Chapter 5
chapter five
Trenton
I'm still staring at the ceiling when I feel Morgan stir beside me. The moonlight cuts through our bedroom window, painting silver stripes across her sleeping face. Even in the darkness, I can make out the small furrow between her brows, the tension she carries even in sleep.
Matthew's arm is draped across her waist, his breathing deep and even on her other side.
The three of us have settled into the same arrangement we always find, her back curved into his chest, her head tucked under my chin, as though the years apart changed nothing about how our bodies remember each other.
But tonight feels different.
The image of Charlie Harris won't leave my mind, her too small shoes, the way she'd looked at her father when she thought no one was watching. The desperate way she'd hugged Morgan.
I've seen that look before. In Kandahar, on a boy who'd watched us search his father's house for the third time in a month, who handed me back a piece of candy like it could hurt him.
Morgan's breathing changes. I watch as her eyes flutter open, finding mine in the darkness.
"You're still awake," she whispers.
"Couldn't sleep."
She shifts, careful not to disturb Matthew. Her hand finds mine beneath the sheets. "Thinking about Charlie?"
I nod, though I know she can barely see me. "Something's wrong in that house."
"I know." Her voice is small, vulnerable in a way she rarely shows anyone but us. "But what can we do? He hasn't done anything illegal."
"Not yet." I turn to face her fully, our foreheads nearly touching. "But the way he looks at you."
"I've been careful," she assures me. "Never alone with him. Never giving him any reason to think—"
"It doesn't matter what you do," I tell her, keeping my voice low. "Men like that, they don't need encouragement. They create narratives in their heads."
Matthew stirs, his arm tightening around Morgan's waist. "Everything okay?" he mumbles, still half asleep.
"Go back to sleep," Morgan tells him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "We're just talking."
He drifts off again, his breath deepening. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, the complete trust in the way he surrenders to sleep beside us.
"When did it start?" I ask Morgan. "The feeling of being watched?"
She's quiet for a long moment. "About two months ago. Small things at first. Papers on my desk moved, my coffee mug not where I left it."
My jaw tightens. "And you didn't tell us?"
"You were on deployment. What could you have done?" Her fingers trace patterns on my chest. "Besides, I wasn't sure. It could have been the cleaning staff, or one of the other teachers."
"You knew it wasn't."
She sighs. "I suspected. But I didn't have proof."
"We have proof now." I think of Evan's face when he saw us at the day care. The momentary shock, though quickly masked. "He didn't expect to see us there."
"He asked about you," Morgan says. "When I told him you were my partners, his whole expression changed."
The possessive anger I'd felt at the clubhouse returns, a red haze at the edges of my vision. I've spent six years learning to control my rage.
"We need to be smart about this," I say, forcing calm into my voice. "We can't just go in swinging. We need to know who we're dealing with."
Morgan's hand stills on my chest. "What does that mean?"
"It means Greyson's on it. The club will find out if there's anything in his past: restraining orders, accusations, anything. We'll know what he's capable of."
"And if there isn't?"
"Then he sees us," I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "He sees you're not alone. That's our first move."
She's quiet for a long time. "He preys on people who are alone," she whispers. "Like Charlie."
"Like Charlie," I agree, the name settling like a stone in my gut. Sleep is impossible after that. I lie awake until dawn, mapping out the day ahead, my mind already working through possibilities, contingencies.
By the time Morgan and Matthew stir, I've formulated a plan.
"We'll take two cars again," I tell them over coffee. "I'll drive Morgan to work. Matthew, you meet with Greyson, see what he's found out."
Matthew nods, his face serious. "And if Evan shows up?"
"We handle it," I say simply. "But carefully. We can't give him anything to use against us."
Morgan pushes her breakfast around her plate. "What if he does something today? While you're gone?"
I take her hand. "I'll stay until Matthew gets there. We won't leave you alone."
The drive to the day care is quiet. Morgan stares out the window, her thoughts clearly heavy.
