Don't You Dare (Morgan Young Book 3)

by Adam Nicholls

  “Then we’re in the same boat.”

  “How so?”

  “We both have shitty luck.”

  “Cheers to that.” Mason looked over both shoulders as if searching for a waitress. “I keep wanting a drink, but I don’t trust this place. Anyway, you seem to know all about me. What about you? What’s your story?”

  Morgan sunk into his seat. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. You always lived in Washington? Do you like it? You seem to know the cop who interviewed me, so what’s going on there? You haven’t said much about your wife. I’m getting the impression you’re more interesting than you think you are.”

  “I grew up here,” Morgan said, diverting the attention from that last comment. “With Detective Lee, who you spoke to. We’ve been best friends our whole lives, only now we have more of a professional relationship.”

  “Gotcha. I have a similar setup. And the wife?”

  Morgan touched his wedding band, spinning it on his finger without taking it off. “Her name’s Rachel. Childhood sweethearts, married young and never looked back. We have one kid together, but he’s still young. Like your son, MJ.”

  “You really have done your research.”

  “I have. Want to see my boy?”

  “Sure.”

  Morgan reached into his coat and drew his phone, opening up the gallery on his device. He found his favorite photo and passed it to Mason. It showed a picture of Rachel in a hospital bed. Robin was still a newborn, and she was cradling him with the biggest smile on her face. He remembered thinking it was the start of the most exciting journey a man could take—the journey of being a father.

  But Mason’s face told a different story.

  His face grew pale, the color draining like a vampire had sucked him dry. He gripped the phone tight with both hands as it shook between his fingers. “This… is your wife?” He put the phone down and pointed at the photo. “Her?”

  Morgan felt a wave of worry carry him away. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because I’ve seen her before.” Mason shot out of the booth and stood up, grabbing the jacket he’d borrowed from the MPD. “When Erika escorted me through her house, a picture of your wife was on the desk.”

  Morgan froze, confusion and fear tearing at his conscious mind and leaving him blank. “Slow down. You saw my wife’s photo? What exactly are you saying?”

  “I’m saying get your coat.” Mason pulled him by the arm. “Because Rachel is in trouble.”

  Chapter Thirty

  As it turned out, the star rating on a cab company meant nothing. Morgan was satisfied to just be in the back seat of a car that was speeding its way toward his house, promising the driver a tip if he broke a few traffic laws. Meanwhile, Mason sat in the front, saying nothing the whole time. It worked for Morgan—it gave him time to think. To get his head straight.

  He tried calling Rachel multiple times, but there was no answer. It didn’t stop him from trying again and again, desperately hoping to reach her.

  The whole ride was torture.

  Morgan tried to control himself, inhaling long, steady breaths and letting them out between pursed lips. The driver made a little chitchat, but Mason stepped in to handle it. It seemed like he knew what he was doing, and although Morgan felt this was a more personal issue, he was glad Mason was there. Anything was better than being alone.

  “Rachel is in trouble.”

  The sentence repeated in his mind over and over. It felt like a threat looming over him. How had the police missed the photo of his wife when they’d searched Erika’s home? Morgan knew the whole police force hadn’t met Rachel, but he’d have hoped by now that at least one of them might have recognized that perfect smile—those sweet, loving blue eyes.

  When the cab finally stopped, Morgan threw money at the driver and rushed out, sprinting toward the front door. His worst nightmares came true when he reached the top step of the porch: the front door was open. The frame was busted. Sweat drawing on his brow, he dashed inside and called her name, hurrying from room to room.

  “Rachel!”

  Mason stepped in behind him. But Morgan paid him no mind. His thoughts were too busy, his brain working hard to provide him with a mental image of the worst-case scenario. All he saw was blood—pooling around the eyes of his wife and child. And standing over them? Erika Givens, her raven-black hair bobbing up and down as she tilted her head back to cackle.

  He shuddered and checked the kitchen. Empty.

  With the downstairs empty and his worst fears realized, Morgan rushed up the stairs. Fallen photo frames caught his eye, dread filling him like a rising tide. He called again as he burst into the master bedroom, and that was when he saw her.

  Rachel was on the floor. Blood coated her temple.

  “Oh Jesus.”

  Morgan felt weightless as he hurried toward her, scooping her up in his arms. She made a throaty noise and opened her eyes, gazing up at him with a wide stare that read sheer alarm. Morgan held her close to his chest, leaving her just enough room to breathe.

  “You’re okay,” he said. “Aren’t you? Yeah, yeah, you’re okay.”

  Rachel stirred, grabbing his collar with weak hands. It felt like an old lady reaching for his attention. Morgan soothed her, hushing her as she panicked, fighting to sit upright when she didn’t seem to have the energy.

  “It’s okay,” he told her.

  But then he understood.

  It was no longer the two of them in the house, and even as Mason stepped into the bedroom, Morgan knew there was one missing. That rising tide came back for him, carrying him out to a cold, lonely sea where the water filled his lungs. If he had the wind left to explain what he was feeling right then, “drowned” would be the only word he could wheeze. Because even though his wife was in his arms, hurt but safe, there was an undeniable absence of one other—one person who Morgan knew he couldn’t live without.

