Important Things
PATRICK
There weren’t many instances when Patrick felt off, and almost never when he was tending at the pub. It was his second home. He felt comfortable here, surrounded by family, friends, and the townspeople he’d grown up with, doing something he enjoyed.
Tonight, however, his mind was on other things. Specifically, the moment beside the waterfall when Morgan Sullivan had risen onto her toes and kissed him.
His reality had shifted.
Literally shifted.
There was before, when he acknowledged the possibility of something, and after, when he knew.
“On your left,” Riley said as she came up beside him, pulled a draft, and expertly slid it in front of a patron three stools down.
When Patrick looked at her in question, she explained, “That guy’s been trying to get your attention for five minutes.”
“Thanks. I’m a little pre-occupied tonight.”
“No kidding,” Riley said with a smirk. “Does this preoccupation involve an MDI with dark hair and green eyes, by any chance?”
Since Riley already knew the answer, Patrick didn’t bother replying. Instead, he said, “I didn’t know you were tending tonight.”
“I’m not. I came in to talk to you, saw your poor, thirsty customers trying unsuccessfully to get your attention, and covered your ass. No need to thank me, by the way.”
His lips quirked. “Noted. Give me a sec.”
He approached his grandfather, who was sitting behind the bar at the far end, talking with some locals. “Grandpa, I’m going to take five, okay?”
Jack smiled and waved him off.
Patrick followed Riley into the corridor that led to the private family kitchen that was, thankfully, empty.
“Mom and dad are upstairs again,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes. Patrick knew exactly what she was referring to, because his parents were the same way, disappearing whenever the opportunity presented itself. Apparently, that was the way it was with croies, even after decades.
He reached into the fridge for the juice he knew would be there, and poured two glasses, one for each of them. It was rote at this point, the result of years of spending after school time together. Didn’t matter that they were in the latter half of their twenties.
“Okay. What’s up?”
She dropped her voice, even though they were alone. “I've been working the Philadelphia angle—specifically, the case Morgan refused to sign off on.”
His pulse sped up. “And?”
“Morgan wasn’t supposed to be working that case. She wasn’t even in the call rotation that night. A guy named Joe Moretti was. But for whatever reason, the dispatcher screwed up and called Morgan instead.”
Interesting, but he failed to see the significance. “Okay. So?”
“So… I did some checking into Joe Moretti. He’s been with the ME’s office for about forty years and closes more cases than anyone else in the department—often within hours of being called.”
Patrick had been doing research as well, so he knew that MDIs were not called to every death scene—just the ones that fell under the ME’s jurisdiction, like unexpected or unexplained deaths, violent deaths, and deaths that occurred in public places.
While some of those might be open and shut, a good portion of them required at least some investigation or the ME’s office wouldn’t have been contacted in the first place.
“You think Moretti’s rubber stamping the reports.”
Riley nodded. “Yes. I think he’s the guy they call when they want something pushed through quickly—which we both know Morgan wouldn’t do. It’s just a theory at this point, but numbers don’t lie.”
“I see where you’re going,” Patrick said slowly. “But where does Varro come in?”
“That, I don’t know yet, but there’s something there, I can feel it. I’m going to keep digging. Maybe one of our online friends will be able to find something on Varro we can use.”
“That would be useful,” he agreed.
She looked at him steadily. “But Patrick—if this is true, it could mean that Morgan was put on leave because she saw or found something that someone didn’t want her to.”
“I know,” he said, having come to the same conclusion. “And I think Morgan does now, too, after finding out about the saxitoxin.”
“The what?”
Right. He hadn’t had a chance to bring Riley up to speed. He gave her a quick rundown of what they learned earlier.
“Holy shit. Is she okay?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Morgan didn’t give much away. She was hard to read, even for him. “She's handling it.”
“That's not what I asked,” Riley said.
“I know,” Patrick said on an exhale. “But it’s all I’ve got. We’ve got her back.”
“Yeah, but does she know that?”
“She’s a smart woman. If she hasn’t figured it out yet, she will.”
The crowd thinned steadily as the evening wore on. Eventually, the older guys that had been talking with Jack said their good nights and went on their way. Jack stood, collected the coasters and the glasses, and brought them to the sink under the bar.
