High-Caliber Holiday

by Susan Sleeman

“I see a lot of men in the course of the day.”

  “Exactly,” Brady said gravely. “Which is why we need to look at all men within your circle. And do it quickly. After hearing these characteristics, we can’t waste any time finding him.”

  SEVEN

  In the small PEA conference room, Brady stretched and closed his notebook. He’d talked with every staff member who was in the office that morning. Including Nantz, who fit many of the narcissistic stalker traits as Morgan had said.

  She poked her head into the room Brady had been using all afternoon. “That was the last person. Did anyone give you anything to go on?”

  “No one saw the roses being left, if that’s what you’re asking. And, except for Nantz, I don’t see the other men who work here fitting the stalker personality.”

  She moved deeper into the room. “But you still think Nantz is a possibility?”

  “He has access to your cubicle, which means your keys. Obviously, he has access to this building and his cubicle is close to yours. Plus he has plenty of holes in his schedule when he could have left the roses in all three locations. So, yeah, I think he’s not only a possibility, but a strong suspect.”

  She frowned. “So what happens next?”

  “I’ll start a background check on him and call Rossi to bring him into the loop.” Brady closed the notebook he’d used to jot down his thoughts during the interviews. “You need to be prepared for Rossi wanting to interview workers here, too.”

  “That’s not going to make me very popular,” she said. “But it can’t be helped, I suppose.”

  “Not if we want to find your stalker, and I know you want to do that as soon as possible.”

  “I just wish I could think of who might be doing this. I know you think it’s Nantz, but I don’t get a creeper vibe from him.”

  “Time will tell,” Brady said. “What’s up next on your schedule?”

  “I have a small group of clients coming in. I’ll spend my afternoon working with them.”

  “Any of them men?”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Don’t tell me you want to add them to the suspect list, too?”

  “No, but I would like to see how they interact with you. Maybe I’ll notice something you aren’t seeing. Why don’t I make that call to Rossi, then join you in the resource room?” She looked like she planned to argue the point so he held up his hand. “I promise to keep a low profile.” He added a smile for good measure.

  “I haven’t gotten any complaints from your earlier interviews, so I guess I can trust you,” she said with humor.

  “Just give me time.” He winked at her and quirked a wicked smile.

  She laughed sincerely, her face lighting with joy—real joy he hadn’t witnessed in her before. His heart gave a little twinge, surprising him and leaving him uncertain about his next move. He hadn’t felt the warm sensation curling through his body for a very long time. Maybe ever. And now wasn’t the time to explore it.

  He quickly held up his phone and forced a professional edge to his tone. “I should get to that call with Rossi. Should only take a few minutes.”

  Her smile fell. “I’ll see you in the resource room, then.” Her shoulders settled into that hard line of determination he’d seen several times now and she marched out.

  He’d have to be blind not to see that his abrupt change in attitude hurt her. He regretted that, but it couldn’t be helped. It was better that he hurt her now than lead her down a path that would go nowhere.

  He turned his attention to his phone and had Rossi on the line in a matter of minutes. Brady relayed their latest discovery and asked if Rossi minded his help with the investigation.

  “Are you kidding?” Rossi replied. “It’s not every day another officer agrees to take on a case that I can’t find time for. Keep me in the loop and make sure my LT doesn’t find out I let a deputy from another agency work one of my cases.”

  Brady assured Rossi and filled him in on the morning interviews.

  “Sounds like you’ve got this under control,” Rossi said. “I could interview the coworkers, too, if you think it will help.”

  Brady remembered Morgan’s plea not to upset her fellow workers. “I’m confident that I learned everything we need to know—other than digging into Nantz’s background, which I plan to do tonight.”

  “You know I’m just a phone call away if something develops, right?”

  “I do,” Brady replied.

  “While I have you on the phone,” Rossi continued, “I wanted to mention we entered the prints lifted from Morgan’s house and car in AFIS.”

  “And?” Brady asked.

  “The two sets of prints match, but we struck out with AFIS. Like I said we likely lifted the ex-fiancé’s prints and he’s not in the system.”

  Brady wasn’t letting this go so easily. “Could you email the prints to me so I can compare them to Nantz’s?”

  “Sure, man, that I can do.”

  Brady gave Rossi his email address.

  “Oh, and I should also mention,” Rossi said. “I’ve been through the threat file. Four letters in all. One from our shooter, Shaw. One from a woman and two from other men. All three, on the surface, appear to be upstanding citizens, but then so does Shaw. FYI, he’s been arraigned and bail was denied, as we expected.”

  “Good. That’s one less suspect to worry about.”

  “I’ll interview the others as soon as I can.”

  “Let me know what you find.” Brady disconnected and started for the resource room.

  In the hallway, he saw Nantz heading in the opposite direction. Brady slipped inside Nantz’s cubicle and grabbed an empty cup from a fast-food place in hopes of getting Nantz’s prints. Brady made another quick stop in the break area and found a plastic bag to protect the cup. After hiding it in Morgan’s cubicle, he joined her in the resource room.

