passed would just assume he was sleeping and think no more of it, and as The Taker slid into the driver’s seat, she took a moment to watch the detective as his heavy, unconscious breathing made him groan.

  Perfect, she thought, starting up the engine of his Mustang and leaving the parking lot far behind them. Tonight could’ve turned out a lot worse than it had, but at least she got to witness the confusion in his scowl as she’d put him to sleep—that twisted frown creasing up his features as he realized he’d been drugged. Now, he was just a helpless man on the way to his new home.

  She couldn’t wait to wake him up.

  Chapter Two

  Four days later

  The girl’s eyes narrowed as she watched the man across from her.

  “It’s okay,” Morgan Young said to her. “Just tell him what you told me.”

  They were in Morgan’s living room, which, for the time being, was considered an office for his private investigations business. He sat beside his latest client on the couch—a girl of around eighteen years who was looking for her father, Maso
n. Across from them, Morgan’s best friend—a respected homicide detective—sat with his hands clasped together while he listened, his silver eyebrows bobbing up and down like boats on a rough sea.

  “Where do I start?” the girl—Amy—asked.

  “Right at the beginning.” Detective Gary Lee lowered his tone. “I’m listening.”

  Amy rubbed her bare arms and sat back, her chest rising and falling as she readied herself. “So, my father has been talking to a friend lately. They got in touch on social media after not talking for many years. He was really excited about it. They were texting each other all the time with the promise of going out for beers sometime soon.”

  “Does he usually drink?” Gary asked.

  “And then some.” Amy nodded slowly, as if he should already know that fact. “But he’s been keeping an eye on it since my baby brother was born. He doesn’t say no to a drink often though, if it’s offered. Anyway, they were texting all the time, catching up and shooting the breeze. And then his friend asked him to come to Washington.”

  Morgan made a mental note and said nothing. This girl was endearing: cute, caring, and well-spoken. The care she had for her father was not in doubt, evidenced by the frown lines appearing on her forehead as she explained what’d happened.

  “Did he go?” Gary asked.

  “Sure did. That was the last time we saw him.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Me and his wife, Diane.”

  Gary rubbed his jaw. “Where is she right now?”

  “At home in San Francisco, looking after my baby brother. Well… half brother.”

  There was a silence that followed, and Gary used the heels of his hands to rub his dark eyes. It looked like he hadn’t slept in ages, and Morgan decided now was a good time to add to that problem. He picked up an envelope from the coffee table and handed it over.

  “What’s this?” Gary asked.

  Morgan sat back so he could keep an eye on Amy and watch for signs of discomfort. “That’s a file I put together on Mason Black. I’m sure the MPD can dig further into the details, but that should be enough to get you started. He’s, uh…”

  “A cop,” Gary finished, flicking through the sheets.

  “A good one too,” Amy offered.

  “So he’ll have a few enemies?”

  “That’s an understatement. Ever heard of the Lullaby Killer?”

  Morgan brought his hand to his mouth and rested the knuckles on his lip. All the information on the Lullaby Killer was in the file, and he watched as Gary pilfered through it. It was the horrific story of a man named Marvin Wendell who’d kidnapped and tortured young children. Mason had been the detective on the case until he’d quit to become a PI, but his pursuit didn’t end there. The details of the outcome were a little fuzzy, but the killer’s sister had later come back to punish him for his efforts.

  Talk about a tough break.

  “I know all about Wendell,” Gary said, closing the file and locking eyes with Amy. “But that was a long time ago, not to mention in California. Does he have any enemies in Washington? Anyone who might want to hurt him for any reason?”

  Amy shrunk at the word “hurt.” “As far as I know he’s never even been here before.”

  “Still, we shouldn’t rule out the possibility of there being a link.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Did you contact the SFPD?”

  “Of course I did. My father’s a cop, after all.”

  “And what did they say?”

  Morgan lowered his hand and rested it on his knee. He wanted to take it from here. Anything he could do to spare the girl more distress. “It’s out of their jurisdiction, but they’re doing what they can. They’re also contacting Captain Bray at the MPD to get someone on it. We’re hoping it will be you.”

  “Buddy, I’m homicide.”

  “So?”

  “So unless Mason’s body is found, it’ll probably go to the Missing Persons Unit.”

