I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville)

by Mary Burton

  After a half hour of searching and beginning to feel part fool and part lunatic, she sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. “Maybe I am losing my mind.”

  As she leaned forward to rise, her gaze caught sight of something attached to the underside of the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. It was small, barely larger than a dime. She grabbed a chair, positioned it under the light, and climbed up. Her fingertips skimmed the warm glass until it slid over a small metal object. Heart racing, she plucked the metal disc from the underside.

  She held it up to the light, triumph racing through her. It appeared to be a listening device.

  For several long seconds, she stared at it, the sound of her heartbeat thudding hard in her ears. Philip. You bastard. Slowly, she closed her fingers over the device.

  Four years ago, she’d have screamed into the device, telling Philip she knew he was listening! She’d have battled hysteria. Cried. And then she would have smashed the device before calling the cops. But not today. Today she was smarter. Afraid, yes, but wiser.

  Carefully, she reattached the listening piece to the underside of the light fixture and smiled. Now it was a matter of setting the trap.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Monday, January 23, 3 P.M.

  Deke arrived at the forensics lab office after three. He showed his badge at the front desk and then swiped his access card, allowing him behind the security doors. He found Georgia in the lab, staring into a microscope. Her red hair was twisted into a topknot and a deep frown furrowed her brow.

  “From the day Mom and Dad first brought you home, you were frowning,” he said.

  She glanced up, her green eyes dark with curiosity. “I had three older brothers waiting for me and, genius baby that I was, I knew that meant trouble.”

  He chuckled. “You were right. It’s a wonder Mom didn’t equip you with your own sidearm.”

  “Believe me, I asked more than a few times for a handgun, but she said it wasn’t a good idea for a five-year-old to be packing.”

  “Didn’t you ask Santa for a pistol one year?”

  She laughed. “No one would give me one, so I went to the man himself.”

  He rubbed his hand over his head. “Damn, how many little girls ask Santa for a handgun?”

  “I think I requested a nine-millimeter Beretta like Dad’s.”

  “Jesus. It’s a wonder Santa didn’t call child protective services.”

  “Santa was an off-duty cop making an extra buck. He knew Dad had a houseful of hellions.”

  “Ah, well.” He leaned against the side of the desk. “I understand you have an identification on my victim.”

  She pushed away from the microscope and shuffled through a stack of files until she found the right one. “The one with parts missing?”

  “That would be the one.”

  “I do.” She opened a manila folder and read her scrawled notes. “You read Dr. Heller’s report. The victim was dismembered postmortem.”

  “I did.”

  “I’m also cross-checking DNA with the John Doe you found in the warehouse. Remember the one without hands, feet, and a head?”

  “Stands to reason the two might be one and the same victim.”

  “We’ll see. But I know who owned the hands and feet because I pulled a good clean print from the index finger of the right hand. We can thank the cold weather for that.”

  Deke reached for his phone to text the findings to Alex. If the victims were one and the same, this case might break. “That’s about the only reason to like winter.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever see summer again?”

  “I’ll remind you of that when it’s July and we’re sweating buckets at a crime scene.”

  Smiling, she glanced at her notes. “I ran the victim’s prints through AFIS and got a hit. Lucky for us, he was in the military. Served eight years in the army. His name was Brian Lawrence.”

  The name meant nothing to Deke, but it would give him a possible address, job, and known associates. He texted the update to Alex. “So much for Alex’s theory that our guy was Philip Latimer.”

  “The guy by the river isn’t Latimer. I have no conclusive information on the warehouse victim.”

  “Guy gets out of the military with honors and a year later ends up in pieces on the banks of the Cumberland River.”

  Deke had learned long ago not to become too closely attached to his victims. Emotions like anger, revenge, and guilt could be a hell of a motivator, but they could turn out to be your worst enemy. “Crossed the path of the wrong guy.”

