She gave Micah directions and removed her pink coat. As much as she liked it—despite it being absolutely not Morgan’s style, it was the first time she’d ever been complimented on something she’d worn—it was way too visible. Even if she turned it inside out, the lining was a shiny silver that would do her no favors. She shivered. Carried the coat over to the window with the debris chute.
The plastic tunnel rippled in the wind but seemed fairly sturdy—it would need to be to handle construction trash. She poked her head inside, assessing the drop and what lay at the bottom, but it was too dark to see. She could be jumping into a dumpster filled with broken glass and twisted metal beneath the fiberglass insulation, who knew?
Maybe the coat could come in handy after all. She wadded it into a ball and stuffed it down the chute. Then she climbed in, feet first, face to the room, and hung by her hands from the bottom of the window frame. The plastic chute was slippery, no way to get a handhold. Nothing to do but take a leap of faith.
She let go and fell.
Chapter 14
GIBSON ALMOST DIDN’T need the car’s heater. The glow of triumph after following the cops and Morgan here to their squalid little manhunt HQ and now sitting right across the parking lot watching them get nowhere was more than enough to keep him warm. Clint wanted the girl, but instead of playing the game, following the trail of clues he’d left her, Morgan had brought the cops into his mother’s house—into Gibson’s home—and now he was having fun imagining other fates for Morgan Ames.
The other convicts, the two brothers waiting impatiently for Clint to bring them their payment for busting him out, the ones who jeered at Gibson every time he went to replenish their supply of beer and pizza, they’d reward him handsomely if he took Morgan to them. They wouldn’t be foolish enough to kill her—not if they wanted their money from Clint—but they’d teach her a lesson, that’s for sure. Pretty young thing like Morgan…oh, what they’d do to her.
No way in hell would Clint want her as his partner after that.
Two birds. Instead of taking Morgan directly to Clint, he’d deliver her to the brothers. He held their trust, barely, but that was waning with every day that Clint hadn’t delivered the money he’d promised them. Morgan would keep them happy and occupied until Gibson could prove to Clint that he was the worthy one, not her. All he needed was another day, just one more day. Then Clint—hell, the whole damned world—would know once and for all that he was his father’s son, capable of the same awful greatness as Clinton Caine.
Imagining Clint’s expression of awe and pride when he saw how Gibson had taken Clint’s simple plan and made it so much greater added to Gibson’s satisfaction. He would show them, show them all exactly who Gibson Radcliffe really was. And all he needed was to get his hands on Clint’s precious baby girl.
The back door of the building flew open, startling him from his fantasies. Morgan appeared briefly, tossing a purse out into the snow, then vanished again. Gibson hunched down, out of sight, angling the mirrors to watch. A minute or so later, cops came clumping through the doors—both the front and the rear, circling around, obviously looking for someone.
Morgan. What the hell was she up to? He shifted the car into gear and pulled out, turning into the alley beside the building, inching past the construction dumpster then turning onto the main road, most of his attention still watching the building in his rearview mirror.
The cops set up patrol cars at the front and rear doors. Several officers scoured the parking lot, checking each car, while others drove away, lights flashing but no sirens.
Gibson circled the block. By the time he returned to his starting point, the cops had cleared the parking lot, leaving only a pair at each exit. Morgan was still inside the building. How long would it take for them to find her? Where would she go? Would she hide like a coward or did she have a plan?
He drove around the block one more time, making sure no one was paying attention to him, then parked, this time in front of a nail salon in the strip mall across the street. He couldn’t see the doors to the building as well as he had from his first vantage point, but Morgan wouldn’t be coming through them, he was sure. Instead, he focused on the side alley.
After a few minutes with no activity at the building, he wondered if he’d lost her when he’d been circling the block. But then a red car slowed and turned into the alley, parking beside the dumpster.
A cascade of pink insulation rose up, and Morgan appeared, her pink coat draped over her head and shoulders, making her almost impossible to see until she shook her dark hair loose. A guy jumped out of the car, climbed up onto its trunk, and helped lift Morgan out of the dumpster.
It was all over in a few seconds. But not so fast that Gibson didn’t catch the way the driver hugged Morgan, despite the fiberglass covering her, or the possessive hand planted against the small of her back as he escorted her into his car.