The Still of Night (25 page)
“Deerborne’s call woke me.” Shelly shoved her glasses up her nose. She only wore them upon waking and at night after removing her contacts. She looked around. “Doesn’t look like an emergency. You’re alive anyway. Did Brett come over?”
“Brett and Dan both.” She pictured Dan’s face fixed on Morgan.
“What happened?”
“Our favorite paranoid overreacting.”
“To what?”
Jill moistened her lips. “Shelly, Morgan’s here.”
Shelly’s eyes darted.
“He’s not here this minute. He went for coffee. But he drove all night and just showed up.”
“Morgan Spencer.
The?
”
“Yes, Shelly.
The
.”
Shelly plopped her hands on her hips. “Did Dan see him?”
“Oh yes.” Jill pictured the scene exactly as Dan must have seen it, pulling into the parking lot and up to her door.
“So tell me everything.”
Jill sighed. “He wants to see Kelsey. I guess he thought I could arrange it.”
“Can you?”
Jill shook her head. “She’s at the treatment center in Connecticut. Even if she were in Des Moines, the family would have to want it. And they don’t.”
The Thunderbird’s engine sounded outside and Jill braced herself. A minute later, Morgan tapped a knuckle to the door and pushed it open. Shelly gasped. Morgan had that effect.
M
organ took in Jill and the other woman with a casual glance. So she’d called in reinforcements. He closed the door and joined them at the counter, setting down his double espresso. Normally he liked the morning blend, but this morning a direct infusion to the bloodstream seemed in order.
“Morgan, this is Shelly, my neighbor and best friend, and the wife of one of the officers who came earlier. Shelly, Morgan Spencer.” She obviously had no terms to describe him. Understandable. He hadn’t even introduced her to Noelle when she came to the ranch.
He squeezed Shelly’s hand with a smile. “Hi.” He could sense Jill’s nerves like a leftover odor filling the kitchen. Had she run for her friend before he’d cleared the lot? He reached for his coffee and slurped it softly. Man, he needed that. The half he’d downed driving back was only now clearing the fog.
“Well, I guess I’ll …” Shelly headed toward the patio door.
Morgan raised his cup. “You don’t have to go on my account.” Especially if Jill needed the buffer.
Shelly caught the door handle. “You two probably want to talk.”
He glanced at Jill. Did she? What would they have to say? But Shelly closed the door behind her with a wave, then started across the yard. Morgan watched her go into the opposite patio door, then turned back. Jill’s hair was drying into that careless mop that was surprisingly alluring, saucy, and vulnerable at once.
She smelled faintly of apples, and he guessed her shampoo. No other fragrance covered it. It seemed an appropriate Iowa girl scent.
Jill took out a Ziploc bag of scones from the refrigerator. “I’ll just warm them.” She took down two salmon-colored plates and put the scones into the microwave. Soon their aroma covered hers. He was not much on breakfast, especially this early, but without sleep something in his stomach would be good.
He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Seems I’ll have to guess.”
She turned to him. “Guess?”
“The one giving orders was Shelly’s husband. The other one …”
He watched her color rise. He’d guessed correctly. “You should have told me your boyfriend might shoot.”
“He’s not. Anymore.”
Morgan took a swig of espresso. “Ah, another pawn sacrificed.”
She opened the door and checked the scones, then set them to heat again. “My neighbor has an overactive thyroid, and way too much time on his hands. He calls Brett over any disturbance and imagines threats in every shadow.”
Threat, disturbance
. Telling words. Morgan eyed her. He wanted access to his daughter, and Jill was the key to that. He’d have to play nice.
She pulled open the microwave and handed him a scone on a plate. “Butter?”
“This is fine.” He doubted he would even taste it.
She took her plate to one end of the counter and sat down. He took a bite. The scone sent a burst of sweet lemon into his mouth, a pleasant surprise.
“They seemed to take this call seriously.” He caught a crumb from the corner of his mouth, picturing her muscle-bound cop, another jilted suitor. She’d made it an art. But it didn’t matter. Morgan swallowed the bite. She’d sent him a “Dear John” no imbecile could ignore, and he wasn’t there about her. Kelsey was the part of his life he wanted reattached. Not permanently, certainly nothing detrimental to the girl, just the certainty that she actually existed, hadn’t lost her life as he’d imagined too clearly.
