It was past seven when Morgan and Micah arrived at the medical center. They parked in the basement level of the parking garage—since it was a stolen car, Morgan figured it was best to forego the valet parking the hospital offered. It meant a longer walk through a more isolated parking area, but it also allowed her to spot security cameras and skirt them. She let Micah sweet talk the little old lady at the reception desk into giving them visitor passes while she watched his back for anyone paying undue attention. After all, with a little effort, the bomber could have found Emma easily enough without following them; he might have even beat them here.
But there was no sign of anything or anyone out of place. Even with Morgan’s scrapes and bruises collected during the day’s adventures, she fit right in with the ebb and flow of patients and staff. Hospitals. Everyone wanted to feel safe inside them, but in reality they were leaky sieves when it came to security.
“How hard is it to volunteer at a nursing home?” she asked Micah when they arrived on the telemetry floor.
“Not very. They’re always at my church asking for folks to go read or help out—and it’s on the list of school community service projects. Why?”
“There was this woman today at Emma’s nursing home. A volunteer, but she was the only staff member on the floor. She could have easily placed the bomb.”
“And given Emma that so-called birthday card to sign.” They quickened their pace down to Emma’s room.
When they entered, Morgan had half-convinced herself that she would arrive to find Kelly holding Emma hostage; or worse, a bomb strapped to Emma. Instead, they found Emma sitting up in bed enjoying a cup of butterscotch pudding. “I hear you, Morgan Ames. I’d know those footsteps anywhere. What’s got you so hot and bothered? And who’s your friend?”
“Just glad you’re feeling better,” Morgan lied. She gestured to Micah to join Emma. “This is Micah.”
“So this is the boy.” Emma’s knowing smile made Morgan blush. The older woman took one of Micah’s hands, tracing the lines of his tendons and then flipping it over to feel his calloused fingers. “Micah. Pleased to meet you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Micah said, obviously nervous.
“You’ve got strong hands, young man. Tell me how you and Morgan met.”
Morgan ignored them, searching the room for any possible explosives. No oxygen tanks; no unusual packages; nothing seemed out of place. The only sign of visitors were a vase of gift shop flowers with a card signed by Andre, Jenna, and Tim—obviously from Tim because Andre would never have gotten Emma cheap carnations and Jenna wouldn’t have thought of ordering flowers, not with her mind cluttered with the prospect of seeing her parents—and a box of cheap chocolates with no card sitting on the nightstand.
“Emma,” Morgan interrupted Micah’s story of when she’d gone undercover in the juvenile detention facility where he’d been held. “Who sent these chocolates?” They weren’t even sugar-free, so definitely not someone who knew Emma and cared about her, not with her severe diabetes.
“Kelly brought them when she came by to see if I was all right. You just missed her.”
Had the bomber gotten here ahead of them? Definitely possible, given how much time they’d spent dodging any tails. “Did she have anyone with her? A young man?”
“No, just herself. Said we both deserved a treat after the day we’ve had. Help yourself.”
Morgan stared at the box sitting on the bedside table right next to Micah and Emma. Was it safe to move?
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, holding her breath as she lifted the box. Nothing. Micah met her eyes and grimaced as she backed slowly away, heading into the bathroom.
“Morgan?” Emma called. “What’s wrong?”
Morgan closed the door. At least one small barrier between her and Micah and Emma. She placed the box into the sink and studied it. No plastic seal or ribbon, just a lid without any tape. Because it had been doctored? Should she call the bomb squad?
And tell them what? That her serial killer father had killed the wrong person, and now their loved one was after her? Exactly how would that end, other than with Morgan in some kind of custody and the bomber free to target anyone she wanted?
If Kelly was the bomber.
Micah knocked on the door then opened it. “Emma says Kelly unwrapped the box and took a piece while she was here. I found the plastic wrap in the waste basket.” He dangled a torn piece of cellophane before her.
“Did Emma eat any?” Nothing said a bomber couldn’t switch weapons, maybe to something like poison. Poisoning a blind woman? Easy as pie.
“No, I have to watch my sugar,” Emma called from her bed. “You know that.”
