A Vested Interest
PATRICK
Patrick made the drive from Frank’s back to his place on autopilot.
It was a good thing he knew the roads as well as he did, because his mind was busy processing and replaying the events of the day.
Case developments. The unnerving sense that Morgan was in danger.
Driving out to Frank’s and finding her packing her bag, as if she thought to leave.
The forum reveal. Taking her to his parents’ house. Lunch.
Of those, the impromptu lunch was foremost in his thoughts.
It hadn’t been DeepTrace and GraveDigger working through the case over a meal.
It had been Patrick and Morgan on the cusp of something else.
Something that had nothing to do with dead bodies or investigations or mutual, professional respect and admiration.
No, what Patrick was feeling was a different kind of admiration entirely.
One that involved watching her as she studied the menu with the same focused attention she brought to everything else.
The pleasant rush he’d felt when she’d looked up, caught him watching her, and hadn’t looked away.
The way the afternoon light had come through the window, highlighting the auburn streaks in her dark brown hair and making her deep green eyes appear to glow from within.
That was a lot to unpack.
On top of that, he was now fighting the urge to turn the SUV around, drive right back to Morgan, and keep her close until they got some answers.
Morgan was in danger. He could feel it in his bones.
Declan was on the front porch when Patrick came around the side of the house, crouched over a section of railing with a heat gun in one hand and a scraper in the other, working paint off the turned spindles with methodical focus.
Three spindles done, the rest still showing layers of old white going back decades. Probably to the original build.
Manual labor sounded like exactly what he needed.
“Give me five minutes to change and I’ll help.”
When he returned a short while later, Patrick looked at what had been accomplished and what hadn’t, grabbed the second scraper from the drop cloth, and crouched down at the far end.
“Well?” Declan said.
“Well, what?”
“Did you get what you needed from the morgue?”
Right.
“Yes, and then some. Morgan examined the body and—”
“Morgan?” Declan said, pausing in his scraping.
“Frank Sullivan’s granddaughter.”
Declan straightened. “And she’s involved because…?”
“She’s a medicolegal death investigator.”
“I didn’t realize Pine Ridge had one of those.”
“We don’t. She works for the Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office.”
“The locals pulled someone in from the outside?”
“Not exactly. She’s just visiting.”
Declan exhaled. “Let me guess—you smiled at her, said something charming, and she offered to help you out of the goodness of her heart.”
“Actually, she dumped coffee on me the first time we crossed paths,” Patrick said, smiling at the memory.
“She’s the out of towner that spilled coffee on you and blew you off?”
“Yep.”
“I like her already,” Declan rumbled. “So what changed?”
Patrick’s smile faded. “She’s got a vested interest in this one. The dead guy? She’s seen him before—at a crime scene in Philly.”
“That tracks. No one around here knows anything about the guy. Got an ID?”
“Working on it. Thanks to your contact, Morgan was able to get photographs and obtain information that should have been in the official report and wasn’t—including an injection site they either missed or chose not to see.
We took the prints over to my dad this morning, and Uncle Mick will run the hair sample for DNA. ”
Declan whistled softly. “Hell of an update there, man.”
“Yeah.”
Declan returned to the heat gun.
They worked the railing steadily, the old paint coming up in curling strips, the wood beneath showing itself to be in better shape than it looked. The porch boards needed replacing in two spots, but the beadboard ceiling above them was still in great shape.
“You like this girl,” Declan said matter-of-factly.
“She reads scenes the way other people read text.” Patrick worked a stubborn patch of paint loose. “The pattern recognition, the analytical work. She’s better at the physical evidence side than anyone I’ve worked with.”
“Not what I meant, but we’ll pretend it was if it makes you feel better,” Declan said with a smirk. “Too bad she’s just visiting. Sounds like she’d be a useful resource for someone looking to build an investigative practice.”
Patrick didn’t like thinking about Morgan returning to Philly, and not simply because it might be dangerous for her to do so. She belonged in Pine Ridge. He felt it in his bones.
He sat back on his heels. “The digital infrastructure is where the real edge is, especially when you have a family like ours. You don’t need a building full of people if you have the right tools and the right eyes.”
“We’ve got the tools.”
“We’re getting there,” Patrick agreed.
They’d need to do some paperwork to make it official. Set up an LLC. Apply for licenses. All doable things, well within reach.
What they didn’t have was someone who could read a situation and read it the way Morgan could. Someone who knew enough to know exactly when things didn’t add up.
Declan picked up the heat gun again. Said nothing.
Patrick’s phone buzzed on the drop cloth. Riley.
Riley: How did it go? Don’t say FINE
Patrick: Fine
Riley:
Patrick smiled. Getting an angry emoji from Riley so quickly felt like a personal achievement.
Patrick: It’s all good. Left everything with dad
Riley: And?
Patrick: And what?
Riley: PATRICK. What. About. Morgan?
Patrick: She came with
Riley: You showed her the inner sanctum?
Patrick: Yep
Riley: How did she react?
Patrick: Like a pro. We had lunch after
The pause was longer than he expected. When Riley responded, he could hear the exact tone she’d used to type it:
Riley: Lunch? You mean like a date?
Patrick: If you want to label it that way, sure
Riley: Did you tell her that you’re DeepTrace?
Patrick looked beyond the porch, reliving that moment in the car when she’d clocked his online alias.
Patrick: Didn’t have to. She figured it out
Riley: On her own?
Patrick: Yes
The longest pause yet.
Riley: She’s the real deal
Patrick: Way ahead of you
He set the phone down. Declan handed him the heat gun without comment and picked up the second scraper.
The rest of the afternoon passed in comfortable silence. It was dirty, sweaty work, but the mid-October breeze kept things bearable. Patrick had the night off, so they were able to complete a whole section before Declan went in to shower and get ready for his shift at Angels.
Garrett had made it back by six, bringing with him several large pizzas and a bucket of wings. The four of them had eaten around the kitchen table, the main topic of conversation being the renovation. Wade had come and gone again on whatever errand Wade was always running in the dark.
Patrick was on the couch with his laptop when Ian’s message arrived.
Ian: You’re going to want to see this
He was on his feet before he finished reading it.