The match in their haplotypes was proof enough, but it wasn’t tangible. He needed to lay the ghost to rest before he could move on. And only seeing his flesh-and-blood daughter would accomplish that. But it was complicated if they had already moved her to Yale for conditioning. He knew what that entailed and doubted they would admit him—assuming it was true that she was there at all.
He only had Jill’s word for it. He knew better than to believe her without checking it out for himself. So the best thing was to continue with his plan. “What are you doing today?”
“I’m tutoring.”
“Find someone to cover you.”
“What?” She set down her untouched scone.
“We’re going to Des Moines. To see Kelsey.”
Jill pressed fingers to her temple. “Morgan, she isn’t there.”
“We’ll see.” He did not want to be ugly, but the tightness of his stomach betrayed how much he needed her to agree.
She stared down at her scone, one edge of the glaze melted to a sheen. She had to know he couldn’t trust her, had not driven all that way simply to give up on her word alone. He would see his daughter, one way or another.
Jill spread her hands. “Okay. I’ll call the Bensons and see—”
Morgan shook his head. “I’d rather talk to them in person.”
“They won’t be there.”
He sipped the espresso. “Ready?”
Jill let out a breath. “Don’t you need to sleep first? It’s over an hour’s drive.”
He ought to, but that might give her the chance to back out. He tapped the paper cup. “This’ll do the trick.”
“It’ll take me a minute to arrange things.”
“Fine.” He nibbled at his scone while she made her phone call and gave instructions. She sounded professional and concerned, but not overly tense. That probably meant she was telling the truth, but he was not ready to concede.
“I’ve had a situation come up that I have to see to,” was all she told the substitute. Cool. Very cool. She’d learned to hide well.
Jill hung up and cleared their scones, then accepted the inevitable. She slipped on a pair of white leather sandals, the sort that went between the first two toes with slender straps to the sides, and caught Morgan’s look. He’d always said she had great feet, the toes aligned in a sloping arch, neither blunt nor overlong. She’d been amazed he would even notice her feet when the other guys were absorbed only with other anatomy.
She slipped her purse over her shoulder and locked the doorbehind them. What was she doing? Proving her honesty? They would drive to Des Moines and see that she had told him the truth. It was a waste of time, gas, and energy, and she was letting her kids down to do it. Why? Because Morgan cocked his finger? That rankled.
She stopped at the door. “Do you want me to drive?” Since he was tired …
A quick smile. “No.” He led her to the Thunderbird retro convertible that looked no more than a few hours old. It was a great car, though hardly the macho machine most thirty-something men would choose. But then, Morgan wasn’t most men. He’d always had an eclectic bent, much broader in his tastes than other guys. Even in high school he had appreciated museums and art galleries and theaters.
“Do you like it?” He held the door for her to climb in.
She got in and ran her hand over the red leather seat. “It’s really nice.”
He got in and made sure she was buckled, then gripped the red enamel stick shift and put it into reverse. The moment he set the car in motion, she knew why he’d chosen it. Its ride was amazing, and Morgan liked comfort. That was another thing she remembered, and she laughed at the thought.
He turned. “What?”
She hadn’t meant to share it, but she told him anyway. “I was just remembering the first time I went to your parents’ ranch. Hank was teaching Rick to break that colt.”
Morgan drew his brows together, searching for the memory and probably wondering what it had to do with anything.
“I asked if you were going to take a turn, and you said you were the only man in the family with nerve endings.”
Morgan glanced sidelong. “It’s true. Rick still spends half his life getting tossed to the dirt. And he hasn’t the sense to stay there.” He returned his gaze to the road. “Me, I’ll take a hot tub and a flute of champagne.”
She smiled. Yet he’d played a terrific wide receiver and taken the tackles without complaint. His speed had protected him, but he never had the size to take it past high school, or so she assumed. His physique now did not display laxity, yet neither was there brawny bulk. He might work at fitness, but she guessed not with the fervor Dan employed. And mostly it was genetics anyway. Both his parents had been slender, as were hers, which gave Kelsey her willowy frame.
