Don't You Dare (Morgan Young Book 3) Page 5

  Without another thought, she turned and ran.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The house they arrived at was nothing out of the ordinary. It was well looked after with a nice front lawn and a waist-high chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter. Morgan swung open the gate and gaped up at the three-story house, recalling the days when he and Rachel had lived in something so normal. What they lived in now was far from special, but it was a lot more spacious. It had to be, especially now that they had a kid together.

  Gary led the way, pounding on the front door while Morgan hung back. A large woman with a double chin opened up, cowering behind her door as best as her width would allow. She assessed the pair of them from sunken eyes, her pale skin giving her a nocturnal look.

  “Mrs. Patterson?” Gary said.

  “That’s right. Are you the detective I spoke to on the phone?”

  Gary nodded. “Detective Lee.”

  “Come in, then.”

  Morgan followed in silence, letting Gary do the talking as they walked in single file down the narrow corridor. He shut the door behind him, cutting off all light except the one at the far end of the hallway where Mrs. Patterson was leading them. They came out in a dingy kitchen, dry cereal crunching underfoot. There was a sour smell—old milk, perhaps—and Morgan limited his breathing to short inhales while they all took seats at the round table.

  “When did you report your vehicle stolen?” Gary asked. He had the information in a notebook in his coat pocket, but Morgan guessed he just wanted to hear it for himself.

  “Oh, a couple weeks ago.”

  “And where was the last place you saw it?”

  “Outside. It was parked.”

  Morgan glanced around the room while the two of them went through the dull, unhelpful ritual of getting their facts straight. Unless anything leapt out at him as a lie, there was nothing for him in this conversation. Not yet, anyway. Not until he could ask about the British woman.

  That voice still haunted him. Did she really have Mason Black in her possession? What was he supposed to tell his client? Amy was a nice girl, and Morgan didn’t want to get her hopes up by making her think her father was still alive if he wasn’t. That was the thing with psychopaths—you couldn’t trust them as far as you could throw them. Morgan had no reason whatsoever to believe the kidnapper, and he wouldn’t do so until he saw Mason with his own two eyes. If that was ever going to happen.

  They eventually settled into silence, Gary studying his notebook while the black-ringed, panda-like eyes of Mrs. Patterson watched him like she was getting answers. Poor thing, Morgan thought. This meeting wasn’t in place to give her an explanation; it was to clarify some facts in hope that they could squeeze some kind of clue out of her. Which didn’t look likely.

  “Mrs. Patterson,” Morgan said, leaning forward and tucking his hands together on the table. “You said you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary that night, but what about the days leading up to it? There was no sign of hotwiring, so the thief must have your car key.”

  The woman looked up at the ceiling without moving her head. It was like she was searching her brain for answers that she couldn’t otherwise get. “No, nothing seemed unusual to me.”

  “No interactions with a British woman?”

  “Definitely not. Why, should I have?”

  Morgan chewed his lip and sat back, hopeless. As he did so, Gary startled and stood up, digging into his pocket and retrieving a cell phone. The light brightened his face, and he excused himself, answering it before he left the room and leaving them in silence.

  The woman adjusted her blouse and leaned forward, stray wisps of dry hair dangling over her white face. “Are you sure I can’t get you some coffee?”

  “No thanks,” Morgan said. There was no way in hell he would drink anything from a kitchen this dirty, but he appreciated the icebreaker. All he had to do was make some small talk until Gary came back to them. “He really is a good detective, you know.”

  “Who? Your partner?”

  Morgan didn’t want to let on that he wasn’t a cop, so he just nodded.

  “I can believe it. He seems very professional.” Mrs. Patterson tucked the wandering hair over her ear, revealing a series of piercings through her lobe. “Is it true that this woman—the one who took my car—used it to commit some kind of crime?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “People talk. Especially in this end of town.”

  “There’s only so much I can say. We should wait for—”

  Right on cue, Gary stormed into the room. His usual smile had disappeared as he thanked Mrs. Patterson for her time and waved Morgan toward the door, the cell phone still in his hand. “We have to go,” he said. “Right now.”

  Morgan knew something was wrong. Thirty years of friendship made his tones and expressions as recognizable as his own. He stood up, excused himself from the table, and followed Gary out of the front door, struggling to keep up. “Will you slow down?”

  “I can’t,” Gary said. “Urgent business.”

  “Whatever that means.” Morgan went with him to the car, but he didn’t get in until he got answers. “Don’t just lead me blindly into… whatever this is. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Gary leaned over the car from the opposite side. “They just found the stolen car.”

  Morgan recoiled, shocked. “They did?”

  “Right next to a dead cop’s body. Which means this is going to become a homicide investigation real soon, and security is going to tighten up. Now get in. We need answers before I’m told to keep my distance from you.”

