“Matthew confronted him.”
“How did you know?”
“He told me.”
Emma nodded understanding. “There was kind of a fight, but it didn’t last long. Nick pretty much left me alone after that. I saw him a few times over the years, but we never spoke. To tell the truth, I felt bad about what I’d done, but it was too late to go back. I ended up marrying Matthew, and if I ever confessed, he’d never forgive me.”
“That’s why you didn’t tell the police?”
“Yes.”
Morgan understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. It gave him a motive for Nick to take Emma in the first place, but there was something missing. “The other girls?”
“Similar situations,” Emma said. “Nick told me all about what happened with them. When I saw one of them on the news, I thought nothing of it, but then I saw the second victim. It made me wonder if I was being paranoid, but when I got talking to your wife at the charity hall and learned you were investigating, I saw my chance to say something without officially reporting it.”
Morgan licked his lips, which had become bone-dry somewhere over the past few minutes. He could barely believe what he was hearing. If Carrie and Danielle had dated the killer and both had ended badly, that could be considered a direct motive for the homicides. Not to mention what he’d done to their faces. If Nick couldn’t have them, nobody should, Morgan guessed, tasting the threat of bile on his tongue as the words filtered through his mind. “I just wonder why he took you. As insensitive as it sounds, why not just kill you like he did the others?”
“I don’t know everything,” Emma said, sitting up. “But he did say I was his last.”
“Can we really trust his word on that?”
“Not exactly.”
Morgan tilted his head as if to say, “That’s it, then,” and stood. He thought about leaning over to kiss her on the head, confirming the connection he’d established with her over as many unspoken words as spoken ones. But she’d just endured a kidnapping from a deranged psychopath, and touching her would likely start an aggressive reaction. He settled for a smile and turned for the door, with no idea of what to do with this information.
But something stopped him.
“Wait.” Emma’s bed creaked as she leaned into it.
Morgan turned.
“This press release… I’m pretty nervous.”
“You’ll be fine. You have the power to stop it whenever you want.”
Emma pulled a face that was somewhere between mock terror and genuine fear, tucking her sweat-greased blonde hair behind her ear. A new bruise revealed itself on her temple. This was the worst of the bunch. “Would you go with me?”
“You mean as an escort?”
“I mean by my side.”
Morgan shifted his weight to the other foot, watching her. “What about Matthew?”
“I’m not ready to face him yet. Please.”
It wasn’t the most comfortable situation for him, but it wasn’t about him and he knew it. Morgan had been through a number of press releases—speaking on only a couple of those occasions—and they always felt like less of a big deal than they really were. It was just a case of looking over people’s heads and pretending you were talking to the wall. It was pretty easy, but he’d never done it from the position of a kidnapping victim. He thought of Rachel, and if she’d been in the same situation he’d want to be there for her.
This gave him little choice.
“Sure,” he finally said.
A tear appeared at Emma’s eyes, rolling down her cheek and soundlessly hitting her hospital gown where it grew into a perfect dark circle. “Thank you, Mr. Young. For being there for me, and for keeping my secret.”
It isn’t kept yet, he thought. But instead he offered his warmest smile and headed for the exit a second time with all this new information filling his head like water in the hull of a sinking ship. And just like that ship, he couldn’t shake the sensation of sinking.
But at least Emma was alive.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The press room at the Metropolitan Police precinct was a sea of journalists in neat rows that reminded Morgan of his wife’s HUCINS events. Only this crowd was a more hungry, selfish one that would probably sacrifice their own mothers if it meant getting to ask the first question.
Emma, who sat beside him on a panel up front, had been instructed by the police to keep her answers brief and to the point. Certain details about Nick Hansen were yet to be revealed, and Morgan saw hilarious irony in that; the same people keeping cards close to their chests didn’t even have the whole scoop.
But Morgan did.
He knew everything the police did, and then some. The responsibility was monstrous—keeping information like Emma and Nick’s relationship a secret was an obstruction of police justice, but as Gary kept pointing out, there was still value in vigilante justice. After all, it was him who’d hired Morgan, and he’d done so only to be a part of this so-called justice.
Where was this justice, anyway?
Morgan hadn’t seen any.
Not yet.
While Emma Cole responded to a barrage of questions from young and insensitive journalists, Morgan scanned the crowd. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he did stop to wonder if the killer was out there. After the way he’d somehow gained unforced entry to the homes of his victims, and not to mention that even Emma hadn’t recognized him on that ill-fated night at HUCINS, Nick Hansen was sure to be a master of disguise. Although the cliché of it made him uncomfortable, Morgan knew it was true.
Any one of these people could be Nick Hansen.
Any of them could be the DC Carver.
When the timer reached thirty minutes, the police captain announced the end and dismissed the journalists, shuffling them out of the room while they complained as always. While they made their exit, Morgan helped Emma out of her seat and escorted her to the hallway behind the panel, where he was due to take his exit.
