by Andrea Kane
“Thanks.” Jonah released the breath he’d been holding, pride and pleasure lighting his eyes. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”
“It also means you’ll be doing more on this project—if you want to.”
“If I want to? Are you kidding? Just tell me what you need and it’s done.”
“I like your enthusiasm. Plus, I think it would be good for you to spread your wings. Photography’s a big field. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out to you. There’s a ton of different career paths you can take. Photojournalism’s just one, especially given the other talents you bring to the table. Your technical aptitudes are off the charts, not only behind the lens but on the computer, in the lab. Explore every avenue.”
Rather than puffing up at the compliment, Jonah grimaced. “You’re not talking about taking more courses, are you?”
“No,” Lane answered thoughtfully. “I wasn’t thinking of more classroom training. You’re on the right track in that area. But speaking of school, what’s your schedule this week? Brooklyn Tech is on break for the holidays, isn’t it?” He waited for Jonah’s nod. “Good. Because that matters for what I have in mind. How’d you feel about joining me on the road, as they say? Or in this case, in the air—to Colorado and the Poconos?”
Jonah nearly leaped to his feet. “Say when and I’m packed.”
“Tomorrow. Of course, I’ll need permission from your folks. It’ll only be for a couple of days, and you’ll be under my supervision at all times. And before you ask, no, you don’t get to jump out of planes or go heli-skiing. You just get to take ground and aerial shots of the congressman and me doing that.”
“I can live with that.” Jonah paused, his excitement suspended as a thought struck. “I hope my parents will be okay with this. We’ve got some heavy stuff going on at home right now.”
“Really.” Lane’s brows rose. It was the first time Jonah had offered up anything personal about his home life. Lane knew that the Vaughns lived in the Sheepshead Bay section of Brooklyn, that Jonah’s father worked as a mechanic and his mother as a hospital aide. He’d never met either of them, except by phone, and that was a perfunctory call when Jonah started working for him. They’d seemed like a normal, caring set of parents, asking questions and expressing pride in their son.
Clearly, whatever “stuff” was going on was bugging Jonah. Lane didn’t want to pry, but he didn’t want to give Jonah the impression he didn’t care, either.
“Anything you want to talk about?” he asked carefully.
Rather than shutting down, Jonah seemed torn, like he wanted to open up but wasn’t quite ready to. “Maybe later.” His response confirmed Lane’s assessment. “Right now, I’m still trying to sort it out.” Abruptly, his head came up. “I’m not in any trouble, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“It’s not. If you want the truth, what’s worrying me is that it might be financial. If so, I’d like to help.”
“Thanks, Lane, that’s really cool of you. But, no, it’s not about money. It’s about me, who I am. I’ve got issues to come to terms with. So do my parents.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But, man, I really want to go on these trips with you. And a couple of days won’t change anything anyway.”
Lane processed that, studying his assistant. Whatever identity crisis Jonah was going through, he needed something solid and real to lean on. And in his case, photography was it.
“How about if I call your folks?” Lane suggested. “I’ll tell them about the opportunity, and the fact that a credit in Time could clinch a scholarship for you. Do you think that would help?”
“Yeah.” Jonah blew out a relieved breath. “Yeah, I think that would help a lot. In fact, I’m pretty sure it would give me the green light.”
“Consider it done, then.” Lane glanced at his watch. “Damn. It’s eleven o’clock. You’ve got to get home, and I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got a mound of work to accomplish before I take off for Colorado. So I’ll call your parents first thing in the morning.”
“My dad goes into the shop at seven,” Jonah quickly supplied. “My mom’s at the hospital by eight. The whole house is awake at six.”
“Got it. I’ll call at six-thirty. That’ll give your parents time to open their eyes. And it’ll give you plenty of time to pack. We’re not leaving till ten.”
“Great.” Jonah got up and snatched his jacket. “So we’ll talk in the morning?”
“Yup. And pack warm clothes. It’ll be freezing in the San Juans.”
