Don’t You Dare: (Morgan Young 3)

by Nicholls, Adam

  “Fine then, we’ll switch teams.”

  Morgan zoned out as they squabbled like schoolkids. The more they spoke, the less he trusted them, and that made him more nervous. Each protest built up his anxiety, it rose like lava from a volcano. He stormed out before he could explode, sucking in the cool air and trying to breathe as he paced.

  My son is in danger, he thought, and they’re just fighting.

  It drained his last few ounces of hope.

  The door behind him creaked open, and Mason appeared, finding him at once. He shut the door and made his way over, hands splayed in an apologetic gesture. “It’s always hard to manage a team like that,” he said. “Your friend cares, I care, and Bill… well, he’s Bill.”

  “That’s not very assuring,” Morgan spat.

  “It’s all I’ve got. Just remember we’re all here to help.”

  “Well, it doesn’t feel like it.”

  Mason lowered his eyes. “I guess not. But look, I’ve been in this situation before, and I know it’s not easy. You suddenly depend on everyone else to make things right. You start looking for loopholes in every plan, but the truth is there is no perfect plan.”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s not your son.” Morgan felt slightly guilty about biting at him, but what was he supposed to do? If Erika did anything to Robin, it would leave a hole in his life that he couldn’t fill. God only knew what would happen to Rachel—it would probably destroy her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  Mason waved his hands in mock surrender.

  “What should we do?”

  “Are you asking me or hinting that you have a plan?”

  “I think two teams is the best we’re going to get. I’d rather we spent time perfecting that plan than digging around for new ones. Time is a factor here, and the more we waste the worse it’ll get. Just do what you need to do. I won’t argue.”

  Mason twitched his lips as if he was thinking, and then he put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “This won’t be easy, and it definitely won’t be legal. The best we can do is wait until the early hours to catch Erika at her weakest.”

  “Won’t we be at our weakest?”

  “Why, would you rather waste time sleeping?”

  Morgan tilted his head to one side. Fair enough. “But what if she leaves? She’s already spooked.”

  “If she was going to run she would’ve already.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that risk.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  Morgan sighed. “Gary won’t shoot, you know.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s a good guy and he truly means to help, but when it comes to squeezing the trigger he can be a little hesitant. Normally that would be a good thing, but if push comes to shove, we need someone who’s willing to shoot.”

  Mason nodded, looking into his eyes. “Which leaves us with six hours to practice.”

  “You should already be a good shot with that thing.”

  “I wasn’t talking about me.”

  “Then…” Morgan suddenly understood. If Gary didn’t want to shoot, then one gun would be spare. After all he’d said about wanting to make Erika pay, he feared it’d been taken too seriously. Could he even fire a gun? He’d tried before and didn’t like the recoil, much less the noise. And that was in a shooting range—he could only imagine trembling hands and feeling light-headed when his baby’s life was on the line.

  Mason dropped his hand and moved closer. “Look, I know it’s hard. Even I’m worrying that you won’t be able to do what’s needed. Full disclosure, nothing would please me more than to put that bitch down. Just look what she did to me.” He heaved a sigh. “We have to do what’s right for our children. You understand? We have to do what’s right.”

  Each syllable hit home. Morgan knew what he was saying, and he fully agreed. In spite of laws and rules and preferences, their options were so limited—their chances so slim—that all areas had to be explored. If shooting a few rounds into a tree was what it took to be ready, he wasn’t going to waste any more time arguing.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

  Chapter Forty

  Erika had been up for hours, and it wasn’t because of the baby. Little Robin Young had finally shut his yapper some time ago, and although she’d tried a multitude of solutions—digging into the bag for a rattling toy—it’d ultimately come down to being all screamed out. And in spite of the leaking mess, Erika was just glad she didn’t change its diaper.

  Finally, Robin fell asleep on the couch. Erika did not. She was still haunted by the snapping sound from the woods. Sure, it could’ve been an animal, but she wasn’t stupid and she knew that cops could kick down her door at any minute. Not just cops either, but that bastard PI and Mason Black, who—if her many months of research was anything to go by—would never let something like this go.

  When you’re done, take a trip to San Francisco, the inside voice said.

  “No. Well… maybe.”

  Why fight it? We both know you will.

  “Because—”

  Go. Kill. If you can’t have Mason, then nobody can.

  Erika climbed to her feet and yawned. She glanced at the clock: just after eleven. It felt like she’d been awake for days. She was exhausted, but that’d been expected for the most part.

  Wary, she went to the window and peered out. The woods hadn’t changed in recent hours. The wind howled and the mist still crawled above the ground like an army of ghosts, each merging together and then splitting to maneuver around the tree trunks. It might’ve been cozy if she had someone to share the cabin with, but given the circumstances it was only eerie.

  Make a plan, the voice came again.

  “No.”

  Make a plan!

  “Why?”

  You know why.

  Yes, she supposed she did. The clock was ticking, and whether or not anyone came for her, she had to at least be prepared for it. There was a revolver in her purse that would do just fine, and if she dragged the armchair across the room, she could probably watch both doors. Was that careful enough, she wondered? It was as good a defense as any, because the way she saw it, anyone coming for her would have her cornered without a shadow of a doubt.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t go out swinging.