  Not needing to be told twice, Morgan climbed into the car and buckled up. Soon, every move he made would be against MPD rules, and that was typical. The way he saw it, the police had rules to abide by, and that kept them from making certain moves with any kind of urgency. He, on the other hand, was free to do whatever he liked, as long as he didn’t break any laws. But with the way things were going—and how desperate he was to locate Mason Black—he would do just about anything to get results. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Morgan had entered plenty of crime scenes over the years, and he owed most of that to Gary. Having someone on the inside was nothing if not helpful, but the one thing it didn’t cure was the gut-wrenching disgust he felt whenever he saw a body.

  In this case it belonged to a cop named Joshua Danes. The details had come through on the radio while they’d made their way to the crime scene, and Morgan had spent the rest of the journey picturing the victim—imagining how many kids he had. Did he have a wife? Friends? There were endless possibilities to the many factors that made up this poor guy’s life, but if one thing was certain, it was that the MPD would be in an uproar. Nothing stirred trouble in the police force more than one of their own being murdered in the street.

  At least the perimeter had been sealed off. It wasn’t much, but when something like this happened Morgan was grateful for all the small things. He passed under the tape with Gary at his side, keeping an eye on the civilians that shoved each other out of the way to catch a glimpse of the action.

  If only they knew what it looked like, he thought. They wouldn’t want to see.

  The stolen car was here all right, but it was an empty victory. Beside the vehicle, a uniformed officer was being tended to by the coroner. The sidewalk was stained with the man’s blood, and Morgan felt his insides twist with both horror and sympathy for the man. Had it been the woman who’d done this? Was she so scared of being caught that she’d lashed out and killed an innocent police officer? If so, she was crazier than he thought.

  “Don’t let it get to you.”

  Morgan turned to the voice. Gary stood watching him. “What?”

  “I can read your eyes. You’re thinking about the woman on the phone.”

  “You’re right. I… think I’m ready to share the information with the police now.”

  “Really?”

  Morgan
nodded. There was no doubt about it. This had quickly become a homicide investigation, and any information that kept stuff like this from happening again was sure to be put to good use. “I’ll write it up and send it over.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gary turned and led them toward a witness: an older lady with ringlets of white hair and wrinkled skin that sagged beneath her chin as she spoke. An officer was comforting her, but her cold stare fixed on Morgan as they approached.

  “You here because of what happened?”

  “Yes.” Gary tapped the officer on the shoulder. “I’ve got this.”

  The officer disappeared without a word, running to join the other officers who were struggling to hold back the civilians. Morgan wasn’t sure if he was lucky to have made it beyond the tape, but it didn’t feel like it. If anything, it felt as though he’d been introduced to a whole new world of rage and terror.

  “Tell me what you saw,” Gary said.

  The woman rambled at the speed of an everyday busybody who was just too excited to be a part of the scenery. She covered all the events leading up to the violent stabbing, taking them through her entire journey. Apparently, she’d followed a suspicious-looking woman from the grocery store, keeping the cell phone in her hand in case there was trouble. Her intuition had come to serve her well, and she’d been the first to call in after the officer was stabbed.

  “And nobody saw the killer after that?” Morgan asked.

  “She ran that way. Two men ran after her, but I don’t think they caught her.”

  “Was she thin, with black hair and… I don’t know. Good bone structure?”

  The woman’s head fell to one side. “I guess. She had a funny accent.”

  Fear knotted in his gut. “English?”

  “Maybe. I get confused between that and Australian.”

  “But it was one of the two?”

  The woman nodded.

  Morgan groped Gary’s arm and led him away to a secluded area where nobody could overhear. He realized how bad his hands were trembling, struggling to find grip on his friend’s sleeve while dizziness took over. “It’s her.”

  “No shit.”

  “What can we do?”

  Gary shrugged and puffed as he exhaled. “Not much. Mrs. Patterson can’t have her car back until forensics have gone over it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find some prints. But it probably won’t be me—Captain Bray doesn’t like us working together.”

  “I’m not surprised. What should I do?”

  “Whatever you can, but there’s nothing here for us.”

  Morgan turned and stared back toward the body of Officer Danes, where a body bag was being zipped over his face. The body was wheeled away on a gurney, but the pool of his blood was soaking its way into the concrete on which he’d died, leaving a part of his legacy in this unsafe city. Morgan wondered how it’d come to this—what started as a simple missing persons case had become a homicide investigation, and now here he was, dead in the middle of it with the killer’s voice repeating itself over and over inside his head.

  Don’t. You. Dare.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The adrenaline was still pumping through The Taker’s veins when she stormed back into her home, retreating into the safety of familiar territory. In truth, she hadn’t intended to kill, but it’d become necessary. If it weren’t for the people staring at her, she wouldn’t have needed to kill that cop. If it weren’t for the private investigator she’d spoken to on the phone, she would never have felt so damn paranoid. Now, she knew who to blame, but she’d also lost the car.

  At least she still had Mason’s Mustang.

  Not to mention the man himself.

  Mason was her only relief, and she didn’t hesitate in entering the soundproof garage to talk to him once again. She forced the wheel anticlockwise and lifted the hatch, assaulted by the putrid scent of body odor and excrement. She peered down at her captive, the man who used to be so great—the one who’d taken down all those killers. Now he was reduced to nothing. Nobody would want him, and that was okay.

