High-Caliber Holiday (3 page)

“I heard the whole conversation with Craig.” Darcie removed the cuff. “Did I hear you right? You're not representing Thorsby Mill anymore?”

The last thing Morgan wanted to talk about was the lawsuit, but she didn't want to be rude and it would take her mind off the man hovering over her. Maybe keep thoughts of Craig at bay, too. “I changed jobs a few months ago.”

“Are you with a local firm?” Darcie dug bandages and antiseptic from her bag.

Morgan shook her head. “I'm not practicing law at all. I'm directing a local jobs program. Portland Employment Assistance—PEA for short. We help unemployed people seeking government assistance to find jobs.”

That brought a look of surprise to Brady's face, and Morgan was starting to wonder why she was noticing every little thing he did.

Darcie's hand stilled midair. “Wow, I never imagined you'd leave the law.”

Morgan shrugged. “We had this particularly contentious class action lawsuit that consumed my life for the last few years. Burned me out and I just couldn't do it anymore.”

“Class action, huh? That's what the shooter was talking about. But what happened? I mean a lawsuit against a paper mill seems odd.” Darcie went back to her bag.

“Surprising, right?” Morgan dug deep for the will to discuss something she never wanted to think about again.

“It's okay if you don't want to talk about it,” Darcie said. “I understand.”

Morgan drew an uneasy breath. “A couple of years ago people downriver from the plant started getting cancer in record numbers. They claimed we dumped chemicals in the river, causing the cancer. Of course, that didn't happen and water tests proved our story, but it still wasn't easy to defend against.”

Darcie applied antiseptic to Morgan's wound, the sharp sting taking all of her concentration. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and seeming weak.

“People sue at the drop of a hat these days,” Darcie said.

“Honestly, I could hardly blame them,” Morgan rushed on, trying to ignore the pain. “A larger than normal distribution of a single type of cancer in their small population was unusual. They wanted to blame someone. And find money to cover medical bills.”

Darcie looked up. “You won, though, right? And that's why this Craig guy was so angry?”

Morgan nodded but an uncontrolled sigh slipped out over the memory of the mental and physical cost that winning had taken on her life. She had to change the subject before Darcie pried any deeper. “And you... Stevens, now. You're married.”

“Was. Not anymore.” Darcie applied the bandage.

“You two gonna gab all night or can we get moving?” Brady's voice broke in.

Darcie offered him a thankful smile. She seemed glad he'd jumped in. Was she not willing to share about her past? It made Morgan even more curious about her old friend.

“We should get together for lunch and catch up.” Morgan looked up at Brady. “When we don't have an armed deputy standing over us.”

“Who, Brady?” Darcie chuckled as she secured the gauze bandage. “He's so laid-back, I sometimes forget that he's this intense sniper guy.”

“Come on, Darcie.” He mocked a knife to the chest and grinned. “Don't hurt my cred like this.”

He fixed a genuine, easygoing smile on Morgan, softening the hard, angular lines of his face. Making him even more handsome and difficult to look away from. She shouldn't be noticing. Should be looking anywhere except at him, but he was like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

One minute he was easygoing, the next intense and fierce. Both attractive. Both needed to be avoided. If she was going to get her life back on firm footing after her recent move and job change, she had no time for romance.

“So,” she said to Darcie. “Am I cleared to go?”

Darcie sat back and started packing up her case. “My official response is that you should have your arm checked out at the hospital.”

“And unofficially?”

“Put some antibiotic cream on the wound. Keep it bandaged and change it once a day. If it doesn't heal or becomes red, puffy or painful see a doctor.”

“I'll take the unofficial advice so I can get out of here.”

“Sorry, friend.” Darcie squeezed Morgan's knee. “You'll have to stay to give your statement and answer questions. Brady will escort you back to the command post.”

“She's right,” he said coming to full attention. “The detectives will want to talk to you.”

Right. She'd have to relive the experience, play by play, all over again.

She supposed it would be better to do so here with people surrounding her than at home alone. That would come later, she knew. Much later. When she had nothing to distract her.