Patrick didn’t offer to do it for him. That was a mistake he’d only made once.
“You've been distracted tonight,” Jack said. Not accusatory. Just observational.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Patrick said.
“Do you now,” Jack murmured, amusement glittering in his eyes.
He tossed the bar rag in the bin, then sat back on the seat.
“It's complicated,” Patrick said. “There's a lot going on.”
“There always is. Doesn't make it any less true. For what it’s worth, she’s a good woman.”
“Who?” Patrick asked.
Jack grinned.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to another Callaghan man who’s been there.”
Right. His grandfather knew all about finding a woman who was the other half of your soul. He’d lost his decades earlier and was still as devoted to her as he’d ever been.
“Aye, you have the look. Your father tried to deny it,” Jack continued. “As did your uncles. That’s part of the process. You don’t believe it’ll happen to you, and then you meet her and she’s all you can think about.”
Yes, that sounded about right.
Patrick wiped down the already-clean bar for something to do with his hands. “I'm worried about her,” he admitted, after a moment.
“Of course you are.” His grandfather nodded slowly, making it sound like the most natural thing in the world. “That desire to protect her and see to her well-being is only going to get stronger. But I'll tell you something. There's no place safer for her right now than where she is.”
Something in the way he said it made Patrick look up. “You mean Pine Ridge? Or with her grandfather?”
“Both.”
“So you know about what’s going on?” Patrick asked quietly.
“Very little happens in Pine Ridge that I don’t know about,” Jack said matter-of-factly, then immediately changed the subject, a clear signal that there would be no more discussion on that topic. “How's the house coming?”
That, at least, was something Patrick could answer. “Slowly. But we’re getting there.” He gave Jack a brief overview of some of the work they were doing.
“Renovations take time,” Jack agreed. “But you’ve got good men working with you. That’s the key.”
“I couldn’t do it without them,” Patrick agreed.
“I’m not just talking about the house. I’m talking about what comes next.”
“Meaning… ?”
“The moving business served its purpose,” Jack said. “The pub shifts keep you connected. But neither one of those things is what you’re meant to do, is it?” He let that sink in for a minute. “Just think about it.”
“I will.”
Jack stood and put a hand briefly on Patrick's shoulder, the touch relaying several things without the need for verbalization.
“Go on, now. I’ll close tonight.”
“But—”
“Go. You’ve got more important things to do than hang around here watching the clock.”
Jack was right. He did.
Patrick found Wade at the kitchen table, working his way through a large pepperoni and cheese while Bruno waited patiently for the crusts. It reminded Patrick that he hadn’t eaten for a while.
He waved toward the box. “Do you mind?”
Wade pushed the pizza toward the center of the table. “Knock yourself out.”
Patrick slid into a chair and grabbed a slice.
He and Wade had been friends for a long time, which meant they didn’t feel the need to fill the space with unnecessary chatter.
They spoke when they had something to say.
Based on the fact that Wade was in the kitchen after midnight with a fresh pie, he had something to say and was waiting for the opportunity to say it.
They’d each downed two slices before Wade said, “I found the vehicle.”
Patrick paused. “Excuse me?”
Wade bit, chewed, swallowed. “The dead guy they found at the campground. I found his car.”
“Where?”
“Parked in the brush along an old logging trail about a mile southeast of the campground.”
“What makes you think it’s his?”
Wade shrugged. “Bruno and I walk that trail every couple of days. Wasn’t there before.”
Patrick set his pizza down.
“Silver sedan,” Wade continued. “No plates.”
“Did you report it?”
Wade scoffed. “To who? The Pine Ridge PD? What are they going to do beside ruin any evidence it might contain, just like they did at the campground?”
Patrick looked at the table. Had Wade found Varro’s missing vehicle?
He pulled up a map of the area on his phone. “Show me.”
Wade wiped his hands on a napkin, then took Patrick’s phone, swiped, zoomed, swiped again. Took a screenshot. Marked it with a red X. “Here.”
That vehicle might have some of the answers they were looking for, but Patrick wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Professional hitters didn’t leave evidence behind.
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 his house. 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.