Chapter 45 Damian
Damian
The second breadcrumb led us to the outskirts of an old industrial park. Cyclone swore the timing lined up with chatter he’d intercepted—something big moving through here. But before we rolled out, he turned from his laptop with a look that said he had more on his mind than data.
“You know what’s been bugging me?” he asked.
River groaned. “Do I want to know?”
Cyclone looked straight at me, then at the others. “What if all this—these breadcrumbs, the notes, even the damn recorder—is her way of stockpiling material? What if Morgan’s just… writing it into a book?”
River barked a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be something? Us, bleeding and sweating our asses off, and she’s sitting there writing chapter titles.”
I frowned, the muscle in my jaw ticking. “If she’s using this for a story, we shut it down. This isn’t fiction. It’s real. And it’s dangerous.”
We drove for a few hours and found her at the cottage, awake, the recorder sitting right there on her desk like an accomplice. She jumped when she opened the door, guilt flickering across her face before she straightened her shoulders.
I crossed my arms. “Tell me straight, Morgan. Is this—everything you’ve been sending us—just research for your next book?”
Her eyes widened. “What? No! I would never—” She stopped, sighed, and then a smile tugged at her lips despite the tension in the room. “Besides… I switched genres.”
River blinked. “Genres?”
Morgan nodded, almost sheepish. “Cozy mysteries. Small towns, quirky neighbors, cats who solve crimes. No traffickers, no guns, no—you guys.”
The room went silent for a beat. Then River let out a low whistle. “Well… thank God for cats.”
Cyclone muttered, “Unbelievable,” but I saw the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only she heard. “You promise me, Morgan. None of this—what we’re doing now—goes into a story.”
Her gaze locked with mine, steady and sure. “I promise, Damian. This isn’t about a book. It’s about keeping Ruby safe. And maybe… keeping you safe, too.”
My chest tightened. She meant it. And for the first time since leaving her at this cottage, I believed her.
Cyclone’s laptop beeped again, sharp in the quiet. He glanced down, then back up, his expression all business. “Third breadcrumb. And this one… looks big.”
I squeezed Morgan’s hand once before letting go. “Then we follow it.” I bent my head and kissed her goodbye. This kiss was different. I turned her in my arms and held her tightly. “I’ll return soon, love. This is the last breadcrumb; it’s not safe.”