  Deke’s text on his mind, Alex left work after six intending to drive to Leah’s as soon as he swung by his house and got a bite to eat. They had a lot to discuss, but he hadn’t eaten in fifteen hours and he was starving. He would be at Leah’s by eight.

  It was getting dark when he arrived home. The brick colonial was located at the end of a cul-de-sac that backed up to woods. He’d chosen a small rural community north of Nashville to build. Though he’d been in the house two years, he’d furnished only a couple of rooms, and those were sparsely done at best. Georgia had said it needed a woman’s touch and had offered. The idea of her pulling out paint cans and adding color to perfectly fine antique white walls made him smile. The house might not have much, but it was simple and quiet. Safe haven.

  He pulled into the long gravel drive and shut off the engine. Out of the car, he fished for his house key on the ring as gravel crunched under the beat of rapid footsteps. Instantly, he tensed, twisted, and reached for his gun, but before he could free it, something hard hit him across the rib cage. He woofed out a breath of agony, rolled to the ground, and scrambled for his gun. He raised it, not even sure what was coming after him, only knowing he was going to kill whatever it was.

  He glimpsed a hooded figure wearing a mask. The attacker gripped a baseball bat but, seeing the raised gun, hurled it at Alex and ran. The bat swished by his head, missing him by inches before it clanged and rattled on the pavement.

  When he looked, his attacker had vanished.

  “Motherfucker,” he muttered as he tried to sit up. Pain shot through his midsection. On the heels of the slicing pain, memories of falling off Miller’s Falls washed over him. “Damn it.” Anger juiced him enough for him to sit up and reach for his cell. He called Deke.

  “Detective Morgan.”

  “It’s Alex.” He took a breath and tried to step back from the pain. “I just got attacked in front of my house.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And I’m calling the local police.”

  “Right.” Alex struggled for breath as he held his gun close and tried to push himself to his feet. However, he quickly discovered the pain in his side robbed him of breath and the will to move. Gritting his teeth, he angled his back toward his car. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but a chill had settled deep in his bones when, in the distance, sirens finally wailed.

  The rescue squad and a sheriff’s car pulled up by his car, and when they got out, he shouted, “I’m here.”

  A paramedic, a young woman with long, brown hair twisted into a knot, ran around and knelt beside him. “What happened?”

  Breathing hurt. “I was hit with a bat. The guy threw it at me, so it’s around here somewhere. It might have his prints on it.”

  She didn’t bother a glance toward the bat. Her gaze remained on Alex. “Where did he hit you?”

  Alex winced, nodded toward the right side of his ribs.

  The sheriff’s deputy hovered behind the paramedic. “Did you get a good look at the guy?”

  “No. Didn’t see him coming.”

  “Can you tell me anything?”

  Alex shook his head. “No.”

  The paramedic pulled on rubber gloves and gently touched his side. He groaned and gripped his gun tighter.

  When the paramedic spotted the gun, she sat back. “Can you give that to me or the sheriff?”

  “I’m TBI, and I’m keeping it until my brother
arrives.”

  “Badge?” the deputy asked.

  “Right breast pocket.” He gritted his teeth as pain bolted through him like lightning. “Get it and look for yourself.”

  The paramedic pulled the badge and handed it to the deputy. “Agent Morgan.”

  “That’s right.” Strained, tight words hissed through clenched teeth.

  The deputy shifted his stance. “I know you.”

  Pain cut. “And you hate my guts? Heard it all before.”

  “Not at all. I admire the work. Bad is bad.”

  Alex looked up, not sure if the guy was joking, and heard the screech of tires and, seconds later, saw Deke approach, his hand on his gun. He moved with quick, even strides, and his normally solemn expression darkened to murderous.

  The paramedic flexed gloved fingers. “That your brother?”

  Alex held tight to his gun, as if he expected the paramedic to reach for it. “That’s right.”

  The paramedic sat back on her haunches, resting gloved hands on her thighs. “Give him your gun.”

  Deke showed his badge to the deputy and squatted beside Alex. “What the hell happened?”

