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Brady held up a hand stilling her and focused on Rossi. “Is Ms. Thorsby free to go?”
Rossi nodded, then handed a business card to Morgan. “Get those threats to me ASAP.”
She took the card and Rossi produced another one for Brady. “Just in case you need to contact me for anything.”
“You ready, Ms. Thorsby?” Brady asked.
“It’s Morgan, and yes, I’m very ready.” She rose, and despite his heavy coat, she trembled.
“I’m Brady, by the way, in case you didn’t catch that,” he said, lightening his tone to help ease her anxiety. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of this.” He made sure his apology carried his sincere regret. Not only for the situation, but for her injury, as well.
“Thank you. I’m just glad it all worked out okay. If I hadn’t tripped Craig at the end to send the gun flying, things might have been far different.” She sighed and started toward the sidewalk.
So that’s what had happened and why she’d fallen to the ground. Not that it eased Brady’s conscience.
“We see vulnerable and disillusioned people all the time at PEA,” she continued. “Puts us at risk for one of them going off on us, so we regularly train on active shooter scenarios.” She looked up at him. “Have you seen the ‘Run. Hide. Fight.’ video made by Homeland Security?”
He nodded. “Our agency uses it in training all the time. Especially at schools and with people who come in contact with the public. We also suggest people watch it on YouTube.” He smiled at her. “Sounds like it worked for you, reminding you to take action. If you hadn’t...”
She frowned, and he decided it was best to move on to something other than tonight’s incident.
“Are you from this part of town?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve only lived in the city for a few months. I’m a suburban girl. West Linn.”
He knew all about the pricey suburb. “City living must be very different for you, then.”
“Exactly,” she said vehemently.
He suspected there was a story there, but his job was to walk her home, not learn all he could about her.
He picked up his pace, escorting her past looky-loos who lingered at the edge of the crime scene, probably still hoping for a shootout or other action they could film for social media. Morgan didn’t seem to notice them. Brady supposed she was lost in her thoughts, likely replaying the night. Darcie had been right. Not that Brady would ever tell her that. Morgan needed someone to make sure she was okay. Whether he liked it or not, he was tasked with that duty.
“This is me.” She stopped outside a historic redbrick apartment building and dug out her keys. She returned his jacket, then held out her hand. “Thanks for walking me home, Brady. It wasn’t necessary, but I really do appreciate it.”
He considered shaking her hand and taking off, but he’d be in a heap of trouble if he ignored Darcie’s command to make sure Morgan got into her apartment all right. “I’ll see you inside before I go.”
She crossed her arms and eyed him, but he wouldn’t let that deter him. He’d rather face her wrath than Darcie’s. He started up the steps before Morgan could argue, then stood to the side while she unlocked the street entrance. They stepped inside, and as he stomped his feet to clear the snow, he admired the small but ornate lobby. A tall Christmas tree sat in the corner covered with white twinkling lights and white balls. Simple and elegant, like the costly apartment building.
Christmas, ha! The last thing he wanted to think about. Early December was way too soon to start. He’d actually prefer never to think about. Just brought back bad childhood memories. He’d only ever received one Christmas present the year his mother had managed to stay sober. Still, he couldn’t ignore the holiday the way he had before joining the FRS. Skyler had decorated their firehouse in November for her annual Christmas party for homeless families. She loved the season. He didn’t, but he wouldn’t go all Scrooge and ruin it for her or the others on the team.
They boarded the old elevator car with wood paneling and brass furnishings.
“How old is this building?” he asked when the silence in the small space turned uncomfortable.
“It was built in 1910 and just recently restored.” Morgan’s eyes lit up, and he had to look away before he stared at the captivating sight she made. “I love that the renovations stayed true to the time period. I’d have hated it if they’d made the apartments sleek and modern like my parents’ home.”
She’d just moved to the city from West Linn. Was it possible she’d lived with her family until she’d moved here? If so, it was totally in opposition to the independence she seemed to exude, piquing his curiosity even more.
He leaned back against the wall, listening to the elevator’s ancient motor carry them to the top floor where the bell’s sharp ping cut through the quiet.
“Penthouse,” he said jokingly.
“Hardly.” She frowned.
At her door, he reached for the keys. Their fingers touched and unexpected warmth spread through him. She hastily stepped back, nearly dropping the keys, but her eyes remained riveted to his. He could see she was interested in him.
