No one came to Frank’s house except Donna, and she’d already come and gone.
She went to the door because her grandfather was putzing around out in the old barn, and promptly sucked in a breath when she saw who it was.
It was him.
He was halfway up the path. Dark hair, blue eyes, the same air of ease he’d had in the café. He was wearing a jacket with his hand already moving toward the pocket, which meant he'd put the pieces together much quicker than she’d anticipated.
She found that irritating… and intriguing.
He produced the notebook and waved it in the air.
Morgan looked at it. Looked at him. A beat passed, long enough to be a tell but not a conscious choice, before she took it, turned it over once to confirm what she already knew, and looked back up at him.
“Where did you find it?” she said, knowing exactly where he had found it.
The corner of his mouth moved. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make her heart skip a beat.
“Somewhere it probably shouldn't have been.”
She crossed her arms. Lifted her chin slightly. “I was taking a walk.”
“Sure.” He said it without inflection, which was somehow worse than if he'd said it with sarcasm.
Shadow chose this moment to arrive at her side. Morgan had been secretly hoping he'd bare his teeth and growl menacingly or do something equally territorial that would shift the dynamic and give her an excuse to step back and close the door. Instead, the uncooperative beast sat down next to her and looked on in interest.
Morgan made a mental note to have a conversation with him later about whose side he was on.
The man lookedat the dog. Something in his expression softened slightly. “Yours?”
“My grandfather's. How did you know this was mine?”
He returned his attention to her, his eyes showing far more interest than she felt comfortable with. That slight curve to his lips grew. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
She held his gaze. He held hers. She was, she noted with some annoyance, going to have to be careful here.
“You're not from the sheriff's office,” she guessed.
“No,” he confirmed.
“Press?”
His brow furrowed, communicating what he thought of that. “No.”
“Then maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t have been there,” she said.
“Maybe I was taking a walk too,” he said easily.
Touché.
She heardFrank before she saw him and had about two seconds to decide how she was going to handle this.
Frank appeared in the doorway behind her.
He looked at Patrick with that direct, unflappable way that gave nothing away.
“You're one of Jack's,” he said. Not a question.
The man’s composure shifted. “His grandson. Patrick Callaghan.”