  Because he was hers.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said. “I needed to talk to someone.”

  “I’m not your shrink,” Mason said. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and dark circles stained his armpits. His skin was already becoming ghostly pale, and for the first time since she’d met him he was no longer attractive.

  The Taker nodded and ran back to the kitchen, leaving the hatch open for less than a minute. Without the ladder there was no way he was getting out of there, and even if he could reach, she had malnourished him enough to remove that strength. Safe in that knowledge, she took a large book from the drawer and returned to the garage, throwing it down to him.

  It landed by his feet. “What’s this?”

  “Open it and see.”

  The Taker lowered herself to the ground, dangling her legs into The Pit and watching his expression while he opened to the first page. His jaw jutted out as he ground his teeth, and she loved that; his disgust was evident in the hard stare he gave as he turned each page, discovering horror after horror. The Taker had needed this—given the day she’d had, she’d longed for the familiar feeling of control, and now she had it.

  Yelling, he hurled the book to one side. It hit the wall with a thud. Photographs of his family rained from the sleeves inside. From the top of The Pit, The Taker stared down at them, remembering the time she’d spent printing them off from the internet. Some she’d even taken and developed herself, using this same garage as a darkroom. Multi-function made this garage a great investment, and she didn’t regret using it as such.

  “You need to let me go,” Mason said. “I have a family.”

  “Not anymore.” She chuckled, partly to tease him but mostly because she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Your family is still out there, but they’ll never find you. I have tabs on them, see, and they’re not even looking for you. They filed a police report and left it at that.”

  “Bullshit,” he snapped.

  “Believe what you want, but I know the truth.” Of course, it wasn’t the truth. The real truth was that a local investigator had her phone number. Did that mean the police did too? Would they soon enough? She had to be extra careful from now on. “Just remember, I’m the one with the key.”

  Leaving him no time to respond and anger her further, The Taker climbed to her feet and sealed the hatch once more, leaving his angry, protesting screams compressed behind the soundproof steel. He’d ruined her photo album and proceeded to yell, but that was okay—she was still in control of the situation, and that was all that mattered.

  At least, that was what she told herself.

  Deep down, however, she knew the truth.

  The police would come for her soon.

  Chapter Sixteen

  That night brought nothing but bad dreams. Morgan tried to close his eyes and steady his breathing. He went back to his happy place: on a jetty over a lake, surrounded by peaceful, snowcapped mountains miles away from civilization. Nothing could disturb him. He was—

  Don’t you dare.

  His eyes snapped open and he shot upright. Rachel stirred beside him but didn’t wake. Morgan sat there for a few moments, collecting his thoughts and trying to decide if he should go back to sleep while fatigue pricked at his dry eyes. Deep down, he knew there was no chance of sleeping—his heart was racing, and although he tried to think of anything else, something to calm him, he had nothing on the brain but that woman.

  Giving up entirely, he slid out of bed, grabbed his clothes, and crept out of the room. It wasn’t until he was in the hallway that he slid on the sweater, feeling warm and secure in the house that didn’t tend to get warm until a couple hours from now. A few months ago, he would find himself drawn to the kitchen at this point, dragging his feet around like a zombie until the first sip of coffee passed his lips. But now things were different. Without a second thought, he entered Robin’s bedroom, keeping as quiet
as possible so as not to wake Rachel through the baby monitor.

  Morgan stood in the doorway, arms folded, and leaned against the frame. He gazed at his son, the rising sun kissing the skin of his plump cheek while he snored into a pillow. Although he was only a year old, Morgan already knew he was going to go on to do great things. How could he not, with a mother like Rachel? That woman cared for children more than anything else in the world, even if they weren’t her own. But for Robin? She’d move mountains.

  The toddler stirred, hacking out a short cough and rolling onto his back. He groaned in the sweet, vulnerable way that young children do, and Morgan rushed over to pick him up, still surprised at the weight in his arms. He’d heard people say that kids grew up fast, but he had no idea it was going to be this fast. It seemed like only yesterday he was running after Dusty Young’s killer, but now here he was, one year into being a father.

  It killed him that his work took him back to his old habits.

  No. He couldn’t let that thought enter his mind. But was it already there? Way down in his darker thoughts, was he ashamed to be back where he started, chasing after a psychopath and questioning his family’s safety? Rachel had already expressed on countless occasions that she endorsed his career path. So then, why did it feel like he was doing something wrong? Was that why he couldn’t sleep? Was it because—

  Don’t you dare.

  Morgan dismissed the thought, patting Robin softly on the back and making his way downstairs. He turned on the light, now free to make as much noise as he wanted while he carried his son to the floor and distracted him from waking tears with loud toys. The bones of this house were good, and the sound rarely traveled all the way up the stairs. Morgan saw it as a blessing, watching Robin’s eyes light up as the flashing lights of a badly proportioned airplane glided across the carpet, Morgan’s hand acting as the pilot.