  Robin Young was gone.

  And Erika Givens had him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Property.

  That’s what Robin Young was to Erika. Just like Mason had been, and the others before him. The difference was that Robin wasn’t being punished for something he’d done—although she could have lived without the endless screaming. Rather, he was suffering for something his father had done. Nobody screwed her over like that, and Erika was taking back her pride.

  The truck rumbled to a stop, gas brakes huffing. The driver gave her a sideways glance and asked if she was okay. The truth was, Erika was far from okay. The crying baby in her arms had come complete with the bag of random baby items that she gripped in her left hand, and that was just about all she was equipped with. She’d never been a mother before—until now she’d never even thought about it—but this was the ideal time to start.

  “You okay from here, lady?” the driver asked.

  “I’m fine.” Erika cradled the baby in one arm and struggled to pull the bag strap up her shoulder. Juggling the two seemed impossible. She wondered how other mothers did it. “You could get the door though. It’d be a big help.”

  That was all it took for the driver to knock open the door and spring from his seat. He trudged around the front of the truck, his dirty old beard and beer gut lit up in the fierce headlights as he passed, and opened the door on Erika’s side. From there, he took the bag from her and then held her hand as she struggled to step down.

  “Watch your footing,” he said.

  No shit, she thought, nearly dropping the baby when she touched the ground. She snatched the bag from his hands and scanned the area; it was the same road she’d been on earlier that day, only now it was miles farther on and cloaked in the dark of night. Erika gave a passing thought to killing the truck driver and eliminating the witness, but the passing cars made it too much of a risk. Besides, although she knew where to go from here, she hadn’t let him in on the short walk through the trees that she still had to take.

  “Listen,” he said, closing the door
behind her. Thunk. “It just don’t feel right to leave a vulnerable young lady out here in the middle of the road, much less with a baby in her arms. You sure you’re gonna be all right?”

  “Yes,” she said with ire, raising her voice over the wails of young Robin. “And I’m not so vulnerable. Thanks for the ride, but you have to go now. There’s somewhere I have to be.”

  The driver watched her like she’d just emerged from an alien ship. He stepped backward, only turning when his foot hit the road and a horn blared as a car zoomed by. Seconds later, he was back in his truck, which coughed and spat as he pulled away, leaving her alone on this dark stretch of road—finally, alone.

  With the prized possession in her arms, Erika headed into the trees, carefully placing each foot among the dirt while she navigated in the dark. It crossed her mind that there could be foxes or badgers out here, but she couldn’t let that into her mind or she might lose her nerve. No matter what happened, she had to get this baby where it belonged. Only then could she consider this a victory. Only then could she play Mother.

  The time dragged. Erika glanced at her watch, the digital face lighting up in the dark. It shocked her to see that only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d entered the woods, but at least the crying had stopped. She could hear the sounds of nature again, no longer drowned out by the throaty yells of young Robin. Chirping and stirring in the trees beyond sent a shiver down her spine, but she fought on until she reached the dirt path that she knew all too well.

  She’d stayed here twice before as a young adult, back when her parents had stopped on long road trips. She couldn’t remember how long it’d been since she first stood at the far end of this path, gazing up at the structure beyond and wishing it could be hers someday. All she knew was that it was a part of her now—it’d been ingrained in her soul as a place so near and dear that to let it go—to even think about letting it go was no better than death itself.

  But now? Now it was hers. At least it would be in a matter of minutes. It was the perfect place for her to hide, to wait, and to let time pass while she mothered the baby in her arms. When she knew she was in the clear—and not a moment sooner—she could decide if she wanted to keep it or dispose of it. After that, her new life would officially begin. Because either way, she’d have gotten one over on Morgan Young, and that was good enough for her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Morgan sat beside Rachel on the couch, his arm around her quivering body as she sobbed. His eyes weren’t dry either, but he couldn’t let her see that. He had to be strong for both her and himself, and he began by holding her tight and stroking her hair. It wasn’t much in the way of comfort, but if she could just feel like she wasn’t alone, he considered it a start.

  Across the room, Gary operated as Detective Gary Lee, ordering officers around the house and keeping everything in order. Every now and then he would stop, nodding to Morgan in his own way of assuring him that he was handling it. Morgan nodded back his thanks and glanced over at the window, where Mason Black stood outside with his back to the glass, the smoke blending with the cold air to make it look like a burst of steam until it faded into the night. How had he dealt with it when this had happened to him, he wondered? Morgan had read the police reports: Amy Black had been taken, as had his sister and ex-wife. The reports said everything about the order of events but made no mention of how Mason had dealt with it as a man. As a father. He made a mental note to ask him if he got the chance.

  But what about now?

  The question circled his brain like vultures over a rotten carcass. Their shadows crawled over his conscience, reminding him that this was all his fault. Thank God Rachel didn’t see it that way, he thought, but that didn’t alleviate the blame he placed on himself. After all the discussions they’d had in recent months, it seemed his job had finally been the thing that destroyed them. If anything happened to Robin—if they never got him back in one piece—he would never forgive himself.

