Something moved in his expression. Knowledge, maybe. Maybe acceptance.
Morgan took a moment to process that. Frankcared, in his own way.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Donna said.
“Thank you.”
Morgan poured a mug and sat down at the table. Donna slid a plate in front of her. Shadow, who noticed that the bacon was now in front of Morgan, relocated appropriately.
“Thank you.”
Donna nodded.
Frank folded the paper and pushed back from the table.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Morgan asked.
“Ate an hour ago,” Frank said. “I’ll be out back.”
The back door opened and closed. Through the screen door, she watched him cross the yard toward the woodpile, moving at the unhurried pace of a man who lived life his own way and left others to do the same.
Morgan wasn’t the only one watching Frank. Donna was watching him too. For just a moment, her carefully guarded expression dropped, and she looked at Frank with the keen eyes of a woman whocared.
There’s very little I wouldn’t do for that man.
Something niggled at the edge of Morgan’s brain. The inkling of an idea, not yet fully formed.
As she ate breakfast and sipped coffee, Morgan surreptitiously watched the way Donna moved around the kitchen. Deliberate, economical, nothing wasted. The way her eyes swept over the yard each time she passed a door or window, not just looking where Frank was chopping wood, but scanning the treeline and beyond. The way she carried herself—not with the careful posture of a woman who’d been told to stand up straight, but the unconscious alignment of someone whose body had been trained to it.
Morgan thought of the scar on her forearm, visible only in brief flashes as Donna chopped and cooked and washed. Of the calm capableness that spoke of a woman who could and would do anything a situation required.
Suddenly the pieces came together.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Morgan asked softly.
Donna went still.
She exhibited no confusion as to what Morgan was talking about. No flinch of surprise or the sharp inhale of someone caught off guard. Just… still.
“You killed Anthony Varro,” Morgan clarified.
Donna turned. Her eyes met Morgan’s directly. Steady. Unafraid.
No denial. No excuse.
“Why?” Morgan asked.
“Frank cares about you,” Donna said matter-of-factly. “And I care about Frank.”
Nine words. Nine words that said everything.
Morgan held her gaze and understood. Her whole career was built on reading what evidence said and what it didn’t say. The threat had been identified and subsequently neutralized. The action had been taken.
There were other questions. So many other questions. But at that moment, Morgan couldn’t bring herself to ask them. Not yet. Maybe never.
“Thank you.”
Donna turned back to the stove without acknowledgement.