Chapter 20 #2
“Bear and Derek used to run interference for me,” Lincoln continued.
“When I was a kid. I mean, they still do. But back then, they’d see me about to say something that would get me in trouble, and they’d distract the other person or change the subject or just physically steer me away.
” A ghost of something crossed his face—not quite a smile.
“Derek once tackled me to prevent me from telling our great uncle that his investment strategy was statistically likely to fail.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. He lost forty thousand dollars the following year.” The ghost faded. “But apparently there are social contexts where being right isn’t the point.”
“I never had someone to run interference for me.” She watched another mile marker pass. “Ms. Delacroix tried to teach me when to stay quiet. When to pretend I didn’t remember something so people wouldn’t feel threatened. But by then, I was already in high school, and the patterns were set.”
The name hung in the air between them. Ms. Delacroix. The letters. The reason they were driving into potential enemy territory.
“That’s why you stayed in Montana,” Lincoln said. “After you aged out. You wanted to be near her.”
“She’d retired to a little house outside Kalispell.
Close enough that I could visit on weekends.
” Morgan watched the mountains growing larger through the windshield.
“When I got the job at the Whitefish library, it felt like everything was finally clicking into place. I had work I loved. I had her nearby. I had a home that was actually mine for the first time in my life.”
“And then she died.”
“When I was twenty-two. Heart attack. No warning.” She kept her voice steady.
“I thought about leaving after that. Starting over somewhere new. But her letters were in my apartment. My books. The shelves I’d built myself.
It was the only proof that I’d existed somewhere, to someone, as more than a case file number. ”
She could feel him listening. That particular stillness he got when something mattered.
“I keep thinking about what happens if I can’t get them back.” Morgan’s voice dropped. “If Randall’s people destroyed everything. Or the police took it as evidence. Or—”
She couldn’t finish. The possibility was too vast.
“We’ll get them.”
The same words he’d said last night. The same certainty.
The miles passed. The landscape grew more familiar. Morgan found herself pointing out landmarks without meaning to—the diner where she’d eaten her first meal after aging out of the system, the turnoff to the hiking trail where Ms. Delacroix had taught her to identify wildflowers.
Lincoln listened to all of it. Asked questions. Not performing interest. Actually cataloging.
“Tell me about your parents,” Morgan said, somewhere between one landmark and the next.
“Blake and Quinn Bollinger, although Dad’s been called Baby his whole life.
” Lincoln’s voice warmed on the names. “He was dyslexic. Hid it from everyone and didn’t learn to read until he was an adult.
Thought he was stupid for most of his childhood because no one understood what was happening in his brain. ”
“That must have been hard.”
“He doesn’t talk about it much. But I think it’s why he was so patient with me when I was struggling with things other kids found easy.” Lincoln adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Social cues. Emotional recognition. Knowing when to stop talking. He never made me feel broken for not understanding.”
“And your mother?”
“Harvard professor. Brilliant. The kind of person who sees connections other people miss.” His expression shifted—softer.
“They shouldn’t work together. Everyone says that.
The dyslexic mechanic and the Ivy League academic—plus she’s nearly ten years older than him.
But they just…fit. She never made him feel stupid. He never made her feel cold.”
Morgan tried to imagine it. Two people from completely different worlds, finding a way to understand each other.
“They live in Florida most of the year now,” Lincoln continued. “But they’ll be back in Oak Creek soon. For Bear’s wedding. You can meet them. When they’re back.”
Morgan went still.
“I’ve never met anyone’s parents before.” The words came out smaller than she intended.
Lincoln glanced at her, puzzled. “Why not?”
“Because that’s what people do when—” She stopped. Started again. “When things are real. When there’s a future.”
She’d never been someone’s future. But she’d sat at that table at the Eagle’s Nest and watched his family make room for her without hesitation—Joy insisting Morgan eat the basket of fries, Bear’s easy grin, the way they’d simply expanded to include her. As if making room was what they did.
Lincoln was quiet for a moment. “They’ll like you. My mother will appreciate that you understand code structure and literary analysis. My father will just be happy I found someone who doesn’t think I’m strange.”
Morgan looked at him. At the sharp line of his jaw, the focused intensity of his gaze on the road, the hands that had held hers through the worst nights of her life.
“I do think you’re strange.”
He looked over at her. Uncertainty flickered across his face.
“I just like it,” she finished with a soft smile.
The uncertainty vanished. In its place, something raw. Unguarded. He held her gaze for a beat too long, and Morgan felt it land between them—the weight of what she’d said, what it meant, what they were becoming to each other.
He turned back to the road. But she saw his jaw relax. Saw his grip on the wheel loosen.
They drove in comfortable silence. The mountains loomed larger now, snow still clinging to the highest peaks. The road wound through passes Morgan had driven a hundred times before, back when this was just her commute. Back when her life made sense.
She saw the sign before she was ready for it.
Welcome to Whitefish - Gateway to Glacier
Lincoln’s demeanor shifted instantly. Shoulders tight. Both hands on the wheel, knuckles white. His eyes moving faster between mirrors. The time for interpersonal chatting was over.
“We’re in potential enemy territory.” His voice had gone flat. Hard. “We have to stay sharp.”
They weren’t two people on a road trip anymore.
They were targets.