  Morgan heard Amy wheeze beside him, the sensitive nature of this discussion finally getting to her. He subtly knocked his head to one side, bringing it to Gary’s attention, and then climbed to his feet. “Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

  “Whatever it is, you can say it in front of me,” Amy protested.

  “All the same, I need to talk with him. Gary?”

  Gary blew out a long breath and followed him into the kitchen doorway. Morgan leaned against the frame, close enough to keep an eye on the girl but far enough that she wouldn’t overhear if they kept it to a whisper.

  “I don’t want to use words like that with my client.”

  “Why? She looks like a tough girl.”

  “Her father’s missing,” Morgan said. “The SFPD have told her they can’t do much, and Bray will probably assign a nobody to the case. She’s feeling scared right now, and she doesn’t need to imagine a body being found.”

  Gary raked his fingers through his hair. “Fair enough.”

  “What can you do?”

  “As a cop? Absolutely nothing.”

  “But as a friend?”

  Gary shrugged. “Maybe I can peer over some shoulders and listen in to a few conversations. If you need me to run something through the database, it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll talk to Bray too—see if I can be in the room while he assigns someone. I can try to steer it toward someone more competent. How’s that?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” Morgan felt surprisingly reassured, and that was a first when it came to missing persons. He glanced over at Amy, who sat wringing her fingers together as her gaze panned around the room. She was still a kid, but she had a strong exterior. Considering her father had gone missing, she was keeping herself together. Morgan knew that if the same thing happened to his wife or kid, he’d never be so calm about it. His family was his world.

  Morgan stepped back inside the living room, sitting beside Amy once again. Only this time, he sat on the edge of the couch and turned to look her in the eye. “Okay, here’s the plan: Gary is going to keep tabs on the case from the inside. I’m going to start digging into this right away, leaving you with a contract to peruse. First though, I’ll need something from you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The phone number for your father’s wife.”

  A smile breached the corner of her mouth. “No problem.”

  Chapter Three

  Morgan wasn’t sure what to expect from the voice on the other end of the phone, but it sure turned out to be pleasant. The voice was full of concern, but it was laced with a soft tone that said she respected him. It wasn’t unlike Rachel’s—his wife.

  “Where is Amy now?” Diane asked.

  “She’s at the table in my dining room, going over the contract.” Morgan glanced at her through the glass doors that separated the room from the hallway. He made his way back to the living room, where he absentmindedly went to the window and peered out through the gap in the curtain. “You’ll find my fee quite reasonable, Mrs. Black, but I can send you a copy before she signs. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.”

  “Call me Diane,” she breathed, and he could’ve sworn it sounded like a laugh. “I was in safe hands with my husband, Mr. Young, but you wouldn’t believe the trouble we’ve gotten into.”

  He could though. Morgan had done his reading: first there was the Lullaby Killer, then his psychotic sister who’d posed as a prostitute to get close to her victims. If that wasn’t already enough, the Anarchy killer had soon made it into Mason’s life, and that was before he brought down the Malice killer. If Mason Black attracted anything, it was trouble.

  “To be honest with you,” Diane continued, “the fee doesn’t bother me. We’re not rich, but we have money. More than anything I just want my husband back. I feel so helpless here. Are you married, Mr. Young?”

  “I am,” Morgan said, turning to look at a picture of him and Rachel. It sat on the mantel above the fireplace, and it showed them both in their younger years, back whe
n they’d first gotten married. Rachel’s dress was stunning, and she’d gotten it for a steal.

  “Then you can imagine how this feels.”

  “Like you’d never believe. Hey, can you tell me something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Amy says Mason had some correspondence with an outside contact. Some old friend?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did he say specifically where he was meeting this friend?”

  Diane paused, as if he’d asked something rude. “Didn’t Amy tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t say.”

  “Oh. According to the text messages, they were planning to meet in a Heidi’s parking lot.”

  Morgan hurried across the room, grabbed a pen, and jotted it down. “Heidi’s? The supermarket? That’s a strange choice. Do you know which branch?”

  “It’s not that strange. They were planning to grab beer there and then go somewhere quiet. Mason has always been like that—if he can drink cheap, he will. Anyway, I think the one they were heading to is near you.”

  “Langley?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Morgan set down the pen and paced the room. “I’ll get on it right away. In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do—”