It already felt like goodbye.
“When will I see you again?” Emma asked, gazing up at him.
“It’s hard to say. I’ll catch you at HUCINS?”
Emma sneered. “Maybe when this is all over.”
“Right. I’m on it,” Morgan said, doubting it himself. The truth was, he had no idea where to go from here. All he could do was keep his ear to the ground and pray Gary would be there to fill in any details he missed. “What will you do?”
“Try to adjust, I guess.” Emma wrung her hands and glanced toward the far end of the corridor, where Matthew stood waiting with her coat slung over one arm. “Perhaps I’ll consider telling him the truth. He deserves to know, right?”
As much as Morgan wanted to stay out of their relationship, he couldn’t help but nod. That was seconds before Emma Cole threw her arms over his shoulders and hugged him, holding her body close to his as her chest heaved with the threat of tears.
“Take care, Mr. Young,” she said, sliding off him. “And please, find Nick Hansen.”
“I will,” he promised, watching her leave. But would he? It was tough to say. The investigation had come to a standstill, and as if he didn’t already have his doubts, Emma was barely out the door before Captain Bray stormed toward him, his gray hair flapping with the speed of his strut.
“Hey, you,” he said, pointing his finger in Morgan’s face.
Morgan stepped back.
“You’ve done your part here, but now it’s time to call it a day.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve been talking with Detective Lee about the case, and I’m sick to death of seeing you whenever I turn around. It may have escaped your notice, but police work is for the police.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Bray stomped forward, knocking shoulders with Morgan before heading toward the exit Emma had used only moments ago. He walked as if the black suit he wore empowered him, making him more than
a grumpy, cliché police captain. “That’s your last warning. Don’t waste it.”
Morgan opened his mouth to complain, but by then the captain was gone. Now, he was left all alone in the corridor with nothing but a head full of seemingly useless information, the sweet memory of Emma Cole’s bravery through her ordeal, and the sour recollection of the captain’s threat. No matter how much he tried to forget the latter, however, he knew it would only grow to be a larger inconvenience.
After all, he had enough problems without making the MPD his enemy.
Chapter Thirty-Four
On that same night, when the wind picked up and Morgan held Rachel close to him under the sheets, all he could think about was the police captain. How was he supposed to pursue this thing now? He’d told Rachel all about it, and as always she’d remained optimistic.
Too optimistic.
“Are you awake?” he whispered, hoping not to disturb her if he was wrong.
But Rachel cleared her throat and twisted her head to gawk up at him, one beautiful blue eye opening slowly before the other. She blinked like rapid fire until she saw him and smiled. “I am now. What’s up?”
“Sorry. I just keep thinking about what you said.”
“Which was?”
“The vacation.” It was all he could get out. Not long after presenting her with the news about Emma, she’d tossed a travel magazine toward him and insisted he check out page seven. Confused, he’d obeyed her command and spotted the brilliant white sands of a Maldivian beach, with jetties and private huts and crystal clear water. It was certainly more attractive than the price, which was—to say the least—out of their budget. “The break would do us some good.”
“I thought we couldn’t afford it.”
“Maybe we can.”
Rachel huffed and sat up, shoving the sheets aside and squinting at Morgan’s bedside lamp. Raking her fingers through her fire-colored hair and pulling a slipped gown strap back over her bare shoulder, she adjusted herself to sit in front of him on her knees. “What’s really going on in that head of yours?”
Morgan felt his lips purse as he cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“A couple hours ago we didn’t—what were your words—have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of? Now you’re suggesting we run away on this luxurious vacation. Not that I’m complaining. We can take out a loan. But what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you going to solve this case?”
Morgan’s heart dropped at the sound of the word. The “case,” as she’d put it, was slipping out from under him, and he was basically sitting on his thumbs until the killer struck again. “I’m thinking about leaving it.”
“Leaving it? Are you crazy?” She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him.
Morgan caught it before the threaded corner could strike his eye. “You’ve heard the latest. I’ll be lucky to get anywhere near a crime scene if this happens again. And even if it doesn’t happen again—which is obviously the better of the two evils—I’ll never find the guy. If the police can’t do it, then how could I?”
“The police don’t know what you know.”
“But what I know is useless. All I can do is wait.”
Rachel sighed, flopped forward, and rested her cheek on his naked chest. “Then I’ll wait with you. When you hear something—and believe me, you will—I’ll be right here with you to kick you up the ass until you’re motivated.”
“Jesus.” Morgan kissed her on the head and reached for the light, swamping the room in darkness. “You really do have faith in me, don’t you? Keeping me motivated has always come as second nature to you.”
“It’s my job as your loving wife,” she said. “Now get some sleep. We can vacation when Nick Hansen is behind bars. We’ll afford it somehow. You deserve it.”
