“Look at that one,” Rachel said, pointing up at a floor-to-ceiling oil painting of an old plantation. Greenery and white flowers blanketed the space leading up to the building, with only a thin path dividing the rows. A man stood at the top of the porch with the door open behind him. It looked as though he was inviting someone in.
“Interesting take on trust,” Morgan said, skeptical.
Rachel turned to him. “Why so negative?”
“I didn’t mean to be.” Morgan sighed, squeezing the rubber handles of the stroller. “This whole case has just put my nose out of joint. You think the world works one way, and then it seems to tip you on your head.”
“I’m afraid that’s life in general.”
“You’re probably not wrong.”
They kept walking through the great, open halls of the art museum. It didn’t really interest Morgan—art was more Rachel’s thing—but he couldn’t say no to a family day out. God knew they needed it. Anyway, at least he got the opportunity to try and experience something that thrilled his wife. He was always looking for more chances like that.
As the day rolled by, so did his energy levels. Morgan was starting to find that he couldn’t make it through a whole day. Not since the incident. Whether that be because of stress or trauma, he didn’t know. It could just be the stress of being a father to a one-year-old. Whatever it was, it affected his mood, and as always, Rachel was there to pick up on it.
They got to the food court before she said anything.
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
Morgan unfolded the high chair and hoisted Robin into his arms. Robin giggled and blew spittle over his hands while he was placed into the seat and equipped with a bib. “There’s not much I can say about it. I’m just feeling a little blue.”
“Feeling empty after all that excitement?”
“What do you mean?” He sat down and started mixing Robin’s food, leaning over to give him a reluctant first nibble. “There was no excitement on that night.”
Rachel crooked an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. It must have got the blood pumping.”
Morgan wanted to say it didn’t, but perhaps it did. There was nothing he wanted less than to be in a situation like that again, but he had difficulty denying it gave him a certain thrill. The thing was, cases like that didn’t come around too often, and if they did it was probably time to start looking for another job. “Is it wrong?”
“To enjoy the case?”
“I didn’t enjoy it. There was a lot at risk. I found it kind of traumatizing. Maybe there was a bit of excitement, you’re right, but I never want to go back to that. The whole time, I was thinking of you and how you’d react to it all. If something happened to Robin—”
Robin cackled beside him, pointing at the food.
Morgan resumed his duties. “You and I would never be the same.”
“That’s not your fault though.” Rachel leaned into a bag and produced a tub of celery sticks. She didn’t open them. “Sure, I asked you to make Erika pay, and I put a lot of pressure on you. I’m sorry about that. Truly. I was just dealing with my pain the only way I knew how.”
“Okay.” Deep down, Morgan had wanted Erika to pay too. It disgusted him to admit it, but he was glad she was dead. Sitting beside her lifeless body wasn’t easy, but that night felt like a blur now anyway. Not that it stopped the nightmares. “My point is, I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’ll have to look at something else.”
“Something else?”
“A different job.”
Rachel reached across the table and took his free hand. She looked into his eyes with all the love and knowing only a loyal spouse can give. For a moment, she looked like a teenage version of herself. “Don’t you dare switch jobs,” she said. “You enjoy what you do, no matter how much you make a fuss about it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Just take a little time and then review it again.”
Morgan pictured his life two, three, even four months from now. If he carried on as a private investigator, would this kind of lifestyle continue? In the past year or so he’d come toe-to-toe with three different serial killers. There was only so much a man could take. “I’ll think about it, then. All right?”
“All right.” Rachel smiled.
He really would think about it too. Keeping his job didn’t mean he had to take every case that came along. He just had to be more selective when reviewing them. The small amount of press attention he’d received had resulted in his business booming now anyway, so at least he got to pick and choose. The only real problem lay in knowing—he hadn’t known Mason Black would be in captivity, and he hadn’t known Erika would take it so personally when he saved him. This only made the choice harder; it was one extreme or the other.
Morgan finished feeding his son and then they continued around the museum, changing the subject back to more pleasant things. He tried to view the other paintings as something more optimistic, but no matter how hard he tried, all he could see was danger.
It was a part of the job.