  It was bad enough that Rachel had been hurt. In her report, she talked about how Erika had forced her way in through the front door and stormed through the house until she found Robin sleeping upstairs. Rachel had put up the fight of her life, she’d said, and Morgan had no trouble believing it. Hell, she was as protective a mother as one could find, and the blow to the head with a decorative ashtray was what it took to knock her down. Thankfully for them, it’d done no more damage than to render her unconscious for a long while. Since then, the paramedics had patched her up. Physically speaking, it was a lucky escape, but the gaping hole in their hearts was tremendous. It only grew stronger with each passing minute.

  “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  Morgan twisted his neck to look beside him, where Gary had made his way over and crouched beside him, speaking with a soft, soothing tone. “Here?”

  “Outside.”

  Gently moving Rachel to one side, he kissed her on the cheek and promised he’d return shortly. She nodded and mumbled something, but Morgan couldn’t make it out through her tears. He reached for the nearby box of tissues, yanked some out and handed them to her, then placed the box in her lap, covering her with the blanket. He hated to leave her, but with any luck this was about finding Erika, and there was no way he would miss out on that.

  Outside, the brisk winter air assaulted his body with icy pricks. Morgan shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest, rubbing his ribs. Gary led the way and Morgan followed, passing by Mason and continuing until they were at the end of the driveway.

  “How you holding up?” Gary asked, leaning his back against a police cruiser.

  “My baby boy is missing. What do you think?”

  Gary made a tutting sound. “You level-headed in this?”

  “I always am. You know that.”

  “Right. But Rachel needs you at her side. Are you there, or are you here?”

  Morgan glanced back at the house, looking at the doorway where they’d once taken a picture of the two of them. They’d just moved in together, and the brand-new adventure had just begun. If he’d known then that he’d cause so much pain, he never would have put her in harm’s way. “This happened because of me. I’ll do anything to make it right.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Gary stood up straight, checked around him, and then lowered his tone. “The captain specifically requested that I keep you out of this, but that goes against my nature. If I let you in, you have to remain subtle. Can you do that?”

  For just a moment, Morgan felt a faint flicker of hope. It lifted his heart as well as his spirits, but it also grabbed his curiosity. “Whatever it is—whatever little piece of information you have—I want it. Please, just… Please.”

  “All right.” Gary scratched his cheek. “We just got a call from a lady three blocks from here. Says she saw a suspicious-looking woman struggling to hold a baby.”

  Morgan’s heart felt like it was bleeding. “Does she match Erika’s description?”

  “She does, yeah. She said it was dark, but the general description fits. And the Winnie the Pooh bag you reported missing was hanging from her shoulder.”

  “Then why are we wasting time? Let’s go see her.” Morgan took two steps back toward his car before he felt a strong hand clamp around his arm. He turned to see Gary shaking his head, a frown creasing up his features.

  “We’ve seen to all that.”

  “And?”

  “The woman—Erika—got into a company truck.”

  “Did she get the name of the company?”

  Gary nodded. “Heywood Logistics. We got in touch with them, and they’ve located the driver. He’s on his way back to the depot, so if we hurry we can meet him there in twenty minutes. But I’m not kidding: you have to play nice.”

  “Always.”

  Morgan felt fluttery as he followed Gary to the car. He rushed to the passenger side and opened the door, the slightest hint of faith seeping into the back of his mind. This could lead him to Robin, he realized. It wasn’t even about
catching Erika now. He just wanted his boy back in his arms, safe and sound. Whatever happened to that woman was none of his concern.

  “Wait.”

  Morgan had one foot in the car when he heard the deep voice. He turned.

  “Anything I can do?” Mason said, flicking a cigarette into the street where it rolled slowly toward the drain and finally fell in. “You’ve gone out of your way to help me, and whether or not you send the bill to my daughter, I still feel like I owe you big-time. Let me help.”

  His breath caught in his throat, Morgan glanced over to Gary, who sat shrugging beside him. It couldn’t hurt, he thought, but there were sensible ways to take him up on the offer without dragging him right into the investigation. Morgan cleared his throat and set his foot back on solid ground, the engine roaring to life behind him. “Don’t you have your own family to go home to? I’m sure they’re missing you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my car,” he said.

  “That might take a while.”

  “Then so be it.”

  Morgan studied him: the pushed-out chest and stern gaze told him this man was serious. It would be useful to have a man of such experience on his side, but as he kept telling himself, allocation of troops was the best strategy. “Then I’d appreciate it if you could stay here and be with Rachel until we get back. She’s all alone in there with a missing son.”

  “You want me to comfort a lady in distress?”

  “Sort of.”

  Mason bobbed his head and strolled back to the house. “Count on me.”

  It was a strange placement of trust, but for some reason Morgan didn’t feel as though it was misplaced. Somewhere inside Mason Black—once you fought your way through his bullshit bravado—was a kind and considerate person. That was enough to let Morgan know his wife was in safe hands while he climbed into the car and buckled up.