Chapter 6
chapter six
Trenton
We burst through the closed door and I start calling Morgan.
"Fuck, voicemail." I redial, the screen blurring in front of me. "Pick up, Morgan, pick up."
Matthew has his phone out. "Her dad's closer. He can get there first."
It goes straight to voicemail again.
"Shit," I hiss, redialing. "Pick up, Morgan."
Matthew puts the phone up to his ear. "I'm calling her dad."
I nod, focusing on the road as we tear out of the parking lot. The day care is only fifteen minutes away, but right now it feels like fifteen hours. The phone continues to ring in my ear.
"Come on, baby," I mutter. "Answer."
"Isaac?" Matthew's voice sounds beside me. "It's Matthew. We have a situation."
I listen with half an ear as Matthew explains the situation to Morgan's father. The other half of my brain is running through scenarios, planning routes, calculating risks.
"Evan Harris has a history of stalking," Matthew explains, his voice tight. "He pulled his daughter from the school this morning, and we think he might be targeting Morgan now."
My hands tighten around the steering wheel. The traffic light ahead turns amber, but I gun it, pushing the truck faster.
"We're heading to the day care now," Matthew continues. "But you're closer. Can you get to her?"
I can hear Isaac's deep voice through the phone, too low to make out the words, but the tone is clear, concerned, determined.
"Thank you," Matthew says. "We'll be there soon."
He hangs up, his face hard. "He's already on his way. Said he's five minutes out."
I nod, relief washing through me. Morgan's father may be a quiet man, but he's protective as hell and knows how to handle himself. If anyone can keep her safe until we arrive, it's Isaac Scott.
"Try her again," Matthew suggests.
This time, Morgan answers on the second ring. "Trent? What's wrong? You sound—"
"Are you safe?" I cut in, my voice sharper than intended. "Are you alone?"
"Of course I'm safe," she says, confusion evident. "I'm in my classroom with fifteen four-year-olds. What's going on?"
"Evan has a history," I tell her, keeping my voice as calm as possible. "Stalking charges. Multiple women. Your dad is on his way."
"What?" Her voice drops to a whisper. "Trent, I can't talk about this now. The children—"
"Just stay inside," I instruct. "Don't go anywhere alone. Your dad will be there in a few minutes."
"I have a class to teach," she protests, but I hear the fear beneath her words.
"I know, baby. Just be careful. We're on our way."
I hang up, focusing on the road. The day care is visible now, its colorful building rising from the suburban landscape. I scan the parking lot, looking for anything suspicious, any sign of Evan's car.
"Nothing," Matthew confirms, his eyes doing the same assessment.
We pull in and park, both of us moving toward the entrance with purpose. I push through the door, my eyes immediately searching for Morgan.
The reception area is quiet, children's laughter drifting from the classrooms beyond. Ms. Davis looks up from her desk, her expression shifting from surprise to concern.
"Trenton, Matthew, is everything all right?"
Before I can answer, Morgan appears in the hallway. The color is gone from her face. She rushes toward us and I meet her halfway, pulling her tight against my chest. Just for a second, I close my eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, assuring myself she's real, that she's here.
"You're okay," I murmur against her hair.
She pulls back, her eyes wide. "My dad just called. He's outside, watching the building. What's happening, Trent?"
"We'll explain everything," Matthew says, his hand finding the small of her back. "But first, we need to get you somewhere safe."
"The children—"
"Will be fine," I assure her. "Ms. Davis can handle things for a day."
Morgan hesitates, her sense of responsibility warring with self-preservation. "This is my job, Trent. I can't just abandon my class."
Matthew steps closer, his voice gentle but firm. "Morgan, this man has a pattern. He stalks women until they're isolated, then he escalates. We can't let that happen to you."
I watch the realization dawn on her face, the understanding that this isn't just paranoia, that the danger is real and documented.
"Okay," she finally whispers. "Let me talk to Ms. Davis."
While Morgan explains the situation to her supervisor, I move to the window, scanning the street outside. Isaac's truck is parked across the way, the older man visible in the driver's seat, his eyes watchful.
"We should go," I tell Morgan when she returns.
Ms. Davis nods, her expression grave. "Take all the time you need, Morgan. Your job will be here when you're ready to come back."
We exit through a side door, moving quickly to Isaac's truck. He climbs out as we approach, his weathered face tight with concern.
"Morgan," he says, pulling his daughter into a brief, fierce hug. "You all right?"
