“Yes, you would. You’re not the type to be intimidated by people, or by protocol. You’d get around both.”
“You think so?” He looked amused. “Maybe sometimes. But this isn’t one of those times. Believe me, no matter how low I fly under the radar, I’ll still show up on their screen. The sparks would fly.”
“A part of you would relish that,” Morgan guessed shrewdly. “You’d take on the system—and you’d win.”
He chuckled. “You’re a pretty good judge of character, Ms. Boutique Social Agent. But you’re giving me way too much credit.”
“I don’t think so.” Morgan drew in a breath, sparks of recall flickering in her mind. “I remember. I might have been a child, but that night is engraved in my mind forever. You took charge. You were ten steps ahead of everyone else. And you didn’t play games. You were a straight shooter. And, yeah, maybe a maverick.”
“There’s no maybe about it. I’m a cowboy. That’s why I left the force and went out on my own. Playing by the rules is not my strong suit.”
“Good. Play by whatever rules you want. Bend them. Break them. I don’t care. As long as you get that bastard.” Morgan grew more intense, taking a step forward and pressing her palms tightly together as she gazed straight at him. “Please, Detective, I’m begging you. Do this. Do it for your own peace of mind. For whatever made you go that extra mile all those years ago.” Her lips quivered and she swallowed, hard. “For the little girl you held together and the haunted woman she’s become. Please.”
A myriad of emotions crossed his face, and Morgan could tell she’d reached him. He was reliving the past, remembering the same agonizing moments she was.
“You believe you can get this guy,” she determined, reading his expression. “I believe you can, too. In fact, I know it. So I’m pleading with you—do it. Take me on as a client.”
He nodded, his jaw set. “All right,” he said gruffly. “You’ve got yourself a PI.”
FOUR
Morgan sat alone in the conference room for a long time after Detective Montgomery left. Her whole world had been turned upside down. Mixed with the shock and pain was anger. And, on some level, there was also a sense of emotional reinforcement—a confirmation that her feelings of uneasiness and apprehension were founded in reality.
Her parents’ killer was walking the streets—and had been for the past seventeen years.
There was a light tap on the conference-room door, and Jill eased hesitantly inside. “Morg?”
“Come in.” Morgan answered her friend’s unspoken question, even as she continued to stare off into space.
Jill walked over, perching at the edge of the conference-room table. “What’s going on? Jonah says that Pete Montgomery is a detective.”
“He is.” Morgan tilted back her head to meet Jill’s worried gaze. “He was with the NYPD. Now he’s a PI.”
“That much I know. He’s apparently a regular at Grandpa’s deli. He has been for years—with his precinct buddies and with his family. His son’s the photographer Jonah’s working for. What did he want?”
“To forewarn me.”
“About?”
“A major screwup. One that’s going to affect us all and push me beyond what I can handle.”
“Morgan, you’re scaring me.” Jill sank down into a chair and leaned forward. “You obviously know the guy. Judging from what I overheard, he hasn’t seen you since you were a kid. Was he part of the team that investigated your parents’ murders?”
“He was the lead detective. He was also the first cop on the scene, the one who saw me through the initial trauma, and the one who gave your dad updates from day one until Nate Schiller’s arrest, trial, and conviction. As it turns out, it was all for nothing.”
Jill’s eyes widened. “You’re not telling me they’re letting that animal out on parole?”
“No. He’s definitely locked up for life.”
“Then what?”
A shaky exhale. “Schiller’s not the one who killed my parents. He committed all those other murders, plus two more—a cop and a gang leader. But my parents weren’t among his victims.”
“What?” Jill stared. “I don’t understand. They’re just finding out about this now?”
“It’s a long story. But, in a word—yes.” In a tone that was devoid of emotion, Morgan filled her friend in. “So we’re back to square one,” she concluded. “No—worse. Now I have to live with the knowledge that whoever really killed my parents is still out there. That he’s been out there all these years. That there might have been other victims since. That there might be more yet to come—” Morgan broke off.
“Stop it.” Jill wrapped a supportive arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “Don’t let your mind go there. Focus on the fact that this screwup’s going to be fixed.”