High-Caliber Holiday (7 page)

“I'll do my best,” she said.

Honestly, he wasn't convinced she would comply, and he had his work cut out for him in getting her to see that danger could be coming from people close to her. “I'd like to start by taking a look at your calendar for the last few months to see where you might have intersected with potential suspects so we can check them out.”

“Okay.”

“Also, as I mentioned, I'll want to talk with the staff here. And, of course, after Lacy's comments, I'll be conducting a thorough interview with Nantz.”

She eyed him, her resolve apparent in the tilt of her head. “I'm okay with setting that up, but I don't want to alienate all my coworkers so promise me you'll be diplomatic.”

“Sure,” he promised, though if it came down to pressing one of these people or holding back, he'd err on the side of being pushy if it would gain him additional information. “I'd like to suggest we invite Archer to join us for lunch.”

“Archer? He's the guy who tried to talk Craig down last night, right?”

Brady nodded. “He's well versed in the characteristics of stalkers, and I'd like him to share his knowledge with us. That way, as I investigate, I can watch for these traits. You'll be able to evaluate men you know in a new light, too.”

“Is that really necessary?” She sounded so weary he hated to continue, but her life depended on it.

“A normal person doesn't break in and leave surprises, Morgan. Which means we're dealing with an unbalanced individual who could take this to the next level in a heartbeat.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he might try to end your life.”

Panic raced into her eyes as if she'd just realized the danger she might be in. Realized that, except for him, she was completely alone. And in that moment, he discovered just how much he hated the thought of her being so vulnerable to a dangerous attack.

* * *

Morgan adjusted her silverware, lining it up and making sure everything was perfectly spaced. Other diners and restaurant staff in the burger place were laughing while she sat there listening to Archer provide details about the man who could be stalking her. She not only didn't want to hear the details, she didn't even want to admit she had a stalker.

“Morgan.” Brady leaned closer drawing her attention. “Did you hear Archer? Is there a shy man in your life who might be afraid to face you and declare his affection?”

Was there? She ran through the men she regularly interacted with and came up empty. “No.”

“Maybe a client,” Brady continued.

She shook her head. “I don't have that kind of relationship with my clients.”

“That you know of,” Archer said. “And I should point out that this guy isn't likely shy. Someone who is timid is not someone with enough nerve to break into your home.”

“But you just said he could be shy,” Brady argued.

“No, I said if we weren't dealing with a true stalker, he could be shy. But the break-ins suggest classic stalker mentality.”

“Which is what?” Brady asked, sounding testy.

He appeared to be as frustrated as she was about figuring out who was leaving the roses. She had no idea why it bothered him so much. Beside the fact that he seemed to feel responsible for protecting her. She sensed that he found her attractive, but she also got the feeling that something about her bothered him. What, she had no idea.

Archer faced her. “Maybe it would be helpful if I explained the three basic types of stalkers and you can think about men in your life who might fit the categories.”

Helpful, yes. Uncomfortable, yes. Necessary, yes.

“Go ahead,” she said, and prepared herself for what she was about to hear.

“Okay, so we have the antisocial, narcissistic and bully categories.”

Morgan shivered. “Just hearing the categories makes them all sound like people I wouldn't want anywhere near me.”

“Trust me, if we're dealing with a true stalker, you don't want to meet him.” The gravity of Archer's tone made her cringe.

Brady's hand resting on the tablecloth tightened into a fist before he pulled out a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket.

“I'll start with a few general characteristics.” Archer held up his index finger. “First, stalkers are usually above average in intelligence.” Up went the next finger. “Second, they have an obsessive personality and don't display the discomfort or anxiety that people would naturally feel in many situations.” Another finger shot up. “Third, they're loners and don't have a relationship outside the stalking one. And last—” he raised the fourth finger and paused for added effect. “They usually have low self-esteem, though they work hard to hide it.”

Brady looked up from his note taking. “This sound like anyone you know, Morgan? Nantz, maybe?”

“I can't rule him out based on these characteristics,” she said, hating the fact that she was casting suspicion on a man who—as far as she knew—hadn't acted improperly. “But, honestly, my gut still says he's not the guy. Wouldn't he have made his interest known by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Archer said. “He could be testing the waters to see how you feel about his approach. And he could even be doing this to make you turn to him for help and support.”

