Morgan let Tim take charge of getting Jenna and Andre to the airport while she made sure Emma was situated and well protected in her new hospital room. Given Emma’s age and medical history, the doctors weren’t taking any chances, and had admitted her overnight to a telemetry floor—which meant no one would be able to get to her without getting past about a dozen nurses and constant monitoring.
By the time Morgan pulled up in front of the Pittsburgh High School for the Creative and Performing Arts, she was five minutes late. It was Micah’s first day at his new school, and she knew how tough it was for him, coming to a different school for his senior year and not being able to graduate with his friends, so when he’d called and asked her to pick him up, she didn’t argue or ask questions.
Crowds of kids lounged on the concrete steps and gathered on the grass, their body language typical of the supremely self-aware teenaged idea of bohemian cool. But all eyes were on Micah as he strode to the car, hopped into the passenger seat, and reached over to embrace Morgan and land a prolonged kiss. She was startled—neither of them was comfortable with public displays of affection—but she played along. And enjoyed it.
A car behind them honked, and they parted. Micah lounged back in his seat and gave a lazy wave to his new classmates, while Morgan steered them. “Care to explain?”
“What? A guy can’t show off his hot, sexy, beautiful, sophisticated girl to his friends?”
“I’m guessing your new friends don’t know I’m younger than you.”
“Maybe not. Let’s just say that thanks to you, instead of being the loser who spent a year unjustly imprisoned in juvie and who couldn’t graduate on time, I’m now the cool ex-con hooking up with a mysterious older woman.”
“Mysterious?” She let the older part slide—age was irrelevant, as Morgan tailored hers to suit her needs at any given moment.
“I kinda let it slip that you’re a private investigator. And that we met while you were undercover and I saved your life.”
She’d actually saved his, but he’d returned the favor several times since then. “Micah—”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t use your real name. Or mention your dad.”
“So they all think you’re dating Jane Bond.”
He quirked his lips in a smile, revealing a dimple that was almost always hidden. “Something like that. Only I get to be James Bond, and you’re more like one of the Bond girls.”
She shook her head, holding back her laughter. If there was anyone less suited to the life of lies and treachery of James Bond, it was Micah. His every emotion was as easy to read as a neon light in the desert at night. Guileless. Honest. Brave and honorable and courageous. That was Micah.
And every day she was with him, she marveled at her luck.
“So how was school?” she asked. “Did you like your classes?” Micah was already a talented sketch artist, but he wanted to broaden his horizons and learn more techniques in oils, watercolor, sculpture, and the like. He was also auditing an architecture class at Pitt.
“I think it’ll be a fun year. The math is definitely less challenging, or maybe those stupid summer school classes finally sank in. Oh, and I signed up for this cinematography class where you use advanced computer graphic programs to basically create 3D worlds like what you see in movies.”
“Sounds great. I’d love to learn more about the computer stuff…” A childhood spent on the run with a serial killer father had left Morgan with an uneven skill set. She’d taught herself survival skills like hacking, security systems, money laundering, and close quarters combat techniques; had pursued topics that fascinated her such as anatomy, psychopathy, the art of the con, Stoic philosophy, and the history of warfare; but she had little knowledge of “normal” school topics like algebra or social studies.
“How was your first day back at work? Any exciting cases?”
For about two seconds, she debated not telling him about the bombings and the threat to Jenna and those she cared about. But the only times she and Micah had ever had problems with their relationship were when they hid the truth, usually to try to protect each other. So she shared everything—the letter bomb, the nursing home, Jenna’s grandfather’s death, even her frustration at being stuck in Pittsburgh because she couldn’t fly to LA with Jenna and Andre.
“I mean, what if all this is the bomber’s way of luring them into a trap in California where I can’t protect them?” she finished.
“You can still help back here. Face it, there are some things you’re better at than even the FBI, like finding strange connections between people or tracking down their lies.”
“Maybe. But as soon as Jenna’s back, I’m going to have her start laying a paper trail for an ID I can use to get a passport.”
“Yeah. Then we can go to Paris—see the Louvre. You can case the joint while I sketch the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo.” He drummed his fingers on the dash in anticipation. “From there we can go to London—the Tate and the British Museum—and Florence, then make it to Venice in time for the Biennale.”
She laughed—Micah always knew how to make her laugh. Even after an exhausting day dealing with a deranged bomber. “It’s a date.”
They pulled into his driveway, and she turned off the ignition. Some of their best conversations took place simply sitting in a car going nowhere.
He reached a hand across the center console and rested it on her thigh, distracting her in a very good way. “Seriously, I’m glad you’re all right. You need to be more careful.”
“I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place to help out Jenna and Andre.”
“His grandmother’s okay?”
“Nothing can stop Emma. But I promised I’d keep an eye on her while they’re gone—I’ll probably spend the night there, just to be safe.” She remembered the card Emma had given her—in all the chaos she hadn’t had a chance to open it. She squirmed in her seat and checked her back pocket—it was still there.
“What’s that?” Micah asked as she pulled the envelope out. “A love letter? Do I have competition?”
“Stop. Emma gave it to me. I think it’s a birthday card.” She slid a fingernail beneath the flap.
“I’ll bet there’s a crisp new twenty in there. We can go to the malt shop, maybe catch a drive-in movie.”
“Still better than any birthday present I’ve ever gotten.” Which they both knew was none.
He stretched an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, the envelope caught between their bodies. “If you’d ever tell me your birthday, I’m sure I could arrange a very special party just for two.”
She wasn’t sure why she was so reluctant to give anyone her real birthday. Maybe because it was the last vestige of her life before, the life she was trying so very hard to disown. So she turned it into a joke. “I don’t know. I do love my malts; I’m not sure you can top that.”
“Give me a chance.” He pressed his lips against hers, and she forgot all about birthday cards and her past for a long moment.
They were both flushed and breathing fast by the time they parted. The card had slipped onto Micah’s side of the car. Before Morgan could grab it, he snatched it away and opened it.
“You know that’s a federal offense. I have the US Postal Inspectors on speed dial.”
“Nope. It didn’t go through the mail, so no crime, no time.” He slid the card out. But it wasn’t a birthday card. And there was no crisp, new twenty-dollar bill. Instead, it was more like an invitation, printed on thick card stock. In a sickly green ink that was becoming all too familiar.
“What the hell?” Micah scanned the words before Morgan could yank the card from his fingers. The color drained from his face as he turned to her.
She read the card, focusing not only on the words but the intent behind them.
You’re the reason why I’m here.
You’re the reason why I still exist.
Because of you I live and die every day without love.
Because of you I hate and kill.
Before the end I will kill your love—just as you killed mine.
Before the end you will curse your name and wish you’d never been born.
Too late for your blood and your loves.
Too late you will know my name and I will finally win.