No handsome guy. No old friend. No pretense of a smile. Not even the shock, which would have worn off by then.

She'd be alone in her new apartment. In the dark. Recounting each terrifying second of the ordeal and trying hard to remember why she'd so desperately wanted to stand on her own two feet.

THREE

W
ind whistled through the FRS truck, but at least the snow had let up. Brady wanted to head home, sit in front of a roaring fire and have time alone to process the night. He'd pull out the small chunks of wood he'd cut to carve into ornaments for the FRS team and whittle long strips into the flames. But first, he had to help the team button down the specialty truck. Then they would meet to debrief and wind down in the communal living space of a remodeled historic firehouse where they all lived in private condos on the upper floors.

Brady was required to attend the debrief, but then he'd go straight to his condo. After a shooting, even one that hadn't ended in the loss of a life, he liked to decompress on his own. The sooner the better. And that meant getting the truck loaded so they could all get home.

He stowed his rifle case in a bench seat midway in the truck and turned to find Darcie watching him. He suspected she wanted to ask about the graze on Morgan's arm. Darcie couldn't prove the injury had come from Brady's rifle, no one could, but the thickness of the wound was a good indicator that he'd been the one to shoot Morgan.

“What?” he asked, when he couldn't stand her eyes on him any longer.

She continued to watch him as a mother might watch a wayward child. “I have a favor to ask.”

He wasn't in any frame of mind to do her favor, but he would hear her out. “Okay.”

“Can you hang around and escort Morgan home? She lives a few blocks away, and I don't want her walking home alone after this.”

He let out a breath and almost offered a quick yes. After all, Morgan was a real beauty. And tough. But there was also something vulnerable about her. He'd seen it when he'd left her with the detectives. Like she needed him. Not just now, but long term.

Too bad. He wasn't in a position to be needed by any woman. And especially not a woman who was all wrong for him. She was a lawyer, for Pete's sake. Dressed in an expensive coat and suit. Shoes and purse that screamed
designer
. A last name that everyone in town knew from her father's involvement in the business world.

No, a guy from the wrong side of the tracks didn't need the heartache that would come with such a relationship.

He closed the bench and looked at Darcie. “I'm sure the detectives will give her a ride.”

“You're right. They will, especially if there might be someone else out to get her.” Darcie shivered.

“The detectives can protect her.”

“I know that, too, but I'm concerned for more than her physical safety. She and I go way back, and I want to make sure she's okay. You know...really okay. That she's not going to freak out when she steps inside her apartment, closes the door and thoughts of the gun-wielding creep take over—which we both know could happen. You're good at reading people. You'll be able to tell if she shouldn't be left alone.”

“So are you. Why not go with her yourself?”

“A, I may carry a weapon because I'd never hear the end of it from you guys if I didn't, but I'm not skilled at protecting someone. And B, I'm on duty in an hour. You're not.” She watched him carefully, her motherly concern still evident on her face. She'd lost her only child four years ago, but instead of the loss leaving her cold it had caused her to transfer her motherly devotion to the people around her—especially her team members. “You're usually one of the first guys to step up and help someone. What's different with Morgan?”

He wasn't about to admit that Morgan's vulnerability made him wary of getting too close to her. She needed someone. He got that. It just couldn't be him. Not now, when he was struggling to do his job. And not with a woman like Morgan. He'd learned his lesson in high school about mixing with a girl out of his league and wouldn't repeat that mistake.

“Okay, then. Maybe Archer can do it.” Darcie started to walk away.

She only had to take two steps before he felt like a real heel. “Wait, Darcie. I'll do it.”

She smiled her thanks and it wasn't hard to see she'd known he'd cave. All the guys on the team believed in defending the downtrodden, so her assumption wasn't a stretch, but it still irked him. “I'll go tell Jake.”

“No need. I already told him.” She smiled.

“You were that certain I'd do it, huh?”

“I'm certain that you're a good man, Brady Owens, and you'd never let a woman who'd been through a terrifying standoff walk home alone.”

