“How'd you meet?”
A beat—not a hesitation exactly, more like a considered pause. “He needed someone. I was available.”
Morgan waited to see if there was more. There wasn't. She filled the subsequent lull in conversation by imagining possible scenarios, then stopped abruptly when she considered what kind of needs a man like her grandfather might have, because… yeah, she wasn’t going there.
Still, it made her realize how much she didn’t know about Frank. The Sullivans had been something of a taboo subject in her house growing up, including her birth father. She didn’t know much about him, either.
“It’s nice of you to come out here every day and do all this for him,” Morgan said eventually.
Donna made a sound that wasn't quite agreement and wasn't quite dismissal and reached for the cutting board. Her sleeve rode up as she extended her arm, and Morgan saw it—a pale, lateral scar along the inside of the forearm, the kind that was old enough to be fully healed but distinctive enough that it didn't read as accidental. Not a kitchen scar. Not a fall.
Donna set down the knife and drew her sleeve back down in one smooth, unhurried motion, as if she'd done it a thousand times.
Morgan looked back at the potatoes.
“There’s very little I wouldn’t do for that man,” Donna said quietly. It was the most unguarded thing Morgan had heard from her, and it was over as quickly as it came. Donna had already turned back to the cutting board, the door of further inquiry closing.
Morgan finished the potatoes and started on a second colander without being asked.
Her phone buzzedat half past ten. Morgan wiped her hands on the dishtowel draped over her shoulder and checked the screen.
Patrick:My uncle says he’s got something. Want to head over with me?
That was a big hell yes. She was on her feet before she'd consciously decided to stand, typing a response.
Morgan:Absolutely.OMW.
Donna was watching her from across the kitchen with that flat, observant gaze.
“I've got to go,” Morgan said. “Tell Frank I’ll be back later?”
Donna simply nodded.
No wonder they got along so well. Donna’s verbal economy was even tighter than Frank’s.
Patrick was waitingfor her when she arrived at his house a short while later. Climbing into his SUV now felt comfortable, almost familiar.
“Did he tell you what he found?” she asked as she buckled her seat belt.
“No. But it must be important if he wants us to drive out to his office.”
She wondered if Michael’s office was anything like Ian’s, then figured it probably was if he had access to the kind of equipment that could run non-standard tox panels.
“He’s okay with me coming along?”
“Yes. He wants to meet you.”
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Is that a good thing?”
Patrick’s mouth curved in that half-smile she’d become so fond of. “TBD. But for the record, I can’t imagine himnotliking you. You’re a lot alike, actually.”
“How so?”
“You both have a meticulous attention to detail. He, like you, won’t rest until he finds the answer he’s looking for.”
She almost smiled at that. Patrick really could read people.
They enteredthe hospital through a back entrance, bypassing the lobby and registration areas. Patrick led the way with a confidence that suggested he’d visited his uncle here many times.