  He closed his eyes and eased his grip on control. Pain washed over him. “I was hit with a bat. It’s around here somewhere.”

  “I can’t treat him while he’s holding a gun,” the paramedic said.

  Alex’s fingers loosened their grip on the gun’s handle and Deke gently took it from Alex. “I got your back, Alex. I’ll find the bat. Let the paramedic do her job.”

  His head dropped back against the car. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”

  Deke’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. “And don’t think I’ll ever let you forget it, my little piñata.”

  “You know what Wednesday is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Our anniversary.” Philip’s hand moved up and down Leah’s lower leg. The gentle touch did not mask the restrained power in his fingertips. Those fingertips, those hands, could wield pleasure as well as pain. How many times had he hurt her with those hands?

  “We aren’t married anymore, Philip. You’re dead.”

  His hand paused on her knee. “But I’m not dead. I’m right here. I’ve always been close, watching.”

  “You are dead. You are part of my past, not my present.”

  “Wrong, Leah. Dead wrong.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. This close, she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave and feel the heat of his body. This close, she remembered he stood tall at six foot three and had a muscular frame born of genetics and endless workouts. He liked knowing he could bench press three hundred pounds, and that his fist packed an iron wallop.

  This close, she felt small, vulnerable. “No, we’re not married.”

  Like a jackal springing on prey, he pounced, covering her body. Those long, strong fingers wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze. “Say we’re married. Say it!”

  The breath caught in her throat and quickly grew stale in her lungs. Her heart beat faster. Her skin tingled. Her vision blurred. She shook her head no.

  Leah jolted awake and glanced around sightlessly. Seconds ticked by. Her heart pulsed, rapid and hard. And then, finally, she realized she was in her living room, on the couch. Dragging a trembling hand through her hair, she looked at the couch and the remote control in her hand. A sitcom from the eighties was showing on the television. She glanced around the room, jumping to her feet, half-expecting to see Philip.

  Charlie glanced up at her, her expression worried. The dog had burrowed under a blanket on the couch and had curled into a tight ball.

  As the dregs of the dream faded, she struggled to shake off the fear that gripped and tightened her airway.

  She glanced at the clock and realized it was after eleven. She checked her phone, fearing she’d missed a call from Alex. No messages. Whatever he’d said he was going to do, he wasn’t coming by here tonight.

  She shut off the television and rose, rolling her head from side to side. She shouldn’t be disappointed. He had other cases. Other priorities.

  Charlie raised her head and yawned. Leah smiled, and the dog lazily got up off the couch and allowed Leah to click on the leash and guide her to the door. She shrugged on a coat, and the two went out into the dark.

  She should be afraid. It made sense that if Philip was out there, he could attack at any moment. But she knew he was waiting for their anniversary. He was waiting for the day they’d exchanged vows. In his mind, that was the day he’d reclaim what he considered his. She had two days and counting before their anniversary. She could run, but he’d follow, and again they’d replay this deadly wait-and-see game until he was ready to end it. No, her best chance was to stay and fight. She understood the depths of his evil and wouldn’t allow him to hurt her again.

  Her thoughts turned to the listening device.

  “I’m not going to be a sitting duck this time, Philip,” she whispered. “I’m not helpless.”

  Rick got the call from Georgia, minutes after eleven, that Alex was in the hospital. He’d received a similar call two years before from Deke, right after Georgia had been admitted to the hospital. Memories of that long night chased him as he strode through the emergency room doors, ignoring the stiffness in his leg.

  Georgia paced in the waiting room, her fingers clenched. Stress had drained her face of color, drawing more attention to the splash of freckles across her nose. The freckles made her look young and vulnerable. However, one look at her expression told him to tread carefully. She wanted to hurt someone.

  “Is he alive?” Rick asked.

  She nodded quickly. “Yes. He’s going to be okay.”