He wrapped Darcie under his arm and knuckled her head. “And you, my friend, are a master manipulator.”

“Guilty.” She grinned up at him as she freed herself. “I'll go say goodbye to Morgan and tell her you'll escort her home. Call me if she needs anything.”

Brady took his time packing up his vest and helping the other team members, but soon there was nothing left to do so he climbed down from the truck. He watched the team drive off, then went to the command post.

Morgan sat in a metal folding chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her body shivering in the biting wind. Detective Rossi, a thick and pudgy man with a wild head of black hair and a dark complexion that went perfectly with the Italian name, stood over her.

He looked up when Brady approached. “Help you, deputy?”

“I'll be escorting Ms. Thorsby home.”

Morgan's focus swiveled to him and she opened her mouth as if to argue, but then clamped down on her lips.

Rossi nodded. “An escort is a wise idea. She just told me she's received additional threatening letters from plaintiffs.”

Brady glanced at her to see how she was doing with these ongoing threats. She was biting down on her lip even harder.

He turned back to the detective. “Are you planning to look into these threats?”

“You can be assured I'll be following up on each letter.” He fixed a firm gaze on Morgan. “As I said, I'm glad Owens is escorting you home, but he won't be around to watch your back after that. You'll need to be careful until I can make sure there aren't any other crazies out there who want to attack you.”

Morgan shivered again. From the cold? Maybe. Or from Rossi's dire tone? More likely.

Brady would had liked to offer Morgan encouragement here, but if what she said about the letters was true, he didn't think Rossi was overreacting. Not one bit. Brady couldn't help with her fear, but he could solve her problem with the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and settled it over her shoulders.

Her eyes flashed wide in surprise. “Thank you, but I can't take your jacket.”

“You've had a much harder night than I have and you deserve to be warm.”

“But I—”

Brady held up a hand stilling her and focused on Rossi. “Is Ms. Thorsby free to go?”

Rossi nodded, then handed a business card to Morgan. “Get those threats to me ASAP.”

She took the card and Rossi produced another one for Brady. “Just in case you need to contact me for anything.”

“You ready, Ms. Thorsby?” Brady asked.

“It's Morgan, and yes, I'm very ready.” She rose, and despite his heavy coat, she trembled.

“I'm Brady, by the way, in case you didn't catch that,” he said, lightening his tone to help ease her anxiety. “I'm sorry you had to go through all of this.” He made sure his apology carried his sincere regret. Not only for the situation, but for her injury, as well.

“Thank you. I'm just glad it all worked out okay. If I hadn't tripped Craig at the end to send the gun flying, things might have been far different.” She sighed and started toward the sidewalk.

So that's what had happened and why she'd fallen to the ground. Not that it eased Brady's conscience.

“We see vulnerable and disillusioned people all the time at PEA,” she continued. “Puts us at risk for one of them going off on us, so we regularly train on active shooter scenarios.” She looked up at him. “Have you seen the ‘Run. Hide. Fight.' video made by Homeland Security?”

He nodded. “Our agency uses it in training all the time. Especially at schools and with people who come in contact with the public. We also suggest people watch it on YouTube.” He smiled at her. “Sounds like it worked for you, reminding you to take action. If you hadn't...”

She frowned, and he decided it was best to move on to something other than tonight's incident.

“Are you from this part of town?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I've only lived in the city for a few months. I'm a suburban girl. West Linn.”

He knew all about the pricey suburb. “City living must be very different for you, then.”

“Exactly,” she said vehemently.

He suspected there was a story there, but his job was to walk her home, not learn all he could about her.

He picked up his pace, escorting her past looky-loos who lingered at the edge of the crime scene, probably still hoping for a shootout or other action they could film for social media. Morgan didn't seem to notice them. Brady supposed she was lost in her thoughts, likely replaying the night. Darcie had been right. Not that Brady would ever tell her that. Morgan needed someone to make sure she was okay. Whether he liked it or not, he was tasked with that duty.

