And that grates almost as much as the threats Dorian insists exist.
Chapter
Four
Noah
Dinner at the kitchen counter is unexpectedly casual. I’ve spent a month trailing Alicia Morgan—DC office, New York office, always at a distance. Out of sight, out of mind. She’s been polite but resistant, clearly unconvinced she needs protection. This—sitting at her kitchen island with a bright, talkative twelve-year-old between us—wasn’t part of the plan.
This afternoon I touched base with Gabriel Martin, a recent addition to the KOAN team. He’s got a military and intelligence background and comes from a black ops group on the West Coast called Arrow Tactical. Said he wanted to make the move to the East Coast, so they pitched him on KOAN. He’s come to the East Coast for personal reasons, so when Hudson brokered the shift change, I took the night shift. It’ll free up Gabe’s evenings, and having my days open isn’t a bad thing. My dad’s in Jersey. Easier to get up there when I need to. We’re not always on the same page, but I still show up when it counts.
As it is, I’m here—listening to Stella walk us through The Crucible with the kind of intensity that suggests she’s not just playing a role, she’s inhabiting it. She talks with her hands, her voice rising and falling as she reenacts scenes I barely remember from school.
“I’m the bad guy,” Stella says, grinning. Pure joy at getting a part.
“The kind Captain America would go after?” She laughs, and when she does, Alicia lights up. All that time trailing her, and this is different—sparkling eyes, wide smile, relaxed.
“No. It’s far more subtle. No guns. I’m Mary Warren—she gets caught up in the witch hysteria and lies.” Stella leans forward, animated. “Can you imagine? Someone could just say ‘You’re a witch’ and if enough people agreed, you’d burn.”
“About as believable as a red-caped hero flying through the sky,” I say.
Stella grins. “Exactly. And you know what? It was all about land. The ‘witches’ owned property, and back then women could only inherit land if they were widows. Total land grab disguised as hysteria. Not that that’s what the play’s about. That’s more about jealousy. And hysteria. Arthur Miller didn’t touch the land aspect. He was more about the emotion.”
“Smart kid,” I say, glancing at Alicia.
“Too smart sometimes,” Alicia murmurs, but her pride shows.
“When is this play?” I ask as Alicia gets up and lifts her plate from the counter. I quickly push my stool back, aiming to help.
“The week before Thanksgiving.”
“Nothing like a lighthearted holiday play to kick off the holidays.”
“Oh, it’s not a holiday play,” Stella’s quick to correct me.
“I think he knows that, Stella,” Alicia says.
“Do you want to shoot hoops?” Stella asks.
“How much homework do you have?” Alicia asks, a hand on her hip.
“None. Got it all done at play practice.” She exhales with overplayed exhaustion. “It wasn’t even my scene, but I had to sit there the whole time anyway.”
“If you’re done…go.” Alicia catches my eyes, and behind Stella’s back, mouths, “Is that okay?”
She’s wondering if it’s okay for Stella to go out at night. We don’t have any reason to believe it’s not. Other than one declaration that an unknown group might go after Alicia, and a certainty there are several who won’t want her testimony public, we’ve uncovered no credible threats. She’s not on lockdown.
If anyone comes for Alicia, I expect it’ll be the same way they targeted her client—through blackmail. Or possibly with a calculated effort to undermine her business, and therefore, her credibility. We’re here in an abundance of caution.
As for going out tonight, I run the assessment: locked gate, no sightlines, me positioned between them and any approach. If anyone comes for Alicia or her daughter, it won’t be tonight with a street grab in her carport.
I meet her gaze and nod.
“Okay,” Alicia says. “But when he’s had enough, he’s done. Got it?”
Stella charges out as if she didn’t hear a word her mom said.
“You really don’t have to do this,” Alicia says before I slide out the door behind Stella.