Asking for Trouble (22 page)

“Crockets, too,” Rojas confirmed, circling the money with a permanent marker. “Stack at the front of the safe.”

Peyton peered at the other photos on the board. “Is cash listed as stolen on the Fitzgerald case?”

“Ummmm, no.” Rojas picked up the picture from the table. “Can't see much on this one.”

“You can here.” Peyton tapped his finger on the closeup of the safe. “Looks about the right size for a stack of cash, right?”

Both Rojas and Gage peered closer. “Yeah,” Rojas said. “Yeah, it does, and here. Lance Swendon.”

“Charles Baker and—” Gage put a big red circle on the last picture. “James Van Keltin.”

“And none of them listed the stolen cash on their retracted statements,” Peyton confirmed.

“Why does everything circle to Van Keltin?” Gage wondered.

“How does any of this help Morgan?” Rojas asked.

“Getting there,” Gage said. “I want both of you on the phones with Swendon, Baker, and Goodwin. Tell them we don't care about false statements or even if they lied before, but ask them the simple yes or no question: Was any cash stolen the night they were robbed. That's all we need right now. If I'm right, that'll be enough to stop Kolfax.”

“Gage.” Evan stuck his head in the door. “Judge blew his game, came back to the office early. Warrant's been issued.”

“She's out of time,” Peyton said.

“Shit.” Gage's mind spun. The second Kolfax arrested Morgan, there was no getting her back. Kolfax would parade her on the evening news and all over the Internet to showcase his success over a once-blown case. They were so close . . . “Shit.” He scrubbed his hands down his face. “Shit. Shit. Shit. We don't have another choice. Bouncer.” He pointed at her as she returned with two huge paper bags of food. “You and Peyton with me. Rojas, you make those calls and get the answers we need. Evan, call in every favor you have with a judge.”

“What for?” Evan called as Bouncer and Peyton followed him to the elevator.

“An arrest warrant for Morgan Tremayne.”

“I don't know what's gotten into you, but I like this take-a-day-off Morgan.” Sheila helped unload Brandon's soon-to-be-assembled BMX bike from the backseat of Morgan's Mustang. “Where are we putting this?”

“We'll hide it under the stairs to my apartment for now. I knew I should have changed my clothes.” She kicked her three-inch black pumps into the grass, wished she could do the same for the tight red skirt and matching blazer, but she had to get this box out of sight before Nico got home with Kelley. The kid could sniff out a present like a bloodhound chasing a fox.

“Well, would you look at that?” Sheila stopped helping, leaving Morgan to struggle to keep the box from hitting the ground.

“Look at what? Oh.” Morgan wasn't sure what to think about the image of Drew and Gina walking toward the house together, Drew carrying his wadded-up J & J Markets apron in his hand, Gina in her parochial school uniform.

“Romeo and Juliet: the Next Generation,” Sheila joked, and picked up her end of the box again.

“Because that ended so well for everyone. Wait, grab our purses.” Morgan grunted and walked backward down the driveway. She pried open the small gate underneath her staircase, waved a bunch of cobwebs out of the way, and she and Sheila shoved the box in. Sweaty, grimy, and exhilarated, Morgan grinned at her sister. “He's going to go nuts.”

“Only if you get it assembled in time. Maybe Gage can help?”

“Maybe.” It wasn't the first time today Sheila had tried to talk to Morgan about Gage. Hopefully it would be the last time Morgan would have to deflect the inquiry. “I need a drink.”

“Works for me. Besides, there's a little boy in there who owes me a Monopoly rematch.” Sheila rubbed her hands together, then dropped her purse on the top of the washing machine as they entered the house.

“Lydia doing better today?” Morgan asked Angela as she removed her blazer.

“A little bit.” But Angela's smile wasn't as full as usual. “She slept most of the day and her fever's down.”

“She's back in the wheelchair, isn't she?” Morgan's throat tightened as Sheila wrapped her arms around herself and set her jaw, looked away. This was the fear battering the back of Morgan's mind—that Lydia was rallying before the end.

“Yeah.” Angela blinked, but not fast enough to stop the tears from falling. “I know. I know it's inevitable. Doesn't mean it hurts any less.”

“We fight until we can't fight anymore.” Morgan grabbed her hand and squeezed, wanting to cry along with her, but once she started, she might never stop. “It's all we can do.” The front door banged shut. “Drew and Gina,” she said. “Brave-face time.”

“I don't have one,” Sheila muttered as she headed into the hall. “Hey, guys. Who's up for some Monopoly with my little guy this afternoon?”

“Could be the best medicine for all of us, right?” Morgan reached for the dish towel as Drew and Gina ambled in. “Well, hello, you two. Drew, weren't you supposed to work until five?”

“Stephen sent me home early.” He grimaced at the mention of Gage's manager brother, as if he didn't know what reaction he was going to get.

“Oh, God.” Morgan nearly dropped the plate she'd been drying. “What happened?”

