“Now, he’s a bartender.”
“Like you.”
“Yes.”
It appeared his trust only extended so far. Perhaps he was waiting to see what she did with it before he revealed more. Or perhaps, this was all she would get. That last thought was disappointing.
She sipped her iced tea, taking a moment to appreciate how good it was. “That's where you get it from, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your digital skills. The pattern recognition. Your ability to ferret out information.”
Patrick glanced at her. The corner of his mouth moved. “Some of it.”
She looked out the window. The blue sky was darkening, turning into more of a slate that hinted at a potential storm.
She thought about the half-packed bag on the floor of the guest room at Frank’s place, reevaluating her earlier plan of leaving Pine Ridge and heading back to Philly in search of answers.
She might discover more if she stayed.
She looked across the table at Patrick, studying her with those blue eyes.
A lot more.
20
A VESTED INTEREST
PATRICK
Patrick madethe drive from Frank’s back to his place on autopilot. It was a good thing he knew the roads as well as he did, because his mind was busy processing and replaying the events of the day. Case developments. The unnerving sense that Morgan was in danger. Driving out to Frank’s and finding her packing her bag, as if she thought to leave. The forum reveal. Taking her to his parents’ house. Lunch.
Of those, the impromptu lunch was foremost in his thoughts. It hadn’t been DeepTrace and GraveDigger working through the case over a meal. It had been Patrick and Morgan on the cusp of something else. Something that had nothing to do with dead bodies or investigations or mutual, professional respect and admiration.
No, what Patrick was feeling was a different kind of admiration entirely. One that involved watching her as she studied the menuwith the same focused attention she brought to everything else. The pleasant rush he’d felt when she’d looked up, caught him watching her, and hadn’t looked away. The way the afternoon light had come through the window, highlighting the auburn streaks in her dark brown hair and making her deep green eyes appear to glow from within.
That was a lot to unpack.
On top of that, he was now fighting the urge to turn the SUV around, drive right back to Morgan, and keep her close until they got some answers.
Morgan was in danger. He couldfeelit in his bones.
Declan wason the front porch when Patrick came around the side of the house, crouched over a section of railing with a heat gun in one hand and a scraper in the other, working paint off the turned spindles with methodical focus. Three spindles done, the rest still showing layers of old white going back decades. Probably to the original build.
Manual labor sounded like exactly what he needed.
“Give me five minutes to change and I’ll help.”
When he returned a short while later, Patrick looked at what had been accomplished and what hadn’t, grabbed the second scraper from the drop cloth, and crouched down at the far end.
“Well?” Declan said.
“Well, what?”
“Did you get what you needed from the morgue?”
Right.
“Yes, and then some. Morgan examined the body and?—”
“Morgan?” Declan said, pausing in his scraping.