Missing Pieces
MORGAN
The property line ran along the tree line at the back of Frank’s lot.
Morgan had walked it twice already, her mind sorting, working, organizing thoughts into proper boxes.
It was a big lot, occupied by enough things to make it interesting.
Trees. Shrubs. An old outhouse surrounded by massive lilac bushes.
A shed. Two-story detached garage that may have once been a barn or a stable.
Shadow moved with her, a silent, dark companion. The dog had appeared sound asleep when she’d stepped out but had been at her side by the time the screen door swung shut.
She didn’t mind. The company was nice, and with him around, she could think less about her surroundings and focus on the important things.
She had a lot to process.
Like the dead guy who’d been captured at one of her crime scenes. Ian Callaghan’s in-home control center. Patrick—aka DeepTrace—bringing her into the fold and then taking her to lunch.
She felt… unsettled. Life was like a puzzle. Sometimes, it took a while to find the missing pieces before you had the whole picture. Today—hell, the last several weeks—were more like a series of puzzles, maybe connected, maybe not, and each one was missing critical pieces.
She pulled out her phone. Opened the forum.
Nothing new had been posted.
She put it back in her pocket and continued on. Reached the house, didn’t go in. Turned and walked the perimeter again, circling from puzzle to puzzle.
This time around, she was back to the dead guy, trying to piece together a timeline. Thanks to Halcyon, she knew he’d been present at one of her crime scenes. Had he been present at others? Why was he there?
Missing pieces.
Then she’d seen him in the parking garage at work, talking with her supervisor. Did they know each other? It had looked like they did. Was it a chance meeting, or a planned one? What were they talking about?
Missing pieces.
A man connected to her supervisor had been at a crime scene she’d refused to close, and then that same man had turned up dead on her family’s land while she happened to be in Pine Ridge on administrative leave.
Coincidence? Not likely.
She stood at the tree line, now a line of dark, overlapping silhouettes, and looked back at the house. The kitchen light was on, and she could see Frank’s silhouette moving behind the curtains. Darkness was falling earlier and earlier as they drew closer toward the solstice.
Or maybe she’d been walking the property longer than she’d realized.
She checked her phone again. No new posts on the forum. Nothing from Patrick.
She went inside.
Frank was at the kitchen table with a plate of whatever Donna had left for dinner, Shadow’s dish already filled and tucked in its spot by the back door. He looked up when she entered, Shadow by her side.
Morgan found a covered dish in the refrigerator with her name on a piece of tape in Donna’s handwriting. She stood at the counter for a moment, looking at it, appreciating the neatness and practicality of labeled servings.
“She’s very organized,” Morgan commented.
“Yep.”
Morgan warmed the dish and sat down across from him. Shadow scarfed his dinner in record time, then settled under the table between them, his head on Frank’s foot.
They ate in relative silence, Frank being one of the few people she knew who spoke less than she did.
She’d grown up in a house where silence was either loaded or hostile, her mother’s particular specialty.
Frank’s quiet was different. It was the quiet of someone who’d decided long ago that most things didn’t need commentary. They had that in common, it seemed.
“I met Jack Callaghan,” she said, when the bowl was half empty. “When I went to the pub, I mean. We had a nice conversation.”
Frank was still for a moment. Just a moment—the spoon didn’t pause, nothing in his expression shifted, but it was there. Then he took a slow drink of water and set the glass down.
“Jack’s a good man. What did you talk about?”
She looked at him. “The town, mostly.”
Frank nodded once, slowly, as if that made sense.
“You know him well,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“I do.” He turned his spoon in the bowl. “We did some work together, Jack and I.”
“What kind of work?”
The corner of his mouth moved. “The kind you don’t talk about.”
Morgan looked at her grandfather across the kitchen table. She thought about Ian’s back room. The way Ian had stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, comfortable. She thought about Patrick saying that his father, uncles, and grandfather had been Navy SEALS.
Had Frank been a Navy SEAL too? She filed it under “missing pieces.”
“They’re good people,” Frank said. “The Callaghans. Good family to have in your corner.”
He’d said it to be reassuring, but Morgan didn’t see it that way. “I’m not sure my corner is a good place to be. I’m worried about what I might have brought here. To your door.”
Frank looked at her steadily with those dark green eyes, the same ones she saw in the mirror every morning, his expression unconcerned. “Trouble’s been to my door before. It always moves on.”
She didn’t believe it was that simple.
She also, inexplicably, felt better.
Her room was dark and quiet when she finally went upstairs.
Shadow had followed Frank, but she knew he’d find his way to her by the time she brushed her teeth and slipped under the covers.
She’d become fond of the furry bed hog. His presence was comforting, though she would grumble and pretend she didn’t because that was their routine.
She sat on the edge of the bed and checked the forum.
Still nothing.
She checked her email. Checked the forum again. Reread the entire thread, looking for something she might have missed the first two dozen times.
She hadn’t.
She knew evidence didn’t process itself on a convenient timeline. Ian had said he’d reach out when he had something, which meant there was nothing to do but wait, and she was not—had never been, would never be—someone who waited well.
Having a personal stake in the answer made time pass even more slowly.
She lay back on top of the covers and looked at the ceiling.
Her thumb moved before she’d finished deciding to let it, hovering over Patrick’s number. Over DeepTrace’s personal number. She was still wrapping her mind around that one. But it tracked.
She’d been drawn to his posts from the moment she’d started reading them, appreciating his methods and insights. She hadn’t expected him to be so physically attractive though. Or so charming. Or so likeable.
She tapped the text icon.
Morgan: Any word?
She knew it was too soon. She knew he’d tell her if there was anything to tell. She knew it was nearly midnight and there was no professional reason to reach out to him.
She sent it anyway.
Then she put the phone on the nightstand, face up, and stared at the ceiling some more.
Shadow appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, right on schedule, and jumped up to settle against her legs. She moved her hand to his side without thinking about it. Maybe Frank didn’t let the dog in bed with him. Or maybe the beast sensed she needed something to pet.
She curled her fingers into Shadow's fur in a light, rhythmic scratch and waited.