  Relief bolted through Rick, and he had to pause a moment to calm a too-fast heartbeat. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in X-ray, and those damn nurses won’t tell me anything.” She glanced around him. “Where’s Jenna?”

  “Parking the car. She’ll be here in a minute. Where’s Deke?”

  Relief drained most of his anger and worry, but good news hadn’t calmed Georgia. “He’s picking up Rachel. She wants to be here.”

  He glanced toward two nurses, both grim-faced and annoyed as they traded stares at Georgia. Baby sister had been on the warpath.

  “Let me talk to them.”

  “They don’t speak,” she said in a loud voice. “They just tell you to wait. I don’t like to wait!”

  A couple of the nurses glanced in her direction again, but neither made a comment. They turned back to their charts and monitors.

  “No one does. Take a deep breath. I’ll handle this.” Rick walked to the desk and offered a tight grin, his version of friendly. He pulled out his badge. “I’m Detective Rick Morgan with Nashville Homicide. What can you tell me about Agent Alex Morgan’s injuries?”

  “Are you family?”

  Rick carefully tucked his badge in his back pocket. “Older brother, but consider me here in an official capacity as well.”

  The nurse, tall, thin, and in her late twenties, glanced from him to Georgia. “She’s your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze looked both pleading and annoyed. “All I ask is that she be polite.”

  “Understood.” Someone should probably apologize for Georgia, but he didn’t. Whatever had happened with Alex had shaken them both.

  The nurse opened a chart. “Your brother sustained a bad blow to the ribs, which are going to be real sore for a week or two. We’ll know soon if they’re broken.”

  Behind him, he heard Georgia’s loud footsteps as she paced and released a loud sigh.

  The nurse leaned in a fraction and lowered her voice. “Your sister isn’t making this easy.”

  “The Morgans don’t like hospitals. And she’s the worst.” He and Georgia had done time in the hospital, as had Alex when he’d shattered his arm as a kid. All the Morgan siblings would have preferred the operating room to the waiting room. “Know how much longer it will be?”


  A brow arched. “He should be in his room any minute.”

  Rick gently tapped the nurses’ station counter, as if closing a chapter. “Thanks.”

  Her computer dinged and she glanced at the monitor. “He’s headed to his room now. If you give me a minute or two to get him settled, he’ll be ready to be seen. But you can’t stay long.”

  “Soon as we know he’s fine, we’ll clear out.”

  He moved back toward Georgia. “Just give it a few more minutes.”

  She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I hate the smell of this place.”

  The elevator doors opened to reveal Deke, Rachel, and Jenna. The trio of Morgans stepped off the elevator and moved toward them. Deke looked grim-faced, par for the course, whereas Rachel’s expression was cool and controlled. That was her courtroom, don’t-let-the-jury-see-you-sweat face. Jenna’s long hair hung around her shoulders and over a black V-necked sweater and faded jeans. Seeing his bride smoothed the edginess grating Rick’s insides.

  He shook Deke’s hand. “Hell of a family reunion.”

  Deke rubbed a callused hand over his dark hair, his relief palpable. “We’ve never been good at normal. What’s the deal with Alex?”

  “Maybe broken ribs. He should be in his room any minute and we can ask him. Can you tell me now what the hell happened?”

  “Don’t know. He called and said he’d been attacked. I didn’t ask questions, just bolted. Uniforms were on the scene first.”

  “Did he get a good look at his attacker?” Rick asked.

  “I tried to get a description out of him, but he wasn’t able to give me one.”

  “Did he see a car? Anything that would help us catch this creep?” Jenna’s hand rested on his shoulder, halting the rising heat of his temper.

  “No.”

  “This isn’t a case, boys,” Georgia said. “This is Alex.”

  “Georgia.” Rachel’s voice hit a steady, even chord. “Alex is going to be fine.”

  Georgia glanced at Rachel, her expression sharp. “That’s what Deke said when I stood in this very room after Rick got shot. Hell, that’s what Mom said when they brought Alex here as a kid.”