“This is me.” She stopped outside a historic redbrick apartment building and dug out her keys. She returned his jacket, then held out her hand. “Thanks for walking me home, Brady. It wasn't necessary, but I really do appreciate it.”

He considered shaking her hand and taking off, but he'd be in a heap of trouble if he ignored Darcie's command to make sure Morgan got into her apartment all right. “I'll see you inside before I go.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him, but he wouldn't let that deter him. He'd rather face her wrath than Darcie's. He started up the steps before Morgan could argue, then stood to the side while she unlocked the street entrance. They stepped inside, and as he stomped his feet to clear the snow, he admired the small but ornate lobby. A tall Christmas tree sat in the corner covered with white twinkling lights and white balls. Simple and elegant, like the costly apartment building.

Christmas, ha! The last thing he wanted to think about. Early December was way too soon to start. He'd actually prefer never to think about. Just brought back bad childhood memories. He'd only ever received one Christmas present the year his mother had managed to stay sober. Still, he couldn't ignore the holiday the way he had before joining the FRS. Skyler had decorated their firehouse in November for her annual Christmas party for homeless families. She loved the season. He didn't, but he wouldn't go all Scrooge and ruin it for her or the others on the team.

They boarded the old elevator car with wood paneling and brass furnishings.

“How old is this building?” he asked when the silence in the small space turned uncomfortable.

“It was built in 1910 and just recently restored.” Morgan's eyes lit up, and he had to look away before he stared at the captivating sight she made. “I love that the renovations stayed true to the time period. I'd have hated it if they'd made the apartments sleek and modern like my parents' home.”

She'd just moved to the city from West Linn. Was it possible she'd lived with her family until she'd moved here? If so, it was totally in opposition to the independence she seemed to exude, piquing his curiosity even more.

He leaned back against the wall, listening to the elevator's ancient motor carry them to the top floor where the bell's sharp ping cut through the quiet.

“Penthouse,” he said jokingly.

“Hardly.” She frowned.

At her door, he reached for the keys. Their fingers touched and unexpected warmth spread through him. She hastily stepped back, nearly dropping the keys, but her eyes remained riveted to his. He could see she was interested in him.

So he wasn't the only one. Interesting.

She took another step back from him.

Even more interesting. She didn't want to feel anything for him. Slumming it with a guy like him was probably the furthest thing from her mind. Or, for all he knew, she was involved with someone.

She unlocked the door, pushed it open and he waited for her to enter. She turned to close the door on him.

He took a step inside to fulfill his promise to Darcie. “Could I get a glass of water before I head out?”

“Sure, of course.” She stiffened, belying her generous words. “I should have thought to offer you one.” She hung her coat on a hook and kicked off her shoes, visibly relaxing, and headed down a short hallway. She stopped to flick on a gas fireplace. “Have a seat, and I'll get your water.”

He stepped into the room, the heat from the fire already warming the small area. The space had hardwood floors, white bead board and chunky moldings reminiscent of the period. The walls were beige, the furniture traditional with red accents. A tiny artificial tree with equally tiny sparkling white stars sat on a small table in the corner.

Perfection. Like from a magazine.

Not a place where people like Brady actually kicked back and lived. Watched a ballgame and got snack crumbs all over the floor. After seeing Morgan's designer clothing, he should have expected this. Just like Heather, his high school crush who had everything he didn't. Big house. Fancy car. Nice clothes. All of it contrasted with his double-wide trailer and hand-me-down or thrift store clothes. Back then, he'd been fool enough to think Heather actually liked him, but she'd shut him down faster than a bullet from his rifle. So would Morgan if he was crazy enough to follow this attraction.

Feeling like he could easily break the small sofa and chairs, he went to the window and stared onto the quiet street so in contrast with the shooting from earlier. His adrenaline had subsided and a headache was forming. He massaged his temples and tried to relax, but he felt jittery.

If Morgan's place wasn't so unbelievably clean, he'd pull out his knife and the small hunk of wood that he always carried in his jacket pocket to whittle when he was left standing around.