So he wasn’t the only one. Interesting.
She took another step back from him.
Even more interesting. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Slumming it with a guy like him was probably the furthest thing from her mind. Or, for all he knew, she was involved with someone.
She unlocked the door, pushed it open and he waited for her to enter. She turned to close the door on him.
He took a step inside to fulfill his promise to Darcie. “Could I get a glass of water before I head out?”
“Sure, of course.” She stiffened, belying her generous words. “I should have thought to offer you one.” She hung her coat on a hook and kicked off her shoes, visibly relaxing, and headed down a short hallway. She stopped to flick on a gas fireplace. “Have a seat, and I’ll get your water.”
He stepped into the room, the heat from the fire already warming the small area. The space had hardwood floors, white bead board and chunky moldings reminiscent of the period. The walls were beige, the furniture traditional with red accents. A tiny artificial tree with equally tiny sparkling white stars sat on a small table in the corner.
Perfection. Like from a magazine.
Not a place where people like Brady actually kicked back and lived. Watched a ballgame and got snack crumbs all over the floor. After seeing Morgan’s designer clothing, he should have expected this. Just like Heather, his high school crush who had everything he didn’t. Big house. Fancy car. Nice clothes. All of it contrasted with his double-wide trailer and hand-me-down or thrift store clothes. Back then, he’d been fool enough to think Heather actually liked him, but she’d shut him down faster than a bullet from his rifle. So would Morgan if he was crazy enough to follow this attraction.
Feeling like he could easily break the small sofa and chairs, he went to the window and stared onto the quiet street so in contrast with the shooting from earlier. His adrenaline had subsided and a headache was forming. He massaged his temples and tried to relax, but he felt jittery.
If Morgan’s place wasn’t so unbelievably clean, he’d pull out his knife and the small hunk of wood that he always carried in his jacket pocket to whittle when he was left standing around.
A scream pierced the air. Shattering glass followed.
The kitchen. Morgan.
Adrenaline rekindled in his veins. Hand on his sidearm, he closed the distance to the kitchen in a few strides. He stepped inside, his boots grinding over broken glass. Morgan stood by the sink, physically unharmed, but her face was whiter than the snow of a Minnesota blizzard from his childhood.
“Someone was here. He left—” Her words were barely more than a whisper.
Brady turned off the running water and looked around. He saw nothing odd other than the glass she’d dropped on the floor. “Left what?”
“Those.” She pointed at the countertop. “I didn’t leave them there.”
Brady looked at the counter, then back at her ashen face. His pulse kicked into high gear, and he drew his weapon. It was a good thing he’d walked Morgan home. A very good thing.
FOUR (#ulink_d464d609-9eb3-529c-838c-1ef061462f7e)
Brady needed to check the other rooms for an intruder, but he also wanted to take a better look at the photograph lying under a long-stemmed red rose. He positioned his body so he could keep an eye on the door and still check out the picture.
The downright creepy photo was of an engagement announcement from the Oregonian newspaper. A man sat next to Morgan, but his body had been erased with a picture-editing program, leaving only a silhouette with the words Your One True Love superimposed on it. The caption below read, You are mine. You will marry no one but me.
“This looks like a real announcement that someone modified.” He quickly checked her hand to see if he’d missed a big sparkling ring. Her finger was bare.
“It’s from my engagement to Preston Hunter. I broke it off a few months ago. Apparently some sicko thinks it’s funny.” She stared at the counter.
“Not funny. Stalkerish.”
A flash of horror widened her eyes. “You think I have a stalker?”
“That’s what I aim to find out.” He headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called out, looking like she might be sick. “Where are you going?”
“I need to make sure no one else is in the apartment.”
Grim realization dawned on her face. “You think whoever left this is still here.”
“It’s a good possibility. I didn’t notice any signs of forced entry. Any chance this is a current boyfriend with a key who has a sick sense of humor and wanted to surprise you?” he asked, not liking the fact that she might be in a relationship.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around her slender waist.
“The message doesn’t point to the former fiancé, but I have to ask. Is he mad that you ended things with him?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“And no other boyfriends?” he asked again, to be sure.
“I haven’t even dated since I broke off with Preston, and I haven’t given anyone a key to my place except my parents.”
So, stalker it is.
“Then stay put while I check it out. And don’t move or you could cut your feet.” Brady eyed her for a long moment to be sure she would follow his instructions.
