She got her jacket.
19
HIGH TECH TOYS
MORGAN
Morganonce again found herself in the passenger seat of Patrick’s SUV. Like before, the ride was smooth and comfortable, even on the less-than-pristine back roads. It was another beautiful blue-sky day, the trees awash in brilliant colors, the grass and groundcover still vibrantly green in some areas.
Patrick drove with the quiet confidence of a man who knew the roads like the back of his hand, which he probably did. That was how he did most things, she’d wager. In fact, the only time she’d seen him slightly ruffled was when he’d appeared in the doorway of the guestroom and saw her packing.
Had he really been that concerned because she hadn’t answered his texts?
And why, like Frank waiting up for her, did that feel so… nice?
Was it simply because she wasn’t used to anyone paying close enough attention to notice—or care? She lived alone. Worked odd hours. Came and went as she pleased. No one worried if she didn’t answer a call or a text right away. Her mother got annoyed, sure, but that wasn’t quite the same thing.
Yet Patrick Callaghan—a man she barely knew—had driven all the way out to Old Miller Road because she hadn’t responded to his texts in a timely manner, and he had looked genuinely relieved to see her.
She addedcaringto attractive, intelligent, and charming on her Patrick Callaghan Attribute List.
He was different from anyone she’d ever met, and, she was loath to admit, intriguing enough that she hadn’t been able to push him completely into the background.
It was weird. He seemed so… familiar. Not familiar like she’d seen him before, but familiar like she knew him somehow. The way he spoke. The cadence of his words. How his mind worked.
She thought about DeepTrace's posts. The structure of them. The methodology. The specific way the questions were framed.
She thought about Patrick’s vague ‘I know people who know people.’
She thought about the way he’d so cleverly sidestepped her baited questions in the car outside the municipal building.
“You're DeepTrace,” she said. Firmly. Conclusively.
No shock. No confusion. Just a slight smile and a brief sideways glance and an equally conclusive, “And you're GraveDigger.”
Well.
“How did you figure it out?” she said.
“The way you talked about the scene at the IHOP. The questions you asked.” He paused. “GraveDigger posted almost the same things word for word the next morning.”
Damn it, he was right. Though in her defense, what were the chances that the cute bartender and the clever, insightful DeepTrace were one and the same?
Her mind replayed their last few encounters, ending with the most recent. “And my Halcyon slip confirmed it.”
“That too.”
Morgan looked at him. “I’ve been reading your work for years. You’re good.”
Another brief smile. “So are you.”
She looked back at the road. Two people in the same online forum, working the same case, in the same small town. Coincidence? Or something more than that? What had Patrick said? Something about believing in fate but not coincidence?
Before she went too far down that path, she said, “You know, if we'd compared notes sooner, we'd have gotten further on this case faster.”
His answer was a soft laugh.
Patrick reached out and tapped the dash screen. A moment later, a deep, resonant voice came through the speakers.