Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Noah
The phone drags me from sleep at nine a.m. I check the screen—Hudson—and swipe to answer.
“Morning,” I say, voice rough. Night shift means I crashed around six after my perimeter check. Three hours isn’t enough, but it’ll do.
“You underwater?” Hudson asks.
I sit up, rubbing my face. Through the basement window, rain sheets against the glass. “Raining heavy. No flooding.”
The team agreed I’d stay on through the weekend, staying on site at Alicia’s, given everything that’s happened. Gabe’s on standby if I need relief, and Hudson flew in Jake, another teammate, for additional backup. But I’ve got it covered.
“Any signs of press?”
“Not yet. Alicia says the press doesn’t care about the person who found the body. Even if they cared, they aren’t standing on the curb in this weather.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Haven’t seen her yet today. But this week, she’s been strong. She’s got a daughter to put on a front for, though. Stella’s with her dad this weekend—but I’m not expecting a change.”
“Copy that,” Hudson says with a grimness that tells me he didn’t just call for a sit-rep.
“What’s up?”
“As you know, they determined on day one it’s a homicide.”
“Right. They found the digoxin residue on the coffee cup he was drinking from. Did they find fingerprints?”
“According to our source, only his.” He hesitates for a beat, long enough to put my senses on alert. “Alicia Morgan is now a person of interest in the investigation.”
I sit up straighter. “Because she found the body?”
“Possibly. But there’s more.”
“Gabe said the police spoke to her at her office yesterday.”
“They did.”
“At this stage, everyone who was around him that day would be a person of interest, right?”
“Has she mentioned that she knew Delacroix?”
“She said it’s a specialized industry—she knew of him.”
“He was also on her board of directors for Morgan & Company when she started it. Left in 2019.”
My gut tightens. Board member. Not just someone she “knew of.”
“Six years ago,” I say carefully. “That’s the kind of detail you offer up when police ask if you knew someone. And that makes her a person of interest?”
“My guess is it’s more how she answered the question when the police met with her.”
“If Alicia thought it was relevant, she would’ve mentioned it.” Even as I say it, doubt creeps in. She was evasive when I asked about him. I saw it in her eyes. Not sharing that with Hudson.
“The officer hasn’t filed a report yet, but when he does, we’ll see if we can figure out what she said that’s increased their interest in her.”
“That’s not public information, is it?”
“No. And I’m not sure how much longer our source is going to bend rules for us. But that PR firm they worked at together? It was small. Less than fifty people.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“If she didn’t have any experience with police investigations, I’d be inclined to agree with you. But she’s got a history of clients with police run-ins. Admittedly more of the DUI or possession variety, but…”
“Right. She’s got experience with guilty parties and police investigations. She’s got no experience with an investigation that has no leads.”
“Police might bring her in for more questioning. Tell her to be straight with them.”
“Should she get a lawyer?”
“I don’t think so.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “If it comes to that, my source should give a heads-up.”
“Copy that.” There’s nothing worse than cops without leads. “How’d the boss take it when you told her there’s been no movement on the Magpie case?”
We agreed in our team meeting yesterday that we have zero evidence of threats on Alicia Morgan related to the Magpie case.
“Caroline understands. She wants security in place through the congressional hearings—at least until after Alicia testifies. Once she testifies, Caroline believes she’ll be in the clear.”
“Got it,” I say.
“You good through the weekend?”
“Yes. Alicia canceled her social plans tonight. She’s planning to stay in during the deluge.”
“Anything changes, reach out.”
After the call, I work out, shower, and try to nap, but can’t. Person of interest. Board member. The pieces don’t fit what she told me.
I wait until lunch before heading upstairs, giving myself time to decide whether to bring it up.
Rain lashes the glass, a steady percussion confirming the storm hasn’t let up.
All the blinds are still down, so it’s dark.
The only lights are the motion-activated lights in the kitchen and a lamp beside the sofa.
The smell of coffee hits me before I see her.
She’s curled up on the sofa, a blanket pulled to her waist and a book in both hands.
Something about the image is disarmingly unguarded.
Not the version of her I’ve seen all week.
She looks up when I come in, one finger marking her page.
“Morning,” she says.