“Be careful.” She clutched her arms tighter and chewed her lip.
After the second shock of the night, he hated to leave her alone, but it would be foolish not to check for an intruder. A few strides across the hall and he was in a bedroom. The space was neat. Organized. The same colors as the family room. He checked the closet and under the bed, then made sure the windows were locked even though the apartment was on the fifth floor. He glanced into a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, claw-foot tub and subway tiles. Also empty.
He stepped to the front door and searched for any signs of forced entry. The wood was smooth and free from pry marks.
Odd. Very odd.
He dug out his phone, called Jake and relayed the incident so they could report it to the Portland Police Bureau. The FRS responded to emergencies across the entire city, but they didn’t have jurisdiction to investigate crimes within city limits.
“I’ve got the detective’s card from the shooting,” Brady continued. “But I don’t get the feeling that this is related to the train incident or another disgruntled plaintiff. Do you think I should call Rossi or should this be handled separately?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. Brady knew he was thinking. Pondering. The usual Jake. He cleared his throat. “With no sign of forced entry, it seems more like you have a relationship gone bad. You really want to bother PPB this late at night with that?”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but Morgan says she doesn’t have a boyfriend and hasn’t dated in months. Plus, I’m getting a stalker vibe here.”
A long hiss of air. “I’ll have to call in favors to get a quick response so you’d better be right.”
“Not sure I am, but then, her life could depend on us taking the right action here.”
“You’re right. Can’t be too careful. I’ll call the watch commander. Rossi is likely the detective on call and if he’s finished at the scene, the commander will send him over. Otherwise you’ll have to hang out there until someone else arrives.”
Not a hardship, Brady thought and it surprised him. “I’m off tomorrow so I can stay as long as needed.”
“I’ll text you when I know something.” Jake disconnected.
Brady kept his phone in hand so he wouldn’t miss the text and returned to the kitchen. A hint of color had returned to Morgan’s face, and she was talking on the phone to someone named Lacy. He suspected this was the woman who’d taken the train with Morgan. It sounded like they were good friends.
Not wanting to interrupt, he leaned against the counter and took the opportunity to study her while she was distracted. He couldn’t put his finger on the word that best described her. Maybe delicate. Or pampered. Her features were fine, hence delicate, and her skin was creamy and flawless. Maybe from expensive beauty treatments. He could be wrong, of course, but he suspected she’d been pampered all her life.
His phone chimed, and he read a message from Darcie. You get Morgan home okay?
He didn’t want to tell Darcie about this incident via text. He typed, In her apartment safe and sound.
He phone chimed another message and he switched to Jake’s profile. Rossi on the way. ETA 5 minutes.
Perfect.
Morgan hung up, and glanced at him, seeming surprised to see him still standing there.
“Why don’t we go into living room to talk about this?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond but lifted her into his arms to carry her over the glass.
She pushed back and gaped at him. “What are you doing?”
“The glass. You’ll cut your feet.” As he continued walking, her scent wrapped around him. Soft, feminine. Fresh, like a spring breeze after the rain.
She scowled. “You could have gotten my shoes instead of taking over and manhandling me.”
It was his turn to gape. “Manhandling? I’m simply helping you out.”
The minute they hit the living room she squirmed out of his arms and planted her hands on her hips. “That kind of help I don’t need.” She stormed across the room, moving as far from him as possible.
He liked the fire in her eyes as she stared at him. Liked her animated expression. Liked that the vivid fear was gone from her face.
He glanced at his watch. Four minutes remaining until Rossi’s arrival. If he continued to let his interest in her distract him, it’d be four very long minutes.
Distance and professionalism. That’s what he needed.
He gestured at the sofa. “Let’s sit down and talk about the rose and picture.”
He expected an argument, but she perched on the edge of a red chair.
He took the far end of the sofa, feeling like a giant. He didn’t know how to start this conversation other than bluntly stating his opinion. If she was lying, he’d soon know. “There was no sign of forced entry. Whoever left this surprise either had a key or is a master at picking locks.”
“As I said, only my parents have a key.” Her tone remained terse and irritated. “I suppose that means their live-in staff would have access, too, but I’ve had little to do with my family since I moved out of their guesthouse three months ago.”
Live-in staff. Just as he’d suspected. Pampered. He’d have to make sure Rossi knew about the staff. Maybe one of them had a thing for her or resented her. “Would you mind calling your parents to see if their keys are missing?”