  Gun, the voice said.

  “Okay.” Erika snatched her purse off the side and produced the revolver.

  Load it.

  Erika did as she was told, but was she really in control?

  Now get comfortable…

  “… because it’s going to be a long night.” A wide grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she stepped toward the baby. She no longer cared if she woke it—the option to kill the damn thing was still there.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The Beretta went off in his hand with a silenced pop. His shoulder took the recoil, but it was little more than a nudge. Ahead of him, a bullet hit the tree and splintered wood into a hundred pieces. Morgan lowered the weapon and nodded with approval.

  “You’re a pretty good shot,” Mason said, leaning against a tree beside him. He’d changed into the clothes that Bill had brought and was now wearing dark jeans and a shirt under a long, beige trench coat. His arms were folded across his chest. “It’s actually kind of annoying.”

  “How so?”

  “It takes most people years to get that good.. It took you just a few hours.”

  “Ah well, I’m sure my shoulder will feel it soon enough.”

  “That’s the price we pay.”

  Morgan smiled halfheartedly and glanced back toward the motel. It was a five-minute walk back to the room, which was just far enough for nobody to hear the explosion of bullets striking the trees. Lucky for them, the motel was backed by the woods, otherwise they’d have had nowhere to practice at all.

  “Here comes your friend,” he said.

  “Hmm?” It was Mason’s turn to look, leaning around the tree and fa
cing the dark silhouette that stalked up the shallow rise toward them. In the dark of night, it was difficult to see any details, but he suspected this was Bill.

  “Listen. How exactly do you know him?”

  “Bill?”

  Morgan nodded, still watching.

  “We go way back. Why?”

  “I just wonder who I can trust. There’s nothing wrong with the guy, but I know Gary and I’m slowly getting to know you. Bill’s a cop, right? So who’s to say he won’t arrest us once we tackle Erika?”

  The idea made him shudder. Or was it the frost?

  Mason cleared his throat and approached him, locking eyes for the first time since they’d been outside. “I get it, you’re nervous, but you can’t start questioning our reliability. All you need to know is that we’re going to do our best, and nobody’s going to screw you over.”

  “And if it comes down to it,” Morgan said, “who deals with Erika?”

  “I’ve already been there and made that mistake.”

  “Mistake?” A burst of panic shot through him. “You’ve been encouraging this.”

  “Because I know how you feel.” Mason stepped back and traipsed over to the tree where the bullets had hit, wiping off the dead bark with his hands and then wiping them on his coat. “I would never endorse the idea of shooting Erika, but I want you to be prepared for all scenarios. Imagine if it came down to you or her. Hell, imagine if it came to Robin or her. Do you really want to be there knowing you could’ve done something to stop it? Everybody makes mistakes, Morgan, but sometimes the things you do in the heat of the moment—or even the things you just think are right at the time—they might look ugly, but it could be the only option. Just think of it as the condom rule.”

  Morgan tilted his head. “The condom rule?”

  “Wow,” Mason said sarcastically, turning back to him. “That’s what you took from that?”

  “Just… what’s the condom rule?”

  “That it’s better to have one and not need it, rather than need one and not have it.”

  “Of course.” Morgan tutted and shifted his attention to the footsteps slapping up beside him. Bill’s thin hair was a mess, and the black circles under his eyes were visible even in the dark. It made him wonder if he’d slept, and Morgan felt a pang of jealousy for that—his own eyes probably looked as bad as they felt, which was dry and heavy.

  Bill stood in the opening between two bare trees, looking from one of them to the other. “How’s the practice coming along?”

  “Good,” Mason said. “Did you get some sleep?”

  “A little, but now it’s time to go. Gary’s getting the car ready.”

  Morgan glanced down and noticed the gun was trembling in his hand. He felt the weight of it in his palm and squeezed his fingers around it. He had to get hold himself and make sure he was ready. The time had come to be a man, and that meant backing his fear into a corner and telling it to leave him the hell alone. It was hard not to feel powerful while holding a lethal killing device in his hand, but he managed. He just had to own it, closing off his mind and leaving no room for cowardice. “Can I have a couple more minutes?”

  “For what?” Bill asked.

  “I just want to see if I can hit the tree a few more times.”

  Bill looked at Mason, who nodded. “Fine. Two minutes. I’ll see you back at the car.” He headed back the way he came, turning back into a mere silhouette that shrank as he gained distance and was finally out of sight.

  “Look at me,” Mason said, meeting his eyes again. “No more thinking. You have to be prepared to act fast, so I want you to turn and hit that tree as fast and accurately as possible. Don’t think, don’t let your mind wander. Just do it. Ready? Go!”

  Morgan snapped his head around and raised the pistol. It was as if somebody had taken over his body. He raised his arms and coiled his finger around the trigger like a snake, squeezing the second he looked down the sights.

  Ahead, the tree whined as flakes of bark flew off in different directions.

  “Good,” Mason said, giving a single clap. “You’re ready.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Watching the doors just wouldn’t be enough. It was the voice that’d told her so, and Erika had believed it. After only an hour of sitting, her eyelids getting heavy while she aimed the gun toward one door and then the other, she finally got up to make her play.

