Don’t You Dare: (Morgan Young 3)

by Nicholls, Adam

  “Gah,” Robin tried, pointing with an excited smile.

  Morgan caught himself smiling too. “That’s right: gah.”

  The minutes breezed by. He glanced at the clock from time to time, realizing just how fast it was going. His nightmares fell into the background for a moment, and Morgan was grateful for the distraction. He felt his worries fall away for the time being, but it didn’t escape his understanding that those same problems would still be there waiting for him when the sun rose, lurking like a jungle predator, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

  “Are you all right?”

  Morgan startled at the voice. He craned his neck toward the base of the stairs, where Rachel sat clutching a robe around her chest. Her eyes were squinted, and she was doubled over like an old lady with aches and pains, but she was still every bit as beautiful as the day they’d met. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

  “I’m all right,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

  “Inadvertently. I—” A yawn interrupted her. “I noticed you were gone.”

  “And you just couldn’t bear to be without me?”

  “As is always the case. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Morgan nodded, but he didn’t really believe it. He turned back to Robin, scooping three brightly colored blocks into the back of a plastic truck and wheeling them around his son. Rachel appeared at his side, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

  “Bad dreams, right?” she said.

  Morgan sighed. “Something like that.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  In truth, he really did want to let go of every thought that poisoned his mind, but they’d already gone over it a thousand times. With all that was going on with her work—rejoining the fundraising organization known as HUCINS—he didn’t want to bog her down with his own insecurities. “Honestly, it’s nothing we haven’t talked about.”

  “Is it the case?”

  “Yes,” he said, and nothing more.

  “Are you having trouble?”

  “No more than usual. I just keep seeing Amy Black’s face. Whenever I start to think we’ll find her father, I imagine being able to tell her she hasn’t lost him. But then I find myself watching a follow-up scene. It’s me in one room and her in another, and I’m desperately trying to figure out how to explain that I’d got it all wrong, and that her father’s body was found.”

  “Gah!” Robin yelled, laughing at the sound of the truck.

  Rachel scooped him up and held him in her arms, softly swaying him while looking over his shoulder at Morgan. “It’s funny, I keep wanting to say that we shouldn’t talk about it in front of the kid, but he doesn’t understand any of this.”

  “Neither do I,” Morgan confessed.

  “I wouldn’t let it get to you. We both know you’re doing the right thing. Just try to think of it as a case like any other. Somebody hired you to track someone down, and right or wrong, she knew the chances when she did it. You’re a private investigator, honey, not a superhero. Don’t let it weight you down.”

  Morgan supposed she was right. In spite of all his efforts, it would take a drastic turn of events for anything to become directly his fault. Sure, he’d made the phone call and been warned against investigating further, but what would it really say about him if he backed down now? He tried to picture it, only to find he couldn’t.

  “Come on,” Rachel said, struggling to her feet with Robin in her arms. “The sun’s rising and I want coffee. You, on the other hand, need to go and start your day. If you still want to talk about it in a few hours, I’ll be here.”

  I know, Morgan thought, helping her up.

  I know.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was just as well Morgan was up, because his phone lit up only an hour later. A quick check told him it was Gary, and some good news had rolled in for the case. Intrigued to discover what it was, Morgan set up a meet at a place called Steph’s Diner. The soonest Gary could make it was a quarter after ten, which gave Morgan time to gather his thoughts.

  He took the morning slow, having a much-needed shave before diving into the shower. Yesterday’s dirt washed off and circled the plug hole. Morgan watched it, pretending it was his woes and smiling as the drain swallowed it up. It was funny: the longer he stayed in there, the cleaner he felt on the inside too. It was a bonus that the hot water refreshed him.

  After dressing in a clean suit and checking on Rachel and Robin, he headed to the diner by foot, enjoying the fresh air for the first time in ages. The walk gave him that little extra time to think too; he thought about how excited Gary had sounded and wondered what the good news was going to be. He thought about Amy Black and how he’d neglected to call her throughout his investigation. The thing was, he didn’t want to spring updates on her every five minutes because it would impede his ability to focus, and he was already having enough trouble with that. His only option was to put her aside and keep his head in the game, only reaching out to her if one of her messages urgently necessitated a reply.

  Morgan reached the diner after a few minutes. The bell jingled as he entered, and he found Gary in the corner booth, nursing a cup of coffee and piercing bacon onto his fork before scooping it into his mouth in a flash. It was as if he hadn’t eaten in days. A file sat beside him, and Morgan laid a hand on it as he sat across from him. “This for me.”

  Gary nodded as he chewed, then talked through a full mouth. “Uh-huh. Emina Dibbens.”

  “What?”

  He swallowed, bobbing his head. “Erika Givens.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Take a look.”

  Morgan didn’t need to be told twice. He swung open the file and found a mug shot of a young woman. He recognized her immediately—the young, gaunt face, the thick black hair. This image was a lot clearer than the footage from the Heidi’s camera, and it was only now that he noticed something about her eyes. They were deep, captivating in a beautiful kind of way, but they were also distant. It was as if she was only there in body. Her mind was probably elsewhere. Scheming Mason Black’s demise, probably.

