Susan Sleeman - High-Caliber Holiday

“Obviously the rental company would, but they’re off-site.”

“They could have had a break-in where keys were stolen, I suppose,” Brady said, thinking aloud. “Though they’d likely inform you of such and replace your locks. Did you ever leave your keys unattended?”

“Unattended?” She chewed on her lip, something he was beginning to think was a habit. It was full and plump and far too distracting.

“You know,” he rushed on, though no explanation was necessary. “You left the keys out where someone could get to them when you weren’t watching.”

She tapped her chin with a slender finger. “I suppose I’ve dropped the ring on my desk at work. Who doesn’t do that? But I’m sure no one took them long enough to get a duplicate made.”

He wished. “Unfortunately, keys can now be duplicated by sending a digital picture to an online locksmith.”

“You’re kidding, right? They just have to take a picture?” Fear widened her eyes. She seemed even more vulnerable, tempting him to cross the room to take her hand.

He planted himself more firmly on the sofa instead. “I’m afraid it’s true. That’s why I need you to think of any place you could’ve set the keys down long enough for someone to snap a picture.”

She tapped her chin again, her fingernail painted a light pink and perfectly manicured. “Work, like I said. And the gym.”

“You leave your keys unattended at the gym?”

“Not really. Just set them on the bench in the locker room as I dress. Or on the counter when signing in and out, but from what you say that’s long enough.” She stared at him. “I’ve left them out at church, too, though I doubt anyone there would do this.”

“You never know.”

She arched a perfectly plucked brow. “I doubt it.”

Fine, she didn’t believe him. Most people wouldn’t, but he saw people at their worst and knew what they were capable of. He also suspected the ex-fiancé had been alone with her keys at some point, but the message didn’t lead Brady to believe this Preston guy had left the note.

“So how do we find out who might have a key?” she asked.

We? There’s no we here. “I’ve arranged for Rossi to come over. He’ll be here any minute to take your statement and go from there.”

“What?” She laughed. “Aren’t you a police officer? Can’t you handle this—wait.” She covered her mouth for a moment, then circled her arms around her waist. “You think this is related to Craig. That it’s not over.”

He held up his hands. “Slow down. I’m not saying that at all. It’s just a jurisdictional matter. I’m County and you live in Portland’s city limits. It’s the Portland Police Bureau’s responsibility to investigate this incident.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving?”

“I’ll wait for Rossi and make sure you’re in good hands before I leave.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Morgan startled.

“Relax. I’m sure it’s Rossi.”

She started to rise.

“I’ll let him in.” Brady shot to his feet before she could get up. “Do you have a photocopier?”

“On my printer, why?”

“You should make a copy of the threats you received. Then you can give the file to Rossi so he can get started on it ASAP.”

“Oh, right, okay.”

Brady headed for the door. She’d have plenty of time to make the copies as he intended to have a conversation with Rossi before the other man entered the apartment. It would be better if this conversation happened without Morgan, because Brady suspected without evidence of an intrusion, Rossi would think Morgan was lying about not having any relationships gone bad. And if Rossi thought the items were from a disgruntled ex-boyfriend, he wouldn’t take this threat seriously, leaving her in potential danger. Relationships gone bad made people say stupid things—sometimes even do stupid things like leaving a rose and note for the former girlfriend—but it was less common for actual physical harm to occur.

Brady grabbed the doorknob. An image of a man turning the same knob flashed into his brain. A sick man, focused on Morgan. Doing everything necessary to gain her affection. Stalking. Hunting when she was alone. Unprotected.

What if Rossi blew her off like Brady suspected? Left her to fend for herself?

Brady couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen despite his desire to put distance between them. This was no longer about a promise to Darcie to see Morgan home. About guilt for hesitating to pull the trigger. This was about a woman’s life. Plain and simple.

If he couldn’t convince Rossi to help Morgan, he’d have no choice. He’d force down these feelings that kept surfacing around her and step in. She could count on him to be by her side and keep her safe.

* * *

Waiting for Brady to return with the detective, Morgan shoved her phone into her pocket and sent the threat letters feeding into the printer. She’d called her mother and learned that the keys were right where her father had left them. She’d also managed to raise her mother’s suspicions, but Morgan had avoided telling her the truth. If her dad had answered, it might have been a different story.

Morgan listened to the hum of the copier and looked around the room she’d so carefully decorated. The space was neutral on purpose. No photos. No mementos from time spent with her family, which would only remind her of their disagreement about where she should live.

She’d planned this place as a sanctuary. A symbol of her new independence. Now each shadowed corner held fear. Her space had been violated. Along with it, so had she. Again. For the second time tonight.

Stress weighed heavily on her and nausea formed in the pit of her stomach. Stress. When she’d worked on the lawsuit, the stress had left her with daily nausea. So many people had depended on her back then. Her father. Preston. The mill workers who would lose their jobs if she lost the case. Despite feeling sick, she’d dug deep for the strength she needed to go on. She did her duty, then broke free of her father’s desire to keep her employed at the mill. She’d formed her own life, and her stomach had settled down. Even when her father basically disowned her.

She’d just started to enjoy life and now this? It was almost too much to bear.

“Why, God?” she whispered. Isn’t my father disowning me enough? Do You have to take my new start in life, too? My peace?

Okay, fine, she got that God didn’t actually take her peace. She let the fear take over and steal it. But after her night, how could she not?

She heard a noise in the bedroom and jumped. She knew it was the old building groaning with age as it often did, but still, the room suddenly seemed oppressive without Brady. She didn’t want to admit to needing anyone. Would never admit it aloud, but his presence had kept the panic at bay.

Despite what common sense told her, she hurried to the front door and slipped into her shoes before jerking it open. Brady stood, his feet planted wide, his shoulders back like a tower of strength. She was reluctant to lean on him, but she needed him to get through this.

Tonight only , she told herself as joined the men. Tonight only.

“Ms. Thorsby.” Rossi stepped forward and ran a wide thumb over the doorjamb.

“Please call me Morgan.”

He gave a clipped nod. “As Owens said, there’s no sign of forced entry.” Instead of looking at Brady, he eyed Morgan, his eyebrow raised, as if she’d done something wrong. She didn’t like his attitude, but didn’t know what to say so she said nothing.

“Show me the rose and picture,” he said, his voice almost accusatory.