  Seated at the table with a male that Brady put in his late fifties, her back was to him and she gave no indication that she had any idea Brady had entered the room. The man was giving a bunch of excuses for his lack of success with job hunting and Morgan seemed very willing to listen to them.

  Brady thought the excuses all sounded pretty lame, but instead of getting frustrated, Morgan’s sincere interest showed that she wanted to help him set up a plan to succeed. And that’s what she did, delving in, asking additional questions, encouraging the man to open up and provide her with the real issues holding him back.

  Brady leaned against the wall and continued to watch. She moved on to the next person, showing the same care and concern. Her heart was in her work. That was clear. She loved it. Loved helping these people. She’d bridged the gap between her upbringing and these down-on-their-luck people. She didn’t judge. Didn’t berate. She was the real deal. Which was well and good in her professional life, but what about her personal life? Was she still the Uptown Girl?

  He imagined her accompanying him to visit his mother, who still lived in the same old trailer in the sticks of Minnesota. His mom would be wearing her favorite ratty blue sweater, in her hand a plate of the golden-brown Norwegian pancakes they’d frequently eaten because they were cheap. She’d invite Morgan to sit on the worn furniture as they crossed over the torn linoleum.

  Every month, Brady sent as much of his pay as he could to his mom, but while it kept food on the table and the bills paid, it still didn’t stretch to fixing up her place. Which meant it couldn’t stretch to him getting married and starting a family. So he’d had to make a change in employment. He’d hated to leave the marines, where he felt equal with the men and women around him. Everyone was poorly paid. A lot of the enlisted men had less than ideal backgrounds like his. He was right at home with them. But he wanted more. A family. Kids. Which meant money, so he’d moved on to get a degree and increase his income.

&nbs
p; And now, here he sat with Morgan, his interest in her growing when falling for her or any other woman was in direct opposition to waiting until he’d finished his degree and saved enough money to properly provide for a family. No way he’d bring up a child in a disadvantaged household like he grew up in.

  Not that it mattered.

  He could never see Morgan with his mother. In his world. Ever. Even if Morgan embraced helping the less fortunate, she wouldn’t want to live it in her own life. He was sure of that.

  * * *

  Morgan stared at her plate of salmon, roasted green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. It turned her stomach just looking at the food, but with Brady watching her carefully from across the table, she had to eat. If she mentioned how nauseous she’d been feeling all day, plus the nagging headache that had developed in the last few hours, she suspected he’d insist on Darcie looking at her or worse, he’d drag her to a doctor. Neither was necessary.

  Not when she knew both symptoms were from stress. Just like she’d experienced every day during the trial for the mill. Back then, she’d used exercise and long bubble baths to alleviate her symptoms, and she’d do the same thing tonight.

  First, she had to force down this meal. She took a bite of potatoes and swallowed as she looked at Brady. He was taking in the room, seeming unusually uncomfortable. But why?

  Morgan tried to look through his eyes at the private club with a costly membership fee and was restricted to invitation only. Rich drapes hung on the windows and thick grass cloth wallpaper covered the walls. Pricey linens and place settings sat in front of them, and expensive leather chairs circled the table.

  The word pretentious came to mind. She didn’t know Brady’s background, but even with her upbringing, it was easy to see the snobbishness of her parents’ club. She could see why he’d feel out of place while she felt right at home. She’d had dinner here most Friday nights as she’d grown up. Still met her mother here for lunch, which was why it was on her calendar and why Brady had wanted to check it out. Now he was looking like he wished he hadn’t insisted.

  As the host for this meal, it was up to her to make him feel more at ease.

  “How’s your steak?” she asked, to engage him in conversation.

  “Perfect,” he replied and sliced another bite. “You come here often?”

  She shook her head and forked a few green beans. “I did growing up, but now only with my mom for lunch. My budget doesn’t stretch to meals like this on my own.”

  “I know you said there wasn’t anyone here that you could think of who might target you, but now that we’re here, has anyone come to mind?’

  “No, why? Are you seeing someone suspicious?”

  “No. Everyone seems too caught up in their own world to even notice you exist.”

  “Ouch.” She laughed.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. They’re kind of a pretentious lot, aren’t they?”

  “Not something I’m used to, that’s for sure.” He looked down and held out the tie the maître d’ had provided. “You should have warned me I had to wear a coat and tie. I own them, you know, and I wouldn’t have to wear this house jacket.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think of it. My dad and Preston don’t think anything of borrowing a coat if they drop in unexpectedly.”

  “I doubt they were wearing five-year-old Wranglers and a T-shirt,” he said, the discomfort heavy in his words.

  She should have considered his attire—maybe that he hadn’t shaved—but she liked the scruffy beard forming. Liked the way his jeans and T-shirt fit. She couldn’t very well tell him that.

  “You mentioned growing up in Minnesota,” she said, changing the subject. “How’d you end up in Portland?”

  “It started with the marines right out of high school. I left them about five years ago and took time to backpack across the country. You know, to get a good look at the place I’d been fighting for. County had a job opening for a sniper, and I liked how open and accepting people in Portland are. Seemed like a good fit and a good place to finish my college degree.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Four years.”