  “The prints on the car were traced back to her. Turns out she has a past of petty theft. Nothing serious, but it’s enough to have her on file. It took one glance before I realized who it was, so I thought I’d come straight to you.”

  “I appreciate that,” Morgan said without looking up. “The MPD don’t know?”

  “Oh, they know. But there’s more good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Bray opened this as a homicide investigation, and he assigned me to the case.”

  Morgan looked up, nearly dropping the page. “He what?”

  “I’m serious.” Gary grinned, dabbing a napkin on his lips. He tossed it onto the plate and shoved it to one side with a screech. “Don’t ask me why, but he thought I was the best man for the job. Maybe it’s because I’m already involved, or maybe he just doesn’t trust anyone else. The point is, I’m in charge of this one, which means you’re not alone.”

  “Well, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Could be you’re just a good detective.”

  “Whoa, buddy. Buy me dinner before you sweet-talk me.”

  Morgan uttered a short laugh and returned to the file. “Tell me about this girl.”

  “Where to begin? She moved here with her parents when she was young. Her parents were both accountants, and they both died in the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center. Her problems began there.”

  “Problems?”

  Gary leaned over and pulled out a rap sheet. It had a list of all her criminal involvements, which included four arrests for four separate crimes: breaking and entering, theft, vandalism, and assaulting a police officer. All of these had spanned a two-year gap, and she’d kept pretty quiet since then. Morgan read through multiple pages, trying to keep an eye on her trail. It seemed she’d moved around a lot since then, but now she finally had a
stable residence.

  “Is this her current address, or just last known?” he asked.

  “Current. Legally, at least.”

  “Want to check it out?”

  Gary gazed out of the window, shrugging. The sun was reaching out to brush his chin, and before long it would be in his eyes. He was already narrowing them in defense. “It’s up to you. We can head in together—unofficially, of course—and check it out. Or we could call it in and have something more concrete.”

  “Sounds too good to be true.”

  “Because it is. You’d have to keep your distance that way.”

  Morgan grunted. “Yeah, I don’t like that.”

  “You want to go talk to her?”

  “As long as you’re driving.”

  “No problem. Just remember, you don’t want to piss her off too much. If your hunch is right and she really does have your client’s father in there, the last thing you want to do is upset her.” Gary reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin wad of cash, counting it out and dumping it onto the bill plate. He then shuffled out of the booth.

  Morgan followed him, trying to mask his nerves behind friendly smiles to the waitresses. He could barely believe he was about to meet face-to-face with the woman on the phone. Her name was Erika Givens, he reminded himself. He also couldn’t forget that he was trouble for her, and if he wasn’t careful he could even end up getting a man killed.

  As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gary cut the engine outside Erika’s house. Morgan sat in the warmth of the passenger seat, deciding if he should send the text message to Amy or Diane. He settled for Diane and hit Send.

  “You okay with this?” Gary asked, hands still gripping the wheel.

  “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

  “There are options.”

  “Not good ones.”

  The phone buzzed back immediately. Morgan unlocked the screen to see Diane had met his request and sent him a picture of Mason Black, but she hadn’t asked any questions. Perhaps it was because she was a PI’s wife that she knew such things could come across as nagging and cause a distraction for the investigator. That, or she was just too afraid to ask.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Gary assured him. “Just ask a couple questions, and see how she responds to them. If it looks like she’s being defensive, come back and let me know. We can get a warrant for her arrest, so even if she doesn’t have Mason in there she’ll probably be going down for murder. We just need to play it safe, make sure she doesn’t hurt him.”

  “And if she recognizes my voice?”

  “She might not.”

  Morgan said nothing. The risks were clear, and the stakes were high. One wrong move could cost Mason his life, and Morgan could think of nothing worse than being responsible for that. In spite of this, he knew it was his only option without involving the police, and they were likely to swoop in without regard for a potential kidnapping victim. Even if they did care, it would take so long for the legal system to get going that Mason likely wouldn’t live anyway.

  He had to find out.

  “Wish me luck,” he said, climbing out of the car and crossing the street without his request being met. He approached the house, which looked normal enough, judging by the shingled driveway and neatly trimmed bushes. Morgan couldn’t help but notice tracks on the former, stopping before they reached the garage that had no door.

  Paying it no more mind, he knocked on the front door and waited.

  And waited.

  Finally, it opened.

  “Yes?”

  Morgan stood staring at Erika Givens. He’d expected to see her, but he hadn’t quite made room for the possibility that he’d lose his voice. Looking at her now, his body seized up and his throat felt drier than a desert. He considered it a good thing, really—a dry huskiness might disguise his voice a little. “Um, are you Erika Givens?”

  The woman hid behind the door, only half her face revealed. “Depends who’s asking.”