"What if we're wrong?" she asks finally. "What if he's just an awkward single dad who doesn't know how to interact with women?"
I glance at her. "Do you believe that?"
She's quiet for a long moment. "No."
The day care looks different in the morning light, still colorful, still welcoming, but now I see the shadows, the blind spots, the places where someone could watch without being seen.
"I'll walk you in," I say, parking the truck.
Ms. Davis is waiting at the entrance, her expression tight with concern. "Morgan, Trenton, I was hoping to catch you before the day starts."
"What's wrong?" Morgan asks immediately.
Ms. Davis glances around, lowering her voice. "Evan Harris called this morning. He's pulled Charlie from our program. Effective immediately."
Morgan's face pales. "What? Why?"
"He didn't give a reason. Just said he'd found alternative childcare arrangements." Ms. Davis sighs. "I'm so sorry, Morgan. I know you were concerned about Charlie."
I exchange a look with Morgan. This is bad. If Evan is removing his daughter from the school, he's either planning or running. Neither option is good.
"Did he say where he was taking her?" I ask.
Ms. Davis shakes her head. "Just that he'd send for her records. I tried to convince him to reconsider as Charlie has been thriving here, but he was quite firm."
Morgan's hand finds mine, her fingers cold. "Thank you for telling us."
As we walk to her classroom, I can feel the tension radiating from her body. "This is my fault," she whispers. "If I hadn't said anything—"
"Stop." I turn her to face me. "This is not your fault. This is his reaction to being challenged to realizing you're not alone."
"But Charlie—"
"We'll find her," I promise, though I'm not sure how. "Greyson's connections extend to the school system. If he's enrolled her somewhere else, we'll know."
Morgan nods, but the worry doesn't leave her eyes. "I just keep thinking about those too small shoes."
I pull her into my arms, feeling her tremble against me. "We'll figure this out. Together."
The classroom is empty when we arrive, the children not yet dropped off for the day. Morgan moves through her morning routine, preparing activities, setting up learning centers, but her heart isn't in it.
I help where I can, my mind already working through scenarios.
My gut twists. He's isolating her. That means he's either running or getting ready to make his move.
Matthew arrives just as the first wave of children are being dropped off, his expression serious. "Greyson's place. Now."
I look at Morgan. "Can you handle the class alone for a few minutes?"
She nods, already moving toward a little girl who's crying at the door. "Go. Find out what's happening."
The atmosphere in Greyson's office is tense enough to suffocate.
"We found something," Greyson says without preamble as we enter. "Evan Harris has a record."
Matthew leans forward. "What kind?"
"Stalking charges. Three different women over the past eight years." Greyson slides a folder across the desk. "All dismissed. All settled out of court with NDAs."
I open the folder, scanning the police reports. The pattern is clear: Evan fixates on a woman, begins with "innocent" contact, escalates to following, breaking into homes, and leaving gifts."
"The last one was two years ago," Greyson continues. "A teacher at his daughter's previous day care. She moved across the country after the charges were dropped."
My stomach goes very still. "He's done this before."
"Looks like it." Greyson's expression is hard. "The pattern is the same. Single father, charming at first, then the obsession begins."
"Where is he now?" I ask.
"We're working on that." Greyson checks his phone. "Techy's monitoring his credit cards and phone records. But he's smart. Cash transactions, burner phones."
Matthew runs a hand through his hair. "And Charlie?"
"No school transfers yet," Greyson says. "Which means he's either keeping her home or using a private arrangement."
I think of those too small shoes once again, the desperate way Charlie had clung onto Morgan. "We need to find her. Today."
Greyson nods. "The club's on it. We've got eyes on his house, his workplace, his usual haunts."
"The day care's a dead end now," I say, standing. "He won't go back there."
"Which means his focus has shifted," Matthew adds. "If he can't access Morgan at work, he'll try elsewhere."
The air rushes from my lungs. Our house. The home we've just begun to build together.
"We need to get back to Morgan," I say, already moving toward the door. "Now."