Then why didn’t Kelly? A real volunteer who cared about her charges and their health would have never brought a diabetic like Emma chocolates.
Morgan tipped the lid up. Twelve chocolates—no, eleven; one was missing. No bomb. “Emma, I’m tossing these out.”
“I was going to give them to the nurses, they’ve all been so nice. So you owe them. And you owe me an explanation. Andre said that mess earlier was because someone was after Jenna, but now I’m thinking it’s not about her or him. It’s you they want, isn’t it?”
Morgan emptied the chocolates into the trash, followed by the box, touching it as little as possible. She returned to Emma’s side and took a seat on the window ledge. Micah joined her. “That birthday card you gave me. Who got it for you?”
“I asked Kelly to pick it up for me. I told her to pick out something funny. Did you like it? I thought it was cute, the joke about a woman never telling her age, since you won’t tell anyone when your real birthday is.”
“You signed the card as well as wrote my name on the envelope?”
“Of course. Are you saying Kelly did something to the card? Was the twenty dollars in there? Did she steal it?”
“There wasn’t a birthday card in the envelope, Emma.”
The old woman’s eyes went wide as her lips pursed. “Kelly took your money and your card. Why would a grown woman do that?”
“Has Kelly ever asked you any questions? Maybe about Jenna and Andre? Or me and my father?” Emma was one of the few people who knew the truth about who Morgan really was. Although Morgan’s name hadn’t appeared in the media after she’d killed Clinton Caine and neither had her picture, the initial police report and hospital record had used her real name—until Jenna had gotten them to seal it, given that Morgan was a minor. But the damage had been done, and with enough time and persistence, someone could have tracked her true identity.
Emma shook her head. “No, Kelly never said a word about you. She asked what kind of work Andre did and how he got his scars. I don’t think she ever met Jenna at all. At least not that I can recall.” She frowned, thought for a long moment. “No. I don’t think Kelly did this—built that bomb, tried to blow us all up. Besides, she was right there with us.”
“The perfect place to be,” Micah put in. “If the goal wasn’t to kill actually anyone but rather to divide and conquer. After all, where are Jenna and Andre now? All the way across the country, in no place to help Morgan.”
Emma reached a hand across the bedrail toward Morgan. Morgan took it, squeezed it tight. “You should stay here with me,” Emma said. “No one’s going to get you here—you’ll be safe.”
Or she’d bring a killer to Emma’s bedside. No way. “Thanks, Emma, but I can’t. The bomber took my brother.”
“Then you need to go get him back. Take care of family.” She patted Morgan’s hand. “And take care of yourself. You hear me?”
“Thanks, Emma. I’m glad you’re feeling better. We’d best get going.” She nodded to Micah.
“Nice meeting you,” Micah said.
“You two be careful now.”
They left and walked toward the elevators. Micah said, “You know she’s going to be on to the phone to Andre, to ask him to come back.”
“I bet she was dialing before the door shut behind us,” Morgan answered.
“Do you really think that woman Kelly is behind all this?”
“She’s tall enough to be the person on the video from Jenna’s office. Building a bomb doesn’t take any physical strength, just knowledge and materials.”
“Both of which anyone can get thanks to the Internet.”
“Exactly. And Adam, he’d be much more likely to trust a woman than a man.”
“She’s obviously been planning this a long time. She could have wormed her way into his life gradually, and slowly built up trust.”
Morgan nodded. It all fit… except when she’d run Kelly’s background check, she hadn’t found any connection to her father. A simple criminal check would not have flagged friends or relatives who were victims of violent crime—but Morgan knew the names of all of Clint’s victims, and when she’d Googled their families earlier, she hadn’t found any mention of Kelly online or via social media.
“What’s next?”
“I need to find Kelly. See for myself.”
“You mean ourselves,” Micah corrected her.
Keeping him safe by keeping him near her was one thing—dragging him into the lion’s den with her was another.
Her phone rang before she could answer. “You have one chance to save your brother,” an electronically altered voice said. “First, ditch the boyfriend. Or Adam dies.”