  Dumb move or not, Erika left the baby unattended and went out to the toolshed. On her way over, she half expected a bunch of cops to come running out of the woods. What would she do then? Shoot? Get shot? Both, probably, and she was strangely okay with that.

  The shed was unlocked. She reached around the wall for a cord, which she pulled and sent a dim light spewing over a dusty workbench. There were shelves on either side, a damp smell infesting them. Probably due to collapse soon, she thought.

  But Erika had other concerns. Ones that would affect her survival.

  She rummaged through the shelves, desperately seeking something that might help. A roll of steel wire was tucked away behind a bag of tools. She put the wire in the bag and kept looking. When the shelves turned up nothing else, she gave up and turned to leave.

  That was when she saw it.

  “Perfect,” she said aloud, to nobody in particular.

  Erika bent down and picked up the jerry can. It was completely full, the cap still sealed from when it’d been purchased. Sliding her hand under the handle and holding the tool bag in the other, she headed back to the cabin where the baby was just waking up.

  “Ah, crap. Not again.”

  Always.

  “Shut up, you.”

  Silence. Except for baby spluttering that turned into crying.

  Erika ignored it as best she could, kicking the door shut and sliding the bolt across. She dumped the tools to one side and searched the rest of the cabin until she ended up in the bedroom, where it occurred to her that she could use the sheets.

  The next hour or so was spent nervously setting up the trap. At any moment the doors could be kicked in, so it was vital that she hurried. All the same, one hour was the best she could do, as she had little experience setting up such a device. She wasn’t even sure if it would really work, but there was hope.

  That and a gun would get her to where she needed to go.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  They arrived in the same car, stopping at the end of the dirt path that wound up to the cabin. Morgan was out of the car before the engine had even silenced, holding Morgan’s gun in both hands while Mason had decided to use Gary’s. This was so Morgan would be equipped with the firearm he’d been practicing with. They couldn’t risk a poor shot from inexperience.

  “From here on out there’s no talking,” Mason said. “We’ll approach together, split into our teams, and cover each door. The moment we part, start counting back from thirty. When you hit zero, we breach. Everyone understand?”

  “Yes,” they all said in unison.

  Morgan’s jittery nerves got the better of him. He hoped they were that well synchronized when the time came. An image of Rachel flashed in his mind, and it didn’t help matters—it just made him more nervous. What if he had to go home and explain he’d lost their only child? How could he live with himself knowing he’d screwed it all up?

  “Stay focused,” Gary said, passing him and patting him on the shoulder.

  “I will.”

  As the others began their hike up the hill, Morgan stood frozen for a moment. This was it, he realized; this was the night—or early morning, if you were being pedantic—that everything was going to change. One way or another, he was heading home with answers.

  Was Robin safe?

  Morgan fell into a light jog, catching up to the three men who were all here for him. As comrades, they ventured up the path in silence. Sideways glances were exchanged from all angles. Morgan could see from their clouding breath that they were all as nervous as he was. Steaming clouds floated from their mouths in rapid s
uccession, almost appearing as one long trail. Morgan’s was no better—he could see his breath, but that didn’t mean he could feel it. It felt as though he was about to suffocate, and the gun in his hand didn’t help calm him.

  The cabin came into sight within minutes. It loomed there in the darkness like it had a life of its own. The absence of light and the way the moon cast down across the wall made the windows look like closed eyes. It encouraged Morgan to keep quiet, dreading the possibility that he might awaken the dwelling monster.

  But the real monster was inside.

  At least he hoped so.

  They reached the top of the path and officially came onto the property. Mason tilted his wristwatch toward the moonlight and tapped Bill on the arm. Bill nodded and headed for the nearby door. Gary was glued to his side and unarmed. Morgan, trying not to feel bad for accepting Gary’s gun, followed Mason around the cabin, counting back from thirty. Dry leaves crunched under their feet, but it was unavoidable. Had he woken Erika? Was Erika even inside?

  Twenty-three.

  Twenty-two.

  Around the corner, Mason stopped beside a wooden door. He looked at Morgan and gave a short, sharp nod. It said: “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He then pointed two fingers at his own eyes before jerking them toward the door.

  Fifteen.

  Fourteen.

  The gun shook like a leaf in Morgan’s hand. This was it: the moment that would define his abilities as a father—the singular event that would either save their son or destroy their lives. The risk was a great burden that couldn’t be shed, but Morgan understood there was only one way to combat this.

  He had to own it.

  Three.

  Mason gave him a thumbs-up.

  Two.

  Morgan clutched the gun tight in his hands.

  One.

  It was Mason who kicked down the door. One singular bash with the heel of his foot knocked it from its hinges. It struck the floor with a crash. A woman’s voice cried out and Morgan froze. Mason had his Beretta aimed in front of him, taking point and entering the building. Morgan followed in close, adrenaline flushing through him like his blood had turned to ice. He suddenly knew he wasn’t prepared for this, and if the empty feeling in his stomach wasn’t enough to tell him that, the deafening explosion that came next sure was.