“WHERE TO?” MICAH asked as he steered his Ford Focus onto route 22 and drove away from the improvised police command post. Morgan was slouched down low below the dash, covered by her coat, strands of pink fiberglass itching. The coat had saved her from too much exposure to the noxious fibers and had protected her from the bits of drywall below the insulation. She might have a few bruises from her leap of faith but nothing worse. Except she’d lost one of her knives, her favorite CQC blade, during the fall.
Once they were past the two traffic lights with cameras, she climbed up onto the front seat and answered Micah’s question. “Anywhere there’s a parking lot.”
They weren’t that far from the mall—always a good place to go car shopping. Although this time of day, that usually meant the employee vehicles parked in the rear, far from any security. Morgan hated taking cars from worker bees just trying to earn. Not only did the owners miss them immediately, they were usually crap cars. Which was why she normally picked up cars from the airport long-term parking—also convenient for returns, not to mention free housing for the duration. Once she had the owners’ name and address, learning details of their itinerary was child’s play.
“There.” She pointed to the entrance to a warehouse store sitting in the middle of a shopping center. Not the best place to grab a new set of wheels, but there was an office building beside it with a small parking garage. After she left Micah, that’s where she’d head.
He made the turn, pulled into an empty parking space at the far edge of the lot where a few scraggly bushes posing as landscaping gave them some semblance of privacy.
“All that stuff back there,” Micah started. “Who were you running from? Why were the cops there?”
No sense hiding a truth he could learn for himself with thirty seconds and Google. “Those were the cops looking for Clinton Caine and the other escaped prisoners.”
“Clinton Caine? The serial killer?” He undid his seatbelt so that he could turn to face her.
Morgan thought about running—it was her default and usually served her well—but something held her back. She wished she knew exactly what it was and why she couldn’t ignore it.
“What’s Caine have to do with you? You didn’t cross his path during one of your cases, did you?” As far as Micah knew, Morgan was an emancipated minor working with investigators who put her especially youthful looks to good use by sending her undercover. Close to the truth but also so very, very far away.
She hesitated. Debated not answering. How far could she trust him?
“Morgan. Tell me the truth. I want to know. Everything.” His ice-blue eyes bore into her. He wasn’t asking a question, yet he was asking the most important question of all.
Morgan considered her response carefully. She knew what she wanted to say, knew exactly the words to use to convince him his suspicions were wrong. She had one hand on the car door, ready to bolt.
But then she turned to face him, pulling her knees up to her chest, so close that his face filled her vision—yet also very far apart, separated by far more than a gear shift. She wanted to trust him. Needed to trust him. With the truth.
Even if it meant losing him.
“Clinton Caine is my father.” The words hung between them, long enough that she imagined them sprouting devil’s horns and wings as they jeered at her. “He raised me. I’ve never been to school—not since third grade. Never been around kids or a mother or, really, not anyone at all. Except Clint.”
Micah was smart—especially about people. So it was no surprise he understood everything behind her words. His breath escaped him with a whooshing sound and he pulled both fists into his belly as if he’d been sucker punched. Despite the weatherman’s optimistic predictions, it was cold enough outside that their breathing quickly fogged the windows, creating a cocoon of intimacy.
“Clint didn’t want a daughter,” she continued, without mercy for herself or him. Funny, she didn’t feel hot or cold, not even scared. Just weary. Relieved she wouldn’t have to carry on this charade of pretending to be a normal human girl with normal human emotions.
“He wanted a partner,” Micah finished for her. “I read about him. About what he did.”
She nodded. Waited for him to run—it’s what she would do if their situations were reversed.
Micah didn’t run. He reached across the space that separated them, tugged at her hand, and pressed it to his heart. He felt so warm—or maybe it was simply that she was so numb.
“Those women he kidnapped and tortured. He made you part of that?”
“Yes.” The word sounded so tiny and harmless. But with it she surrendered everything. “He taught me how to fish—that was his word for it. Going fishing. Using me as bait. When I got good at that, he taught me how to do…other things to his precious little fish. He liked the way I could make them scream.”
She felt his body stiffen beneath her palm, absorbing the blow. “Did you like it?”
How to explain? “I liked being good at something. When Clint was happy with me, with what I did, it was as if God had reached down and handed me the whole universe wrapped in a ribbon. I lived to make him smile.”
“He conditioned you. Taught you.”
“Yes. But I think I’m also wired like he is. I’m not like normal people. Somehow I’m different inside. I don’t feel things the same way you do. I’m…empty.”
She blinked. That was something she’d never admitted before, not even to herself. She’d always told herself that being different meant being special, that not feeling made her superior to the sheep and fish that filled this world. But after meeting Micah, all that changed. Not who she was—that was hardwired. Rather, who she wanted to be.
It wasn’t merely that Morgan trusted Micah—she also trusted Andre but still never let her guard totally drop when she was around him. No. This was much, much worse than that.
Micah made her feel safe.
Except now he was shaking his head. It was too much for him. He’d be leaving her soon, she was certain.
“Did you,” he swallowed and started again. “Did you kill anyone?”
“Yes.” Her tone was as blunt as a two-by-four. “And I enjoyed it—it’s the one thing I’m good at.”
A frown pulled his eyebrows together and he turned to face her again, a hand on each of her elbows, gripping her tight. “No. Morgan, that’s not true. I understand—kinda—what you’re telling me. I can only imagine what it was like, growing up that way. But you can’t truly believe that. You’re so smart and brave and—look what you did when we first met. You saved my life. Not just mine. And you did it without killing anyone.”
Before she could protest, he pulled her in close and kissed her. It wasn’t as sweet as their first kiss, or as tentative. This time it was Micah telling her what he felt, what he believed but did not have the words for.
Morgan couldn’t help herself. She wrapped her arms around him, wanting more.
Finally they parted. She traced a finger along the scar on his neck, brushed his hair away from his face. “You should leave. Me. Now. Forever.”
“No.” He lay his hand over hers, pressing her palm against his cheek.
“Seriously. Micah. I’m selfish and impulsive, and I’ll always put my needs before anyone else’s, and I’m manipulative, and—”
“And brilliant and courageous and the strongest damn person I’ve ever met. Besides, you should know a few things about me.”
His eyes were like twinkling stars, and she couldn’t resist. “Oh, yeah? What’s hiding in that deep, dark past of yours, Micah Chase?”
“I’m a slob. I don’t put the toilet seat down. I like to argue and can see three sides to every debate, and I’ll take them all at the same time. I live inside my head and lose track of time and am always late. And I’m selfish.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “Extremely selfish. And stubborn. Once I find something worth hanging on to, I’ll never ever let go.”
He pulled her against his chest, his lips brushing the top of her head as she listened to his heartbeat. Faster than hers but steady and strong.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” she whispered.
Before he could answer, the door behind Morgan opened and a man hopped in, brandishing a pistol. “Don’t move, or Prince Charming here is dead.”