Chapter 9 – Morgan #2
"Maybe." Pierce looked at me directly. "But there's something else. The responding officers noted that Torrino seemed... confused about what had happened to him. He kept insisting someone else was in that alley, someone who attacked him."
My mysterious savior with the professional training and the ability to disappear into shadows.
"Did they find evidence of another person?" Atticus asked.
"No physical evidence, no. But Morgan, did you see anyone else in that alley?"
You mean besides my very dead husband? “No. Not really.”
My mind locked on the figure in the shadows, the way he'd moved with deadly precision. The way the mugger had been taken down with surgical efficiency.
"I thought I saw someone," I said carefully. "But it happened so fast, and I was focused on getting my purse back."
And trying not to get killed.
"Can you describe what you saw?"
"Not really. It was dark, and everything happened quickly." I twisted my hands in my lap. "I heard the sound of the mugger going down, and when I got there, he was unconscious and my purse was beside him."
Pierce made notes on his tablet. "So we have an unknown Good Samaritan with enough training to incapacitate an armed assailant without causing permanent damage."
Training. There's that word again.
"Is that significant?" Gwen asked.
"Could be." Pierce looked around the room. "The timing is interesting. Morgan gets mugged by someone operating outside his normal pattern, and gets saved by someone with professional-level fighting skills."
Professional-level fighting skills.
Something cold settled in my stomach. Because I knew someone with professional-level fighting skills. Someone who moved like a shadow and struck with surgical precision.
"What are you suggesting?" Atticus asked Pierce.
"I'm not suggesting anything concrete yet. But we haven’t seen Hector in a minute, and he’s a wild card. I think we should treat this incident as more than a random street crime."
More than random.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning someone might be watching you. Testing your security."
Someone watching me. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I’m no one. Lance is gone. There is nothing to gain from coming after me.”
Dr. Chen's words about hypervigilance after trauma echoed in my head. But maybe it hadn't been hypervigilance at all. Maybe those invisible eyes I'd been feeling were real.
"You're Lance’s widow," Pierce said simply. "That alone makes you interesting to certain people."
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We increase your security," Pierce said. "We vary your routines, limit your exposure, maybe consider relocating—"
"No." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "I'm not running from shadows and maybes. I'm not going to live my entire life afraid of threats that might not even exist."
Because that's not living. That's just surviving. I was tired of that.
"Morgan—" Atticus started.
"No, listen to me." I stood up, needing them to understand. "I know you're scared. I know you want to protect me. And I love you both for caring enough to worry."
Even if it's suffocating sometimes.
"But I can't live in a cage, even a beautiful cage with people who love me. I won't dishonor Lance's memory by being so afraid of dying that I forget how to live."
He wouldn't want that for me.
The room was quiet for a long moment. Even Ava had stopped fussing.
"What are you asking for?" Gwen asked finally.
Freedom. Space. The right to make my own choices.
"I want to go home. To the loft. With reasonable security, one bodyguard, not an army. I want to grieve my husband in the place where we were happy."
Where everything still smells like him.
"I don't like it," Atticus said quietly.
"You don't have to like it. You just have to trust me to be smart."
Another long pause. I could see him running calculations, weighing risks, trying to find a compromise that would keep everyone safe and sane.
Family is complicated. Love is complicated.
"Increased security at the loft," he said finally. "Panic button installation. Daily check-ins with Pierce's team."
Negotiation. I can work with negotiation.
"One bodyguard during the day, security system at night," I countered.
"Two bodyguards. And the panic buttons are non-negotiable. Give Pierce’s men a week to upgrade the loft’s security first.”
Two bodyguards and panic buttons. For one grieving widow.
"Deal."
Pierce cleared his throat. "If I may suggest, we should also look at Morgan’s recent activities. See if there's anything that might have drawn unwanted attention."
“Nothing to report. I’ve left the penthouse to go to the co-op and therapy. That’s it. Amber and I went to lunch at the place next to the co-op yesterday. Other than that, my movements have been bed, couch, kitchen, and Ava’s baby mat. I keep it pretty simple.”
"Okay, I'll do an analysis of what you have at the loft, then make a plan. I'll run it by you to make sure you're comfortable."
"See Big Brother Robot, this is what it looks like to be reasonable."
The corner of Atticus's lips lifted. "You forget I know Pierce. He means to fortify the loft with bulletproof glass. It'll be a fortress."
When I turned my shocked look to Pierce, all he did was shrug.
Fantastic, I was swapping one fortress for another.