  “I’m a reporter for Washington Live,” he lied. “I’m looking for a man who went missing a few days ago. I’m just canvassing the area, knocking on doors and looking for anyone who might have some information.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything.”

  “But I didn’t tell you his name.”

  Erika stared daggers at him. “How many people do you think go missing around here? It’s not a lot, so I’d probably notice if I saw something. Which I didn’t, so you can buzz off.”

  She began to shut the door.

  Morgan’s foot moved in automatically, blocking it.

  Without pausing for thought, he pulled out his phone and opened the photo Diane had sent him. He turned it around, shining it into Erika’s face. He was aware it would intimidate her, encouraging a reaction. But a reaction was what he wanted. “His name is Mason Black. Does that help?”

  “What? No.” Blood rushed to Erika’s face, brightening it like an early sunrise.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Look,” she snapped, her British accent thicker as she spoke louder, “if I had anything to offer you I’d have given it up already, but I don’t know that man and I don’t know anything about his disappearance, so why don’t you remove your foot and leave me alone?”

  It took everything he had to maintain his glare. Inside, he was terrified and ready to leave, but he couldn’t let it show. It was important he remained neutral, only suggesting her involvement in subtle hints. If he let it go that he knew she’d stolen a car, she was likely to do something dangerous. The only good thing so far was that she didn’t appear to have recognized his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said, sliding his foot out from the door and stepping back. “Sometimes I get a bit too invested.”

  “Fine.”

  Erika slammed the door.

  With nothing left to do, Morgan headed down the path and walked out of sight before crossing the road, giving the illusion that he was heading to the next house. When he entered the car and escaped from the cold winter air, Gary twisted in his seat.

  “Well?”

  “She knows something,” Morgan said.

  “Duh.”

  “I mean something more. She was too defensive. I told her I was a reporter investigating a disappearance. Her reaction was… I don’t know. She spent half the short time acting hostile, but that could be because of the car she’d stolen and the cop she’d killed.”

  Gary sighed, gnawing on his knuckles. “I’m going to need you to make a decision.”

  Morgan thought long and hard, staring out across the street and watching the house. He could’ve sworn he saw a curtain twitch, but that could be expected from anyone who’d just had a reporter at their door, couldn’t it? Then again, he knew that voice. Not only from their phone call, but also from the million times it’d echoed through his dreams. Whether Mason was alive or not—even if he was in the house across the street—there was no denying that this woman was too dangerous for him to mess with.

  There was only one thing to do.

  “Make the call,” he finally said. “I’ll worry about the consequences later.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Erika knew that as she rushed up the stairs and tore open her sock drawer to find the gun. It nestled in there nicely, cushioned on either side by two pairs of winter socks she never wore. In fact, she’d probably gotten more use of the gun over the past few months, disposing of plaything after plaything. She’d been given no choice, each of them coming closer and closer to getting taken away from her.

  But they wouldn’t take her Mason.

  Gripping the gun tight, she hurried down the stairs and into the garage. Time was limited, and she knew it. If Morgan Young knew where she lived, how long was it before the cops came kicking down her door? Why had he been there anyway? Did he not think she’d recognize his voice? It was the same deep, cocksure voice that Mason Black onc
e had, only with a little more intelligence and a little less firmness. All the same, he’d interfered, and later on he’d pay.

  Right now, she had business to attend to.

  Setting the gun down for only a second, she spun the valve wheel and sprung open the hatch. Mason had his back to the wall again, huddled into a corner with his face buried in his hands. He didn’t look up until she thumbed the hammer on the pistol.

  “Get up. We’re going for a ride.”

  Mason sneered at her. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?”

  “Because if you don’t, then I’ll put a bullet in each of your limbs, and then I’ll find your daughter and bury one in her spine. How’s that?” Erika glanced at her watch. Only three minutes ago she’d been on the doorstep with the private investigator. If he intended to have her arrested, her time was running short. She reached for the detachable ladder and tossed it down to him. “I won’t ask again.”

  Mason slowly climbed to his feet, though it was unclear if it was due to reluctance or instability. It’d probably been a while since he’d eaten, and the conditions were hardly sanitary. It was no wonder he wobbled and stumbled as he got to his feet, reaching for the ladder and resting it against the wall, knocking it twice to test it wouldn’t fall.

  “Nice and slow,” Erika said, her heart thundering. “Don’t try anything.”

  He took his time getting to the top, and by then she’d run out of patience. Speeding the process along, she grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his feet. He was even heavier than she remembered, which said a lot considering he was over six feet tall with the muscles to match. He also stank of something old and stale—another reason to keep her distance, as if his tendency to act out wasn’t enough.

  “Where are we going?” he said, his gruff voice reduced to a mutter.

  “Just for a little ride, darling.” Erika jabbed the lip of the barrel into his back, encouraging him forward. Slow and stubborn, he trod through the house, stopping to examine the rooms. Erika had no patience for this and had to shove him until they arrived at the back door. She made him open it.