  “So you haven’t been here long. Think you’ll stay?” she asked, hating to admit she was very invested in hearing him say yes.

  He shrugged. “Depends on my mother back in Minnesota. She’s getting older, and it’ll be hard to get her to move out here.” He huffed a laugh. “Unless there are grandchildren involved and that’s not happening any time soon.”

  No children? Her heart suddenly ached and she needed more details. “You don’t want to get married and have kids?”

  “Sure, but I’m not in a position to even consider that.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but started lining up the salt, pepper and sugar containers instead.

  “Right now,” he said, keeping his gaze on his hands, “I send most of my pay to Mom, and that doesn’t leave much for a guy to support a family.”

  He sounded so defensive, but Morgan had no idea why. She hadn’t known him long, but she did know he was an honorable man. Even more honorable if he was supporting his mother. If he didn’t have much money, it surely didn’t mean he was less of a man.

  Unless, of course, he was like her dad, whose self-worth was tied up in his income and status. Maybe Brady was like that. She wouldn’t be surprised. A lot of men felt that way.

  “What about you?” he asked, still not looking up. “Since you were engaged, I gotta assume you’re planning to settle down someday.”

  “Maybe someday,” she answered vaguely and took a bite of her salmon.

  He looked up. Met her gaze. Transmitted an unspoken question about her evasive answer.

  His plea didn’t move her to speak. She liked him. He seemed to feel the same way, and she could honestly admit she’d like to get to know him better. But even if she wasn’t trying to get her own life under control instead of starting a new relationship, they couldn’t afford to let emotions distract them. They had a stalker to find.

  EIGHT

  Brady turned in the awful tie and jacket and stepped outside with Morgan. He handed his parking ticket to the valet and couldn’t wait to get out of here. He’d told Morgan the truth. He owned a suit and tie. He just didn’t mention that the only time he’d worn it in the last few years was to Skyler and Logan’s wedding, and only then because the entire team made up the wedding party.

  The valet pulled up in Brady’s rusted-out pickup. He smirked as he gestured for Brady to take charge of the vehicle. Brady ignored the guy’s attitude and handed him a generous tip. Brady opened the door for Morgan, who either didn’t notice the valet or was good at hiding what she witnessed. Brady suspected she was embarrassed to arrive in his battered truck when top-dollar cars surrounded them and filled the lot. Honestly, he was embarrassed, too. He was thirty-one years old, for crying out loud. He should have his act together and have a decent vehicle by now.

  Patience, he reminded himself as he fired up the truck and took off. Two more years of college and he’d have his degree. Then he’d be able to drive Morgan around in style. Ha! Like he’d be in her life in two years.

  He pointed the truck toward the firehouse where he’d grab workout clothes for a visit to Morgan’s gym. At least he’d be more comfortable there than in her fancy club.

  She was an enigma. She was so natural and in her element working with her clients. Then she took him to her exclusive club, and there, too, she fit right in.

  Which woman was she, anyway? And how was a guy to know?

  He glanced at her, surprised to see her massaging her forehead. “Headache?”

  “A little one.”

  Concern for her sent his frustration packing. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the gym.”

  She
shook her head. “It’s just stress. Exercise might help.”

  They continued toward the firehouse in silence. He parked in front and grabbed the bag containing Nantz’s cup.

  Morgan leaned toward the front window. “You all live here, huh?”

  “Amazing, right?” he said, looking at the impressive historic building through her eyes. “A woman—Winnie Kerr—was grateful to Darcie for saving her life, so she donated the place to County for FRS members. We all share the first floor, but we each have a private condo on the second and third floors. And we don’t pay a cent in rent or for utilities. Everything’s covered by an endowment fund.” He smiled. “You’ll get a better idea of what I mean when we go in.”

  Together they exited the truck and stepped toward the brick house decorated with twinkling white lights strung from every spot possible.

  “Good thing you all don’t have to pay the power bill for all of these lights.”

  He chuckled. “It’s Skyler. She’s really into the whole Christmas thing.”

  Morgan looked up at him. “Sounds like you’re not.”

  “It was never a big deal in my family growing up,” he said without further explanation, and opened the door to reveal additional decorations in the foyer.

  An industrial staircase led to their condos and showcased a banner that was strung with garland and lights. Poinsettias sat on the steps and a small tree filled the corner of the entry. He led Morgan into the family room, a wide-open space where fire trucks used to park. The FRS worked out of the sheriff’s office, but Winnie built a special garage across the driveway for their truck so if they weren’t on duty, they wouldn’t have to report to the office for a callout.

  His teammates’ voices echoed under the first floor’s high ceilings that carried ductwork and pipes across the space.

  “Wow,” Morgan said as she turned, her eyes wide with wonder. “Even without all the amazing decorations, this place is so cool. I especially like that you kept the big red fire doors and it still feels like an old firehouse.”

  “All Winnie’s doing. She remodeled the whole place with our team in mind.”