I nod toward the windows. “Rain’s not letting up anytime soon.”
“I know.” She tucks the blanket higher. “Good excuse to do nothing.”
When thunder rolls close enough to rattle the glass, she flinches, and for a second, I see the truth she’s been holding together all week. She’s uneasy.
“Do you need anything downstairs? I didn’t check—” Her legs hit the floor like something important has come up.
“Rest. I’m good,” I reassure her.
She slowly pulls her legs back beneath the throw, reluctant, like she’d rather not.
“You’re not used to staying still, are you?” I ask quietly.
Her smile’s faint. “No. Stillness gives you too much time to think.”
“You look comfortable,” I say.
“I can’t get into this book,” she admits, smiling faintly. “No meetings. No phone calls. Just rain.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please do.”
I pour my own cup and take the chair beside her. Outside, the rain pounds steadily, muting the world. I can’t pinpoint why, but I feel Stella’s absence in the house.
“Thanks for joining me,” she says softly. “It’s nice. Not being alone in a storm.”
The lamplight reveals her eyes, steady and searching.
“You’re not,” I tell her.
She holds my gaze for a moment, then looks away, back to her book. But she’s not reading. I can tell by the way her eyes don’t move.
I settle into the chair, coffee in hand. The rain is hypnotic—steady white noise that soothes.
“Can I ask you something?” I say after a minute.
Her eyes lift. “Of course.”
“Matthew Delacroix. Hudson said he was on your board when you started Morgan & Company.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in her eyes. “He was. Briefly.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“Creative differences.” She takes a sip of coffee. “He wanted the firm to focus on corporate damage control—oil companies, pharmaceutical litigation, that kind of thing. I wanted to work with individuals.”
“So you parted ways.”
“Yes.”
It sounds plausible. Professional. But there’s something she’s not saying—I can feel it in the careful way she’s choosing her words.
“When’s the last time you spoke to him? Before the conference.”
“A year, maybe longer.” She meets my eyes directly. “We didn’t stay in touch after he left the board.”
“But you recognized him immediately at the symposium.”
“It’s a small industry.”
I nod slowly, watching her. She’s good—answering every question without volunteering extra information. It’s exactly what I’d do if I were hiding something.
But I’m not going to push. Not today.
“Fair enough,” I say, leaning back.
She relaxes slightly, sinking into the cushions. “Are you asking because the police asked you? Or because you’re curious?”
“Both.”
“I didn’t kill him, Noah.”
“I know that.” And I do. Whatever secrets she’s keeping, murder isn’t one of them. “But the police are going to dig into every connection he had. You should be prepared for them to come back with more questions.”
“I will be.” She sets her mug down. “This is what I do, remember? I prepare people for hostile questions.”
“Yeah, but usually you’re on the other side of it.”
“True.” A faint smile. “It’s strange being the one who needs the coaching.”
“If you want to practice, I’m happy to play interrogator.”
She laughs—soft but genuine. “I think I’ve had enough interrogation for one morning.”
“Fair.”
The rain intensifies, drumming harder against the windows. She pulls the blanket higher, tucking it under her chin.
“This is the first Saturday in months I haven’t had plans,” she says, changing the subject. “It feels...odd.”
“Good odd or bad odd?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She glances toward the window. “Part of me thinks I should be doing something productive. The other part just wants to hide under this blanket until Monday.”
“Hiding under a blanket sounds pretty productive to me.”
She smiles. “Is that what you do on your days off?”
“I don’t get a lot of those.”
“When you do, though. What’s your version of hiding?”
I consider her question. “Running, usually. Long runs where I don’t think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other.”
“That sounds awful,” she says, but she’s grinning.
She’s grinning, and I find myself wanting to say something else just to keep it going. “You’re not a runner?”
“I was. In college. Now?” She gestures to herself, wrapped in a blanket. “This is more my speed.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Stella thinks I’m boring,” she says lightly. “She’s probably right.”
“You founded a company, manage high-profile crises, and raise a kid on your own. That’s the opposite of boring.”
“Tell that to a twelve-year-old who thinks I should let her watch R-rated movies.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that tracks. My sister was the same way at that age. Thought our dad was the most uncool person alive. Drove Dad insane.”
