36. Resorting to Bribery
RESORTING TO brIBERY
PATRICK
Patrick ran a hand through his hair, checked his breath, popped a breath mint, and opened the door. Morgan gave him a shy smile as her subtle scent carried in on the light breeze.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
It took a moment for his brain to come back online, because he couldn’t stop thinking of the other night. And… yep, based on the flare in her eyes, she was thinking about it too.
“Come in.”
She stepped over the threshold, and he helped her remove her jacket. She was wearing another soft sweater that hugged her curves. Curves that he’d mapped with his hands and later, his mouth.
Her eyes shifted to the stairs, lingered there for a moment, then met his again. She cleared her throat. “Just so you know, what happened the other night—it’s not something I do often.”
Patrick looked at her. “I know. Me neither.”
She stared at him for a beat. Then she laughed—a real laugh, unguarded, the kind that surprised her as much as it surprised him. “Right.”
“What?”
“You have charmer written all over you.”
“Judging a book by its cover?” he asked, lifting a brow, keeping his tone light and teasing.
“I expected better from one of the youngest MDIs ever to receive diplomate status with the American Board of Medicolegal Death Investigators and a file full of formal commendations from law enforcement agencies and the DA’s office. ”
Morgan blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it again. “DeepTrace.”
He inclined his head. “GraveDigger.”
“You’re right. I made an assumption based on something other than facts. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
She held his gaze for a moment, then something in her expression shifted, settled.
“Okay,” she said. “Tell me what you found.”
He told her everything, beginning with the shell company and ending with Torres and the two versions of the incident report, and watched recognition move across her face—not surprise, but confirmation.
“I’m impressed.” Morgan sat back, and a tiny wave of pride washed over him. He had a feeling she didn’t say those words to many people.
“I had plenty of help,” he admitted.
Her lips curled. “You’re one hell of an investigator, Mr. Callaghan.”
“High praise coming from you, Miss Sullivan.”
She blew out a breath. “The question is, what do we do with all this?”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.
I asked my father to reach out to a family friend to see what our options are.
She’s a former US Deputy Marshal. She thinks we’ve got enough here for a federal inquiry.
She also said that, based on this, the Philly ME’s office will be falling over themselves to clear your record.
Your leave will be rescinded, and you’ll have no trouble getting your job back. ”
She blinked slowly. He could see her processing it. Not just the information, but the lengths he’d gone to without her knowledge, without her having to ask.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “But… I’m not sure I want it anymore.”
Patrick stilled. “What are you saying, Morgan?”
“I don’t know,” she said on an exhale. “I’m still working things out, but I talked to Frank this morning.”
He knew from the way she said it that something had shifted there too.
She stood and began pacing in small circles in his office. “Frank knew someone might come for me,” she said eventually. “He’d been watching.”
“That’s what family does,” Patrick said quietly. “They have your back.”
“Not all family,” she said, probably referring to her mother and stepfather.
“But it’s not just Frank. It’s his housekeeper Donna, who, it turns out, is a hell of a lot more than a housekeeper.
And Riley and …” She looked at him. “You. I’m not used to this.
To people having my back. I’m not entirely sure what to do with this. ”
“You don’t have to do anything with it,” he said. “That’s the point.”
“But why?” she asked. “Frank, I get. He’s family. Donna, even, because of her relationship with Frank. But why you? What could you possibly get out of helping me?”
The question was direct and honest, and he wanted to answer her in exactly the same way. But not yet. And not here.
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you agree to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Resorting to bribery? Or are you deflecting?”
“I’m not deflecting. I’m choosing my moment.”
She gifted him with an almost-smile. “Those are the same thing.”
“They really aren’t. Tomorrow night. Dinner. Say yes.”
“Well, you do make a good Marsala,” she said with a tiny twist of her lips. “Tell me that’s not the only dish you can make.”
He laughed. “Definitely not, but I won’t be the one cooking.”
She widened her eyes. “You can’t ask me to dinner and expect me to cook.”
“I don’t expect you to cook. I want to take you out.”
Morgan looked confused, and Patrick wondered what kind of assholes she’d dated in the past. None of his in-depth research had covered that.
“You mean like a date?”
So much more than a date, he thought. What he said out loud was, “If you want to label it that way, sure.”
She thought about that. “All right,” she said finally. “Fine. Dinner.”
“Good.”
“Where?”
“The Celtic Goddess. It’s about twenty minutes out. Good food, good wine. I think you’ll like it.”
The shift was immediate. Her face went carefully neutral. “You know what? I changed my mind. I’ll be happy to cook for you.”
“What’s wrong with the Goddess?”
“Nothing. It’s just too much.”
“It’s really not.”
“I don’t have anything to wear to a place like that.”
“Believe it or not, we actually have stores in Pine Ridge.”
“Smart ass,” she mumbled.
“Come on, Morgan. This—” he waved his hand over the screens “—is cause for celebration.”
“Can’t we just order a pizza and you tell me now?”
He grinned. “No, sorry. And you already said yes. No backing out now.”
She snapped her mouth shut. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
He wasn’t entirely sure how it happened—or rather, he was entirely sure how it happened and simply didn’t feel the need to analyze it.
One moment they were verbally sparring in his office.
The next, they were naked in his bed, confirming that the chemistry between them was every bit as explosive as it had been the other night.
The sky had turned a deep indigo by the time she gathered herself to leave, moving through the room with quiet efficiency, finding her things, putting herself back together.
He watched her like a predator watches prey, resisting the urge to pull her apart again.
“Déjà vu,” she said, without looking at him, a trace of dry amusement in her voice.
“You don’t have to leave,” he said, lifting up the covers in invitation.
Her eyes raked over the length of his body, desire warring with something else in her eyes. A misplaced sense of propriety, maybe?
“I do.”
Those two words rang through his head like fine crystal. He pushed himself to his feet before he said—or did—something rash. Pulling on jeans and a long-sleeved tee, he walked her downstairs and out to her car.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”
“I can just meet you there.”
“Morgan,” he said, waiting until he had her complete attention. She might have gone out with assholes before, but that ended now. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Her eyes flashed at the firmness of his tone, then heated into something molten. Did Morgan like the idea of someone else taking charge? Of not having to be the one in control all the time? He filed that away to explore later.
“I’ll be ready.”