Then again, they didn’t expect to be shot and killed with CIA toxins in the middle of a closed campground, either.
Regardless, there wasn’t much he could do about it until the next morning. The mountain was dark as pitch at night, and they had a better chance of destroying evidence than recovering it by fumbling around in the dark.
He considered texting Morgan and decided against it. Not because she didn't need to know, but because she needed to sleep, and there was nothing she could do tonight that couldn't be done better in the morning. Knowing her, she’d hike right out there with a flashlight and a pair of nitrile gloves.
And him, he’d be right there beside her.
Grandpa Jack had been right about that growing, almost feral desire to protect.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d talk to Morgan and tell her about the car. After he’d checked out the vehicle, he'd call Sean or Nicki and see about getting it to the garage for a more thorough go-over. Then he could broach the subject of Moretti and get Morgan’s take on Riley’s theory—without revealing Riley’s participation just yet. It would raise too many questions.
“Thanks, man.”
Wade nodded, grabbed the now-empty box and took it outside with Bruno at his heels.
Grandpa Jack had been right about other things, too. Like the fact that he had the makings of a great team right here in hishouse. Good men, who got along well and had each other’s backs without being asked. Each had his own set of skills that would come in damn useful.
Patrick grabbed a water from the fridge, turned off the kitchen light, and went upstairs.
The last thought he had before sleep was not about Anthony Varro or vehicles on logging roads or the suspicious situation in Philadelphia.
It was about a waterfall, and the woman who had chosen to press her lips to his, confirming what his gut had been telling him all along.
Yeah, he thought, settling into acceptance.
He could work with that.
He could definitely work with that.
27
TAG, YOU’RE IT
MORGAN
What had happenedat the waterfall yesterday shouldn’t have happened. It was that simple. Instead of processing the information with a calm, clinical approach, she’d allowed her hormones to get the best of her and kissed Patrick Callaghan.
Oh, but what a kiss it had been.
It hadn’t just been a meeting of lips; it had been a full sensory experience. The feel of his arms wrapping around her. The hard press of a well-built, lean, toned male body against hers, offering stability, protection, and a sense of comfort she’d never felt before. An inexplicablerightnessthat made no sense whatsoever.
She told her today-self that her yesterday-self was over-romanticizing it. That her reaction was a result of shock and fear from discovering that someone may, in fact, have beentrying to kill her, combined with Patrick’s proximity and ready availability.
Her yesterday-self countered with a very hearty and robust call ofbullshit. She’d imagined kissing him for a while now. The opportunity presented itself, and she took it.
Simple as that.
Except nothing about this was simple.
Frank joined her in the kitchen and grunted his version of a good morning before helping himself to the coffee she’d made. Donna appeared shortly after with her reusable grocery bags, the daily newspaper, and her no-nonsense approach to getting things done. Life went on as usual for everyone else, while she struggled to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.
Her phone chimed with an incoming message. She saw Patrick’s name on the screen and thought about pretending she didn’t see it. But that was a coward’s way of handling things. She was a grown woman. She didn’t back away from things that weren’t easy.
Which, her snarkier side reminded her, was what put her in Pine Ridge to begin with.
She looked at the text.
Patrick:New developments. Call me.