MORGAN HEARD THE knock at her front door. She walked quickly down the hall, although she had no intention of even touching the lock until she knew who was on the other side of the door.
Detective Montgomery saved her the trouble of asking. “It’s Pete Montgomery,” he called.
Gratefully, she unlocked the door and let him in. “Thank you so much for coming. I feel like an idiot bothering you at this time of night.”
“It wasn’t a bother, not if you’ve got some coffee.” He’d already yanked off his parka.
“Already brewed.” Morgan managed a smile, hanging up Monty’s jacket and leading him toward the staircase. “Let’s go to the second-floor sitting room. It’s more comfortable, and right next to the kitchen—which means it’s near the Impressa.”
“The what?”
Her smile curved into something real rather than strained. “The Impressa. My über-elite coffee center. It brews everything from espresso to cappuccino to latte.” She preceded Monty up the staircase, tossing a reassuring look over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I sensed you weren’t a latte kind of guy. So I brewed a pot of regular.”
“Good.” He marched upstairs behind her, already wired and willing to become more so. “Caffeine’s good for cops and PIs. It keeps our minds and bodies working overtime.”
“I doubt you need it. That seems to come naturally to you.” Morgan showed Monty into the sitting room and left long enough to bring him a steaming mug. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” Perched at the edge of the settee, Monty took an appreciative gulp. “Strong and leaded, the way I like it.” He raised his chin, fixing Morgan with a probing stare. “Now, tell me what happened to freak you out so much.”
“A couple of things.” Morgan sank down across from him and crossed her legs. “Did you hear about today’s hit-and-run on Madison?”
“Yeah. On the radio.” Monty made a face. “When those happen in East New York, the stories barely make the eleven o’clock news. When it’s in a classy section of midtown, it’s on every local channel at five. Go figure.” His eyes narrowed. “Why? Did you know the woman?”
“She’s one of my clients. So is the woman who called in the accident.”
“Interesting.” Monty’s facial expression didn’t change. “Go on.”
Morgan detailed the entire scenario for him. “Rachel’s going to be okay. Initially, that’s all I focused on. Meaningful coincidences never entered my mind. Then I got this cryptic phone call from Charlie Denton.”
“Denton?” This time Monty’s brows rose. “Where does he factor into this?”
“I matched him up with both Karly and Rachel. He saw each of them this past weekend. The fact that they were the women involved in this hit-and-run, combined with the fact that he’s digging around for me—he thinks it could be some kind of message telling me to back off.”
“Or telling him to back off.”
“In this case, isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not necessarily.” Monty shook his head. “Denton’s a prosecutor. He’s got enemies, just like your father did. Maybe one of them’s been following him around and decided to go after the women he’s seeing. I wonder why his mind didn’t go in that direction—unless he has reason for it not to.”
Morgan jumped on that one pronto. “You think he knows something he’s not ready to share.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So do I. In fact, he all but admitted it. He just shuts down whenever I press him, asks me
to be patient and give him time and space.”
“Then give him the time and space he’s asking for. Keep your relationship with him strong and positive. Let me be the bad guy. Or Congressman Shore—if it comes to that. I hope it won’t. A direct confrontation should be our last resort. We’re much better off soft-pedaling it. Pressure would only piss Denton off or scare him off, and we need him in our corner.”
“But if he’s withholding inside information…”
“Then he might have a good reason for doing so,” Monty finished for her. “Remember, he’s wading through mounds of red tape, and avoiding land mines along the way. That’s a rough job. As far as we know, he’s loyal to you and your father—unless he proves otherwise.” A pensive pause. “Let’s see if I can get some answers from a different source.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, you let me worry about that.” Monty’s head came up and he peered around curiously, as if becoming aware that something was missing. “Speaking of Jill, where is she? I thought you said she was home.”
Morgan nodded. “She is. It’s her yoga time. She’s upstairs, centering herself.” A sigh. “Jill’s amazing at finding ways to unwind. I wish they worked for me. I’m not too good at finding inner peace.”
