Which meant coming home. This morning’s session with Nick had only served to cement her resolve.
It was the kind of plan that wasn’t really a plan at all: embracing the dread, playing the role of sacrificial lamb, waiting for Clint to pounce. It was the kind of plan she hated. Morgan much preferred playing the role of the wolf stalking its prey rather than Judas goat.
But it was the only plan that would allow her to keep an eye on the people she cared about and make certain that if anyone was ensnared by Clint, it would be her, not them.
Scouring the approach to Jenna Galloway’s building, nodding in approval at the two unmarked police vehicles watching the main entrance, she finally entered the ground floor art gallery, sidled into the narrow passage that led to the storage area, disarmed the lock, pushed through the door to the private stairwell, then jogged up the steps, one hand on the pistol in the pocket of her coat.
At the Galloway and Stone Security Consultants’ door, she paused to remove her sunglasses and wig, shaking free her dark curls. Plastering on another disposable smile, she entered.
“About time you showed up,” Jenna Galloway called from behind her desk in her office across from the reception area. “Figured you’d be hiding under a rock somewhere with your dad on the loose. Or halfway to Argentina.”
That was Jenna being nice. Despite the fact that Morgan knew her deepest secrets and was the closest thing to a female friend Jenna had. Morgan didn’t mind. She didn’t need Jenna to like her, merely to be there when Morgan needed her. “Belize,” she corrected cheerfully. “No extradition, and they speak English.”
Andre Stone, Jenna’s partner in business as well as in life, came barreling out of his office, paused for a brief second to scrutinize Morgan head to toe, then pulled her into a rib-crushing hug that lifted her from her feet. Surprising, because Andre knew the truth of who Morgan really was, including the fact that from the time she was a child, her father had forced her to participate in his torture and kidnappings as well as teaching her how to kill—and enjoy it.
Andre was a former Marine with his own battle scars—burns over sixty percent of his body accompanied by more difficult to heal psychic wounds—and he’d appointed himself Morgan’s protector. By accepting her into his family, he’d place his life on the line for her. He’d also be the first to put an end to her if she returned to her violent ways, which made Morgan’s relationship with Andre the most honest one she’d ever had in her life.
That was why, despite the fact that she despised being touched and had no clue how to offer affection in return—another problem with growing up being groomed by a serial killer—she not only tolerated Andre’s embrace, she squeezed him back. Just like a normal person would.
During her sleepless vigil over the past few days, Morgan had questioned why she was so determined to even try to pretend to be normal. So far, it’d turned out to be hard work and a pain in the ass.
Except for one bright spot: Micah Chase. Morgan had met Micah when she’d gone undercover in a juvenile detention center. Although Morgan could pass for anything from twelve to twenty-something, she was actually only fifteen, so it’d been an easy role for her to play, exposing the corruption that had led to a girl’s death.
But then she’d met Micah, a seventeen-year-old incarcerated through no fault of his own. Micah, like Andre, wasn’t one of the many sheep that so many Norms were, mindlessly grazing through life. And he certainly was no fish—her father’s word for his victims. Micah was a protector. He’d risked his own life to save Morgan’s. He had no clue who or what she really was, yet she felt like she could tell him anything and he’d understand. Understand her like no one else did.
That scared Morgan. She’d never been to school or had any kind of normal friendships with kids her own age, and here was Micah, offering her the world. All she had to do was decide to accept what he offered.
She’d replayed their single kiss over and over in her mind. Ridiculous, really. She had a sadistic killer on her trail, no time to indulge in fantasies of being a normal adolescent girl. She had to take care of herself. No room to take care of anyone else.
Better to run from Micah as fast as she could—for his sake, if not hers.
For four days, that’s what she told herself. Yet, each evening she’d found herself talking to Micah on the phone, watching him through the cameras she placed around the house he shared with his mothers, and wishing things were different.
Which was why she’d returned to Galloway and Stone, despite the fact that every instinct told her to run, run, run.
Chapter 3