He looked at Gina, his sour expression turning more dour before the two of them grinned.

“He got a promotion,” Gina announced.

“Well, not a promotion, really,” Drew said when Angela gasped. “Stephen asked if I'd be interested in working the deli counter for a while.”

“Drew, that's great news.” She started forward, hesitated. “Can I give you a congratulatory hug?”

He shrugged, which in Drew-speak may as well have been a backflip with fireworks.

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezed hard, and felt his hands on her shoulders. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered so only he could hear. “So proud.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, ducking his head when she let him loose.

“My turn,” Angela cried, and repeated the gesture with far more enthusiasm.

“And what brings you by?” Morgan asked Gina.

“I missed the kids,” she said simply. “They're fun to hang out with. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

“Morgan!” Sheila's scream sliced through the house and Morgan's heart.

She shoved Gina out of the way and plunged toward the stairs as her sister bolted down. “Lydia?”

“Brandon.” Sheila's face was vampire white. “It's Brandon.”

“Call 9-1-1.” Morgan ordered Gina. Barefoot, she took the stairs two at a time, plowed around the corner into Brandon's new room. He was lying on the floor, his tiny body convulsing, his neck arched as his hands twitched. Morgan fell to her knees. She couldn't touch him, but he might hurt himself.

She placed her hands on Brandon's shoulders, applied light pressure until his legs stopped moving. Morgan scanned the room, looked for blood. Had he fallen? Hit his head? Tripped? Drew raced in, and in the distance she heard the whirring of Lydia's wheelchair.

“Fix him,” Sheila whispered, and Morgan knew her sister would be of no help. She was trembling so hard Morgan was afraid her bones might snap. “Please fix him.”

“Keep Lydia in her room,” Morgan told her. Nodding, Sheila backed away.

“Drew, come here.” Morgan grabbed for his hand and placed his palm on Brandon's forehead. “Try to keep his head still, okay. Don't force it, just gentle pressure. Angela, make sure there's a clear path for the paramedics.”

Brandon's skin had lost all color, his chest barely rose. Morgan leaned down, pressed her ear against his chest. Heartbeat. Faint, but there. “Come on, baby boy. Don't you give up on me,” she whispered, refusing to let the fear in. “Gina!”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Ambulance is on its way. Three minutes out. What can I do?” She stood over them, tucking her hair behind her ear over and over as she stared down at Brandon, her face a mixture of terror and panic. “What's wrong with him?”

“Don't know.” Morgan felt Brandon's body ease under her touch. “Grab the blanket off his bed for me.”

Gina whipped it off, handed it to Morgan, who tucked it around Brandon. “I think the seizure's stopped. Brandon?” She felt for the pulse in his neck as a rasping sound echoed from his lungs. Pink foam bubbled from between his blue-tinged lips, blood trickling out the side of his mouth. “No,” she moaned, trying to take hold of herself, unable to keep her mind from identifying the symptoms of an embolism. “Oh, God, no,” she screamed. “We need that ambulance now!”

***

“Looks like we're too late.” Peyton's voice came over Gage's Bluetooth as he turned onto Tumbleweed Drive.

“God.” Gage's entire body tingled as he hit the gas, plowing down the half block, and came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street behind the ambulance. He tapped his ear. “Peyton, keep an eye out for Kolfax. Delay him any way you can, then follow the plan. You got me?”

“Got it.”

Gage bolted out of the car and raced up the walkway, into the house. “Morgan!”

As he headed for the stairs he saw a paramedic back onto the landing, guiding a stretcher. Gage couldn't breathe. The thought of that little girl, beautiful Lydia, with her big brown eyes and an even bigger capacity to love, pricked at his heart. Would he ever look at a Tinker Bell T-shirt the same way again? Hear a child's laugh without thinking of her.

“Morgan,” he called again, and backed up, watching the stretcher pass and the tiny still form under the blanket.

Gage's entire body went numb. “Brandon. What's happened? What's wrong with him?” He brushed his hand against the tiny cold fingers lying against a too-still chest. The oxygen mask covered most of his face. Gage couldn't tell if he was breathing. This wasn't right. Brandon was okay. Brandon's cancer was gone. It was Lydia they had to worry about. Wasn't it?

“Gage.” His sister ran down the stairs, threw herself into his arms as Morgan, Angela, and Drew followed.

Sirens blared a few blocks away, throwing Gage so far into hell he didn't think he'd ever find his way out. Kolfax.

“Morgan, I need you to come with me,” he said, trying to console his sister as Morgan walked past him.

“I can't.” Morgan's eyes were pinned to Brandon as he was carried out of the house. “I need to be with him. I promised”—her breath hitched and tugged at his heart—“when he had his chemo, I promised him I'd never leave him alone. I can't leave him alone.”

Gage cupped her cheek in his hand, tried to get her to look at him, but she was as stiff as steel, eyes glazed so thick he couldn't see his Morgan any longer.