“I hear you. My wife keeps trying to reform me. She’s not the yoga type, but she’s into the great outdoors. She finds herself when she’s hiking, camping, or horseback riding. Since I moved back in, she’s got me taking long walks with her. She says they’re energy-restoring, physically and mentally.”
“And?”
“And I like them. They get my blood pumping, and give me a chance to tromp around in the snow with Sally. But as for being restored, the only part of me that works for is my body. My mind is running on a treadmill of its own.”
Morgan smiled, leaning forward and propping her chin on her palm. “Lane’s a lot like you, isn’t he?”
“Afraid so.”
“He’s got two sides to him,” Morgan continued, speaking as much to herself as to Monty. “One side’s warm, insightful, and charismatic.”
“And the other’s a stubborn, independent, reckless pain in the ass.”
“Exactly.” Realizing how brusque that sounded, Morgan gave him a rueful look. “Sorry. That came out pretty insulting.”
“Nope. Just true.” Monty shrugged. “Lane’s a complex guy. He’ll get there. He just needs to understand why.”
Before Morgan could question that cryptic remark, Monty’s cell phone rang.
“I’m a popular guy tonight,” he noted, glancing at the caller ID. “Ah, speak of the devil.” He punched the send button. “Lane? Did you find something?” His eyes narrowed. “Huh. No, no major surprise. The better question is, does it show us anything meaningful? Fine, keep enhancing. I’ll be back soon.” A pause. “Yes, she’s fine. Just spooked by some fluke-ish events. Sure, hang on.” He handed the cell to Morgan. “He wants to talk to you.”
Morgan took the phone and put it next to her ear. “Hi. I take it you’re still enhancing.”
“Like a demon. I’m just checking in. You okay?”
“Fine. Your father’s got my minidrama under control.”
“Nothing serious?”
“Just more puzzle pieces.”
“Monty will solve them.”
“I know. With your help.”
“Count on it.” Lane blew out a breath. “Listen, you know I’m going to Colorado with Arthur tomorrow.”
“Jill reminded me, yes.”
“Well, I’ll be back on Wednesday. Are you free for dinner?”
Morgan’s lips curved. “I’ll be a boring aftermath to heli-skiing.”
“I disagree. You’ll be a major source of inspiration.”
There was that charisma, sucking her in. Lane Montgomery at his best was near impossible to resist. “In that case, yes, I’m free.”
“Not anymore. You’re taken for the evening.”
“Ah, and you’re the taker? So this is an order, not a request?”
His chuckle brushed her ear. “Point made. I’ll rephrase. Would you please join me for dinner on Wednesday night? I’d like nothing more. I’ll even make it your choice of cuisine.”
“Nice incentive. I’d be delighted to.”
“Excellent. Is it all right if I call you with an exact time? I’ll have a better idea of what’s what on Wednesday, before we take off for home. Then you can tell me where you want to eat, and I’ll make the reservation.”
“Works for me. We’ll talk then. Have fun.” She gazed quizzically at Monty. “Do you want to talk to your dad?” she asked Lane.
“Have him call me on his way back to my place. We’ll talk as he walks.”
“Is there something to talk about?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll let Monty explain.” A pause. “Good night. Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll try.” Morgan punched end and handed the phone back to Monty. “He said you should call him while you’re walking back to his town house.”
“Will do.”
“He also said you’d tell me what he was calling you about.”
One dark brow rose. “Me? Funny, I got the feeling he was calling you.”
Morgan refused to take the bait, although she did feel her cheeks flush. “What did Lane find?”
“An extra negative,” Monty replied, sobering. “Whether or not that turns out to be significant remains to be seen.”
“I don’t understand.” She turned up her palms in noncomprehension. “What do you mean an extra negative? Where did it come from?”
A shrug. “Could be we never saw a print of it because it wasn’t clear enough to use seventeen years ago, and now technology’s changed that. Could be it resembled another negative closely enough to be overlooked as a duplicate. Could be a print was made but it got lost in another file, or was swiped by a cop who wanted it for his collection. It sounds nuts, but it happens. What’s more important is what Lane can get off of it, if anything.”