“Was he?”
“Uncool? Absolutely.” I grin. “But Maya got over it eventually. Now she calls him for advice on everything.”
“How old is Maya now?”
“Twenty-seven. She’s a nurse in Chicago. Stubborn as hell, heart of gold.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She is. Drives me crazy, but she is.”
Alicia’s expression softens. “It must be hard, being so far away from her.”
“Hmm. We talk. And I visit when I can.” I pause. “What about you? Any siblings?”
“No. Only child. My parents were older when they had me—I think I was a surprise.” She smiles faintly. “A happy one, but still.”
“You mentioned they died when you were fifteen.”
“Car accident. My grandmother raised me after that.” Her fingers trace the rim of her mug. “She was...formidable. Strict, but she loved me fiercely.”
“And she’s the one who pushed you toward Harvard.”
“She didn’t push—she expected. There’s a difference.” Alicia’s voice is fond. “She’d already lost her daughter. I think she was terrified of losing me too, in a different way. So she made sure I had every opportunity, every advantage.”
“Sounds like she did a good job.”
“She did.” Alicia’s quiet for a moment. “I wish she’d lived long enough for Stella to know her as she got older. She died when Stella was seven. Old enough to remember her, but not old enough to really know her.”
“That’s hard.”
“It is. Stella asks about her sometimes. I tell her stories, show her pictures, but it’s not the same.”
Thunder rumbles, distant now. The worst of the storm is passing.
“Do you have family photos around?” I ask. “I noticed the ones of Stella, but I haven’t seen any of your grandmother.”
“Upstairs. In my office.” She tilts her head. “Why?”
“Just curious. Trying to picture the woman who raised you.”
“She looked like Grace Kelly. That’s what everyone said.” Alicia smiles. “Very elegant, very composed. She wore pearls every day, even to the grocery store.”
“And your Cartier watch is like her pearls.”
She glances down at her wrist, surprised I noticed. “This was hers, actually. One of the few things I have left of her.”
She’s looking at the watch, not at me, and I take the extra second to study her face. I shouldn’t. I look away, toward the rain-streaked glass. “It suits you.”
“Thank you.” She’s quiet for a beat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why security? I know you said you wanted to stay stateside, but...why this specifically? You could’ve done anything.”
I lean back, thinking. “I like solving problems. And I like helping people who can’t help themselves. This job lets me do both.” What I don’t tell her is that when I was recruited for KOAN, they pitched it as more than security.
“That’s noble.”
“It’s selfish, actually. Makes me feel useful.”
She studies me with those sharp blue eyes. “I don’t think you’re as selfish as you pretend to be.”
If she met my dad, he’d set her straight. “Maybe not. But I’m no saint.”
“Good. Saints are boring.”
That makes me chuckle. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“Personal experience. I’ve worked with a few. They’re exhausting.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We fall into comfortable silence. The rain has softened to a gentle patter. Outside, the sky is still gray, but lighter now.
“This is nice,” she says quietly.
“What is?”
“This. Just...talking. Not about cases or police questions.” She looks at me. “Just talking like normal people.”
“We are normal people.”
“Are we?” She smiles, but there’s something wistful in it. “Sometimes I forget what that feels like.”
I understand exactly what she means. When your job, or your sense of worth, revolves around others—you can lose track of your own life.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I think you’re doing pretty well at normal.”
“Liar,” she says, but she’s grinning.
“Okay, maybe you’re slightly more put-together than normal. But that blanket is very relatable.”
She laughs—real and unguarded. I’ll take it.
The storm rolls on outside, but in here, it feels warm. Easygoing.
“Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.” She says it simply, without artifice.
The last time it mattered that I was somewhere, I wasn’t. I’ve been trying to square that ever since. I look toward the window. The rain hasn’t let up.
“So am I.”
She shifts on the couch, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say something else. Instead, she just pulls the blanket tighter and picks up her book.
But this time, when she opens it, I notice the faint smile.
I grab my phone and settle in, content to just sit here while the rain falls and the world outside stays quiet.
For the first time in weeks, there’s no rush. No immediate worry.
We’re just...here.
And that feels like enough.