"I'm fine, Dad." She squeezes his hand. "I'm sorry to drag you into this."
Isaac's eyes meet mine over her head. "You boys found something?"
I nod. "Evan Harris has a history of stalking. Three previous cases, all settled with NDAs."
A muscle jumps in Isaac's jaw. "Where is he now?"
"Unknown," Matthew answers. "But he pulled his daughter from the school this morning. That suggests he's either running or planning."
Isaac nods once, the movement sharp. "You take Morgan home. I'll keep watch here, make sure he doesn't come back looking for her."
"Dad, no," Morgan protests. "It's too dangerous."
"I've been hunting since before you were born, girl," Isaac says, his voice softening. "I know how to be quiet when I need to be."
I squeeze Morgan's shoulder. "Your dad's right. We need eyes on the school."
She looks between us, worry etched across her face. "What about Charlie? If her father is dangerous—"
"We'll find her," I promise. "Greyson's already working on it."
Matthew opens the passenger door of our truck. "Let's get you home. We can figure out our next steps there."
The drive back to our house is tense. Morgan sits between us, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I can feel the questions building inside her, the fear she's trying to control.
"We should have told you," I say finally. "About the pattern we saw."
She shakes her head. "You did tell me. I just didn't want to believe it."
"Men like Harris are good at hiding," Matthew adds. "They build trust, create doubt. It's not your fault for not seeing it sooner."
Morgan stares out the window. "I keep thinking about Charlie. Those shoes. The way she looked at her father."
My jaw tightens. "We'll find her, Morgan. I promise."
Our house comes into view, its clean lines and warm colors a stark contrast to the darkness we're facing. I scan the property as we approach, looking for anything out of place, like a car that shouldn't be there, movement in the trees.
"Everything looks normal," Matthew confirms, his eyes doing the same assessment.
We park in the driveway, and I help Morgan from the truck, keeping my body between her and the street. The three of us move toward the front door, falling into a familiar formation.
Inside, I lock the door and move to the front windows. Matthew is already checking the back, a silent, mirrored efficiency between us.
"This is ridiculous," Morgan says, watching us. "We can't just hide in here forever."
"We're not hiding," I tell her, turning from the window. "We're being smart. We need to assess the situation, gather information, then make a plan."
Matthew nods, already pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Greyson, seeing what they've found."
While he talks on the phone, I lead Morgan to the couch, sitting beside her. "I know this is scary," I say, taking her hands. "But you're not alone. Not anymore."
"I know," she whispers. "It's just… I've spent so long taking care of myself while you were gone.
Matthew hangs up, his face grim. "That was Greyson. They found his car."
"Where?" I ask, standing.
"Abandoned in a parking garage downtown. Empty." He runs a hand through his hair. "No sign of him or Charlie. The club's checking hospitals, bus stations… everywhere."
Morgan's face pales. "You think he's running?"
"Or planning something," I say. "If he's left his car, he's either got another vehicle or he's on foot."
"What about Charlie?" Morgan's voice breaks. "If he's running, would he take her?"
I exchange a look with Matthew. He wouldn't hurt her. But he would use her. We both know it.
"The club has eyes everywhere," Matthew says, sitting on Morgan's other side. "If she's still in town, we won't be in the dark for long."
Morgan looks between us, her fear a tangible thing in the small space between us. "And if she's not?"
"Then the search gets bigger," I tell her, pulling her closer. "But you stay here. You stay safe. That's the only thing that matters right now."
She gives a small nod, but her gaze stays fixed on the front door, as if expecting the worst to walk right through it. I press a kiss to her temple, wishing I could erase the fear, the uncertainty.
"We should call your mom," Matthew suggests. "Let her know what's happening."
Morgan shakes her head. "She'll just worry. And Dad's already involved."
"Speaking of which," I say, checking my phone, "your dad should be texting soon with an update from the school."
My phone buzzes in my hand. Isaac's message is brief: All quiet. No sign of Harris. Heading home now. Will check in later. I show Morgan the message.
The afternoon dissolves into a mess of maps and phone calls. Matthew calls a contact at the bus station while I field Greyson's hourly check-ins. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Morgan traces potential routes out of the city on a map, her pen digging so deep it tears the paper. With each dead end, Harris and Charlie feel less like they're hiding and more like they've simply vanished.
By evening, Morgan's agitation fills the living room. She grabs her keys from the hook by the door. "I'm going to check the diner, the park near the school. Places she might go if she got away."