Morgan’s gaze remained steady. “Is it a picture of my parents’ bodies?”
“Yes.”
Her nod was tight, but resolved. “I need to see those photos. Let’s do it tomorrow, while Lane is away and won’t need access to them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. It’s time you and I had that in-depth conversation you suggested. We’ll do it all at once. The photos, the entire case file, and your probing into my childhood memories. If I have information I don’t realize I have, it’s time we found out.”
Monty’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “Did you talk to your shrink about this? Does he think it’s a good idea? That you’re ready?”
“He agrees it’s necessary.” A humorless smile. “He’ll be on standby, in case I go to pieces. But I won’t.”
“No, I don’t think you will. Fine. We’ll make time tomorrow.”
“I’m at your disposal. Morning or afternoon?”
“Let’s go for afternoon. I’ll use the morning to look into that hit-and-run.” Monty paused. “Speaking of evening, I take it you’re seeing Lane on Wednesday.”
“We’re having dinner. But don’t worry. I promise to send him right back to the photo lab.”
“That’s not why I asked.” Another pause, as Monty studied her. “There’s an interesting chemistry going on between you and my son.”
That startled her. “I…” The flush was back on her cheeks. “Is that a problem?”
“Not for me. Not in the way you mean.” Monty waved away her embarrassment. “Sorry. My observation came out wrong. I don’t screen Lane’s dates. I stopped doing that ages ago. He’s thirty-three, way past the point where I butt into his personal life.” A wry grin. “Actually, this is a strange, ironic position for me to be in.”
“I’m not following.”
“I’m very protective of my daughters; overly so, they’d both tell you. Their mother would agree. You should have seen what I put my son-in-law through before I
gave his relationship with Devon my stamp of approval. And my other daughter, Meredith—she’s got a boyfriend, but I’m not happy. She’s just turning twenty-two, way too young to be involved with a guy.”
“Let me guess.” Morgan’s lips twitched. “You’ve had a double standard where it comes to your son.”
“Sort of. My values were the same. But I worried less. Till now.”
“You’re worried about Lane—because he’s seeing me?”
“Nope. It’s the other way around. Lane’s not the one I’m worried about. You are. I don’t want you getting hurt. I told that to Lane, too—in no uncertain terms.” A wry grin. “I told you the situation was ironic.”
Morgan felt oddly touched. She and Detective Montgomery had just grazed each other’s lives—once, seventeen years ago, and again now—and yet there’d been a paternal quality to his behavior toward her from day one. And the funny thing was, she not only understood it, she reciprocated in kind. The bond they’d forged the night her parents had been killed, the way she trusted and respected him, the way she turned to him when she needed help—Pete Montgomery was definitely a father figure to her. Not in the same way as Arthur was; he’d raised her since she was ten. But in a distinct and different way that was hard to describe.
“I understand,” she said simply. Contemplating the rest of what he’d said, she asked, “So did you manage to scare Lane off?”
One dark brow lifted in pointed response. “You talked to him—did it sound to you like I did?”
“I guess not.”
“And I guess you’re glad.” Monty went on, evidently deciding a reply wasn’t necessary. “Okay, I get it. I’m relieved to know that whatever vibes I’m picking up on are mutual. So, I’m out of this.” A pause. “Almost. First some advice. Stay grounded. You’ve got a good, level head. You’ve also got a quick mind and a sharp tongue. They’ll keep my son in his place.”
“Check,” Morgan quipped. “Anything else?”
“No, that about covers it.”
“Then you’re safe. I’m not the type to be swept off my feet. Not even by a charmer like your son.” Morgan sobered. “To be honest, I think Wednesday night will be good for me. Lane has a way of distracting me, keeping me from obsessing over my darkest moments. And given the afternoon you and I have planned for tomorrow, what we’ll be delving into, a distraction won’t be just welcome. It’ll be crucial.”