Jill fixed her mind on the image of her daughter and realized Morgan had no image of his own. Her throat tightened. That didn’t seem right. Why would the Bensons let
her
in but not Morgan? Maybe it was just the timing. Or the fact that they’d never met him in the first place. Their only contact had been with her, however brief. Morgan was never in the picture at all.
But he was now. And he wanted to see Kelsey. Why? He could anonymously donate his marrow and go on with his life. Why was he making this a crusade? Her tension notched up higher. What would happen after he saw that Kelsey was not in Des Moines? Did he expect to find her in New Haven?
A turtle on the side of the road recalled to her the scene she’d witnessed, was it only weeks ago? She told Morgan about it.
“Had it rained a lot?”
She nodded. “It was really wet for a couple weeks.”
“They were probably seeking higher ground. The road would be a haven from the flooded field.”
She hadn’t even thought of that, but it was so obvious. Her ideas of exodus and crossings seemed silly next to his pragmatic explanation. It also meant the creatures probably turned around and climbed back up after their rescuers left the scene. She sighed. What an image of fallen creation.
Nothing else to say came easily to mind, so she watched out the window in silence. Morgan drained the last of his coffee and replaced the empty cup in the holder, then draped his wrist over the steering wheel. She wanted to ask what he’d done all these years, how he’d done so well. Would he find it awkward to answer? To talk about his life?
“What is it you tutor?” Morgan’s question caught her thoughts up short.
So it was her life they’d discuss. “It’s actually an extended school year program, for kids who need a continuum. I teach special ed.”
“You always wanted to.”
“Well, first I wanted to be an arctic explorer. The polar bears looked so cuddly.”
Morgan slanted her a look.
“But you’re right, by high school I was pretty settled on working with learning-challenged kids.” She bit her lip. “I hope they’ll be okay with Pam.”
“I’m sure you can take a day off now and then.”
She shook her head. “Even though it’s basically playgroup in the summer, maintaining skills and interaction, any disruption in routine throws the kids off.”
“Does Kelsey know about me? That I’m her donor?” He slid it in so smoothly it had to have been planned. Get her loosened up and talking, then hit her with the real questions.
Jill licked her lips, the air rushing past, stealing the moisture from her tongue. At least she could give him that answer. “They didn’t tell her, but she guessed. She knows her stuff, all about the protocols for this type of transplant. She knew they wouldn’t use a single haplotype unrelated donor. She had already guessed my relationship, so that meant the new donor must be you.”
“So it won’t be any surprise for her to see me at her door.”
Oh, it would be a surprise, and not one Cinda or Roger would appreciate. That they weren’t home was the only reason Jill had agreed. “She isn’t there, Morgan.” How many times would she have to say it?
“How’s Kenny?” Did he mean to keep her jumping from subject to subject? Now it was her brother. What next?
“He’s in Pensacola, pastoring a church. No one calls him Kenny anymore. Actually, I haven’t spoken to him in a couple years.”
“Why not?”
Because he’s ashamed of me
. She had embarrassed him at the time he was developing his theology. “We don’t have much in common. I send birthday cards to his kids.” She pulled a windblown strand of hair from her eye and groped for a change of subject. “I guess you see a lot of Rick.”
“I make it out there a few times a year.”
“From California?”
He nodded.
“How did you end up out there?”
“Silicon Valley.”
“You’re in computers?” She could not see him as a geek.
He shook his head. “I graduated Wharton, put in some years as a corporate finance officer for a few tiny companies, then decided that was limiting and went into turnaround management. The first companies I worked with were in Silicon Valley. One had super potential and poor vision. They were about to crash before ever getting off the ground with a great idea. I saw what was needed, accepted stock as payment, then propelled it to greatness, reaping my share of fortune and fame.”
He’d said it tongue in cheek, but it had to be fairly accurate by the other clues she’d already seen of his success. That potential had been recognized early by the National Honor Society and plenty of scholarship programs. She was glad he’d actualized it. Then it hit her that he couldn’t have if she’d been there like a ball and chain with a new-born daughter in tow. Her disappearance was the best thing to happen to him. She looked out the side at the farms they passed.