“You deserve it.”
“Also true. Now please, get some sleep.”
Again, Morgan obeyed.
As best he could, at any rate.
Chapter Thirty-Five
With Maldives on the mind even two days later, Morgan stopped the car on the far end of the street and climbed out, immediately assaulted by a cold gust of wind. It knocked him back a step, but he recovered, locked his car, and ventured on. It was a short walk to the house, but it gave him just enough time to clear his head, separating himself from the case.
When he reached the house—a modest four-bedroom place with a boring but presentable lawn that looked like every other one in the neighborhood—Morgan stepped up to the porch and rapped upon the door.
Within minutes, Gary had let him in, but they didn’t get as far as the living room.
Gary leaned into the wall of the hallway. “Sorry, Hannah has some friends over. Unless you’re here on a matter that isn’t business related, we’ll just have to talk here.” He paused, looking Morgan up and down. “But something tells me you’re here to work.”
Morgan grinned. “You know me too well.”
“You’re not that hard to read. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I’m here to see what I can do for you. Have there been any developments?”
“No such luck. There’s an APB out on Nick Hansen, but there’s very little to go by outside of a police sketch, and judging by his recent activities he might be a little hard to recognize, don’t you think?”
Morgan winced and folded his arms, leaning back toward the wall. His backside hit a radiator, so he stood back up and closed his eyes, trying to focus through the loud screeching noises coming from the women in the other room. “I just want to stop him.”
“We all do, friend. Especially me. You know that much.”
That was an understatement; Gary had made it more than clear how much he needed Morgan, and in spite of the fact that Gary had more resources at hand, he was less equipped to deal with an investigation like this. Even more so when he was working on something else. It’d taken a lot for Morgan to persuade himself to take the case, but now that he had? He couldn’t let it go. Not even if he wanted to.
“Are you feeling okay?” Gary asked, leaning in for a closer look.
Morgan’s dismay must have been showing on his face. “I’m just gravy. Look, I’ve been over and over this in my head, desperately trying to figure out Hansen’s next move. No matter what I do, I always seem to end up going round in circles. First I think of Carrie Whittle, then I pair up those facts with the other victims, but none of it makes sense.”
“Actually, it all makes sense.”
“How’s that?”
“Hansen dated the girls, right?”
Morgan nodded.
“So, he had an altercation with them, and now the sick bastard is coming back to hurt them. It’s a revenge story, just on a smaller scale to what it’d be if I got hold of him. The only real question is why the victims’ husbands never spoke up.”
“Because they don’t know,” Morgan reminded him. “And I told you that in confidence, just as Emma told me. Don’t go running your mouth about it, or you’ll open up a can of worms for her and her husband. Besides, it doesn’t really contribute to the investigation.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
“We could go for a beer?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know that’s not what you meant.” Gary blew out a long breath and placed his hands on his hips, the gun holster dangling under his arm like a snake hanging from a tree. “There just isn’t anything to tell. But you’ll be the first person to know when there is. I promise.”
Morgan knew this, and he trusted him, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. The stagnation he faced was pulling him further into misery, not unlike a demon dragging him back to Hell. It was torture. “All right. Well, let me know.”
“No problem. Sure you don’t want that beer?”
“Not today.”
Morgan thanked him and left, shivering in the air by the time he re
ached the bottom porch step. He hugged his chest and stalked down the sidewalk, the streetlights already beginning to brighten against the early dark. Memories of the killer’s victims flashed in front of his eyes like an old projector reel coming back to haunt him, and all he could do was try to think about something—anything—else.
Halfway back to his car, hurried footsteps rushed up behind him. Morgan ignored them at first, but as they drew nearer he spun on his heel and clenched his fist, ready to attack. What he saw, however, was a completely different kind of concern.
Gary was in his trench coat, wheezing and out of breath.
“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked, already sensing the negative vibes radiating off him.
“MPD just had a call come in.” Gary tried to stand up straight, a smile forcing its way onto his lips. He held a hand against his stomach as he caught his breath. He really did need to exercise more. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Morgan’s heart thudded against his chest. “Try me.”
“Our killer has been spotted across town. Police are on their way there now.”
Excitement tore through him. Everything he’d wanted to happen was finally coming through for him. Before he knew it, the car keys were in his hand as he turned around, rushing back to his car. “Then come on. We need to be less than one step behind.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Only seconds after calling in his own sighting report, Nick Hansen crossed the street and peered through the stained-glass window. He saw the small recess on the side of the great hall, yellowed by the tinted glass. There were no chairs like last time, but a small table on the side of the room was covered with lit candles and a two small stacks of paperwork. Nick began to panic, wondering where the woman was, but then she passed by the window and addressed the table, looming over it as she scribbled on a pad.
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