“I suppose it's possible,” she admitted reluctantly.

“It would help if you told us more about each group.” Brady held his pen at the ready.

Archer nodded. “So, let's start with the antisocial male. He's impulsive, reckless and can't postpone gratification. In that respect, he thinks of other people as objects he can manipulate to help him find gratification. He'd have very little conscience. No empathy. He operates outside social norms. Lies a lot. Of all the categories, this guy is the most aggressive and violent.”

Brady looked at her. “This sound like Nantz?”

“Thankfully, no.” She sighed out a breath of relief. “Not at all.”

“Fit Preston?”

“I thought we'd ruled him out because he's out of town.”

“You may have, but I didn't,” Brady said. “He could have hired someone to do this.”

“That's kind of far-fetched, isn't it, bro?” Archer asked.

Brady lifted his chin. “How so?”

“True stalkers don't hire others to do the work for them. They take joy and satisfaction in their actions.” Archer leaned back in his chair and looked at Brady.

Morgan couldn't help but compare the two. Brady was tough and rugged looking. Archer was more refined, yet not any less powerful. He looked more like the kind of guys she'd dated. His clothes were expensive while Brady's were more practical and budget friendly. Archer would fit in with her family. Brady would stand out like a sore thumb. Despite it all, Brady was the one who made her heart beat faster—and he was also the one who made her feel safe.

She shook off her thoughts in time to hear Archer say, “If this Preston guy is stalking Morgan, then he'd most likely be leaving the roses and pictures himself.”

Brady's jaw tightened. “Fine. We'll forget about Preston for now, but if anything changes, we'll reconsider him again. Let's move on to the narcissistic type.”

Archer sat forward. “He feels grandiose and self-important. He's arrogant and haughty. He's firmly convinced that he's unique and likely exaggerates his accomplishments, talents and skills. He requires excessive admiration, attention and affirmation.”

As the description sank in, Morgan's heart constricted. Archer could easily be talking about Nantz. As much as she hated to admit it, she would. “This sounds more like Nantz.”

“Then we have our first official suspect.” Brady's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

Morgan looked at him. “Remember you promised to go easy on all the staff when you talk to them.”

“That was before I heard this. Now, I'll do whatever it takes to find out if Nantz is involved.”

That's what Morgan was afraid of. “I love my job, Brady, and I don't intend to lose it because you decided to play hardball with Nantz. If you want access to him, you've got to promise to take it easy in the initial interview. Then we'll talk about what you discover and go from there.”

“I'll try. Unless, of course, he confesses.” Brady grinned. “That's a whole other story.”

She could see how much he loved his job, and she suspected he was very good at it, but she hoped he wouldn't destroy her wonderful working environment in the process.

He turned his attention to Archer. “And the last guy? The bully.”

“As you'd expect, bullies feel inadequate and compensate with violence. Not just physical, but verbal and psychological. They're a lot like the antisocial personality in that they are insincere, haughty and lack empathy. They also treat people as objects to help find gratification. But a bully differs in that he is ruthless, and blames others for his failures. He has low frustration levels and gets bored easily. These guys are immature and real control freaks. But they're more socially adept than the other categories and they can be fun to be around. You have to spend some time with them to see their dysfunctional personality.”

“That's totally not Nantz,” Morgan said.

Brady looked at her and held her gaze. “Archer's made it very clear that this man is in your life, Morgan. Don't miss seeing these characteristics just because you don't want to see them.”

He kept staring at her, and she shrank back at his intensity. Gone was the sweet guy who'd talked of caring for a calf and was sad when it was sold. The gentle guy who held her earlier. This man staring at her was the rock-solid guy who could easily pull the trigger on his rifle.

The sight scared her as much as it made her feel safe.

“I'm sorry I sound so doom and gloom,” he said. “But you don't have to worry. I won't leave you alone. I'll be with you as you go through the rest of your day.”

“Make sure you don't stop at considering the men you know by name,” Archer added. “The stalker may be someone you interact with or simply see on a regular basis, but don't really know.”

“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

I
n 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.

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.