“Have to go.” She took a step out the door just as Gage saw Peyton and Bouncer's car pull up to block Kolfax's and the two patrol cars speeding toward the house.

“What's going on?” Angela asked.

Gage moved Gina aside, saw Drew step in, take hold of his sister's hand.

“Morgan, you have to listen to me.” Gage bent down, tried to get her to see him. “You need to come with me right now.”

Bouncer's voice erupted in his hear. “Warrant's in. Gotta do it now, Gage. We're out of time.”

“What's going on?” Sheila flew down the stairs as if Satan was nipping at her stiletto heels. “Gage, what are the cops doing here?”

“Sheila, call your father. Tell him to be ready to meet Morgan at the Twenty-first Precinct when he gets the call. You understand?”

Sheila nodded. “Yes, but—”

“Let go of me,” Morgan said, and Gage saw they were loading Brandon into the ambulance.

“I can't.” Gage ignored the excruciating twisting in his chest. “Morgan, I can't let you go with him.” No matter how much he wished otherwise.

“Get your hands off her!” Drew flew at him, but Gage blocked him, turned Morgan's back to the door and grabbed her arms.

“Sheila, go with Brandon in the ambulance and call your father on the way,” Gage ordered.

“I can't,” Sheila whispered as she brought a hand to her throat, shook her head as her eyes went wide with terror. “Angela?”

“Nico's due home any minute with Kelley,” Angela said.

“I've got the house,” Sheila said with a shaky nod and too wide eyes. “That I can do.”

“I'm going with you.” Drew bolted out the door behind Angela.

“I'll call Mom,” Gina said, her normally flushed complexion pasty white. “Where are you taking Morgan?”

“Inspector.” Kolfax bellowed as he crossed the lawn. “You're interfering with a federal investigation.”

“You're interfering with a local one.” Gage pulled out his cuffs.

“Gage,” his sister cried, diving forward.

“Don't do this,” Sheila said, grabbing Gina's shoulders and pulling her away from her brother. “Gage, whatever it is you think she's done, it's not her fault.”

“I don't have a choice. It's my job,” he said as he snapped the cuffs on Morgan's wrists.

“Your job sucks.” Gina spat. Gage reeled at the loathing in his baby sister's eyes.

Morgan looked down at her hands, then up at him, the glazed detachment turning to shock as Gage said, “Morgan Tremayne, I'm arresting you on suspicion of collusion with Nemesis and as an accessory after the fact.”

“To what?” Gina's protest was drowned by the ambulance siren screeching to life as it pulled away.

“It's okay,” Morgan whispered, as if Gage's proclamation had cleared her head. For a moment he thought she looked relieved. In that moment, he knew she was guilty, and the truth crashed into him with the force of a bullet. “It'll be okay, Gina. Just watch Lydia for me? Kelley will be home soon. Don't let her get scared. I'll be okay.”

“You won't get away with this, Juliano,” Kolfax said as Gage tugged Morgan past him. “Your career is over.”

“What career?” Gage sneered.

The walk to his car was the longest of his life. Every step pounded into him like a nail in the coffin of his relationship with Morgan. All that was left now was to bury it.

He stopped to scoop up her shoes that were lying on the grass, tried not to worry about what she must be thinking, what she had to be feeling at the moment. The terror, the worry over Brandon. Not knowing what was wrong with him. He didn't have the luxury to care, not when this was the only way to protect her.

He opened the back door of his car, pushed her inside, and listened to Kolfax bluster and scream at agents Marcus and Alice as they slinked into their unmarked unit.

“Gage, I—”

“Not a word, Morgan.” Gage slammed the door and set it in reverse, saw the FBI car do the same in the other direction. “You haven't been Mirandized. Until you are you, keep your mouth shut.” He looked into his rearview mirror in time to see her flinch. He tapped his ear. “Peyton? You ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Gage glanced at Morgan, who had pressed her lips into such a thin line they'd disappeared. She stared out the window, looking like a lost little girl without hope. When he pulled in behind Peyton's car at Lancaster Park, he saw Morgan blink, frown. She looked around as if she were coming out of a trance. “What's going on? What are we doing here?”

Gage pulled her out of the car and unlocked the cuffs before walking her over to Peyton's blue Buick. With a confused expression, she got in, gripping the open window with trembling fingers as he closed the door.

“Keep driving around until you hear from me,” Gage said, leaning down to talk to Peyton and Bouncer. “Shouldn't be more than an hour or two.”

“Gage,” Morgan said in a tone that told him she was emerging from the shock. “Gage, I'm sorry.”

“For what, exactly?” Gage moved to her window, staring into the face of the woman who meant more to him than he'd ever believed possible. The woman who, despite her own dedication to her work, had shown him there was more to life than a job. The woman he loved. “Forgive you for what? Not trusting me? For putting me in the position of having to arrest you?” Sorrow crossed her face like a shadow at sunset. “Or for lying to me from the moment we met?”