Page 3 of Decoding Morse

“Good. Snag two brothers and get your asses over there. Considering the time frame, I doubt backup will be necessary, but have them cover the front and back while you convince Amelia and company to come for a stay. Rooms will be ready for them when you get back.”

“You’re not leadin’ this op?”

“I can’t. You gotta take point on this one, Morse. Take Havoc if he’s available.”

That was odd. Link never missed out. However, I’d have to analyze why later because I needed to go. Amelia was in danger, which meant I had to protect her.

And for once, I couldn’t do the job from my computer.

Link opened a desk drawer, retrieved a key, and slid it toward me. “Storage room. Make sure whoever you take is armed and ready. Guns, ammo, vests, night vision goggles.”

This was unreal and could not be happening, but another glance at the notification on my phone assured me it was.

“Fuck.”

Link raked a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll call Havoc and have him meet you in the storage room.”

Already texting Rabbit, I ran out the door.

2

Amelia

MY BARELY ADULT daughter stopped scrolling on her electronic tablet and stared up at me expectantly.

It was a typical Saturday night, which meant she was lounging on the sofa, asking random questions based on the news articles she read for her civics class, while I straightened the living room. Somewhere between dusting off the television and reorganizing the bookshelf, my mind had wandered, and judging by the exasperation on Morgan’s face, I must have missed a question.

“Uh… sorry, what?”

She huffed out a breath with all the drama of a put-upon teenage freeloader and pushed up her glasses. The lenses she wore weren’t corrective. She was blind in one eye, and her ophthalmologist had prescribed polycarbonate protection for her good eye. She didn’t need to wear them in the house, but my kid was a stickler for the rules, a trait she sure as hell hadn’t inherited from me.

“What do you want inscribed on your tombstone?”

I winced. “Don’t you think that’s a little dark?”

She shrugged. “It could prove necessary information for me to have.”

The familiar sound of running water coming from the hallway made me groan. “The toilet drove her to the grave.”

“Be serious, Mom.” Morgan dropped her attention back to her tablet, clearly unamused.

Humor and sarcasm were two languages my daughter didn’t speak, which was unfortunate since I wasn’t fluent in much else. Still, I was bound and determined to engage her in meaningful conversations and make her laugh. Especially since she’d be leaving for college soon. She’d be going all the way to Idaho for school because now that my husband was gone, my manipulative, narcissistic mother intended to use my children to lure me back into her world.

At least, that’s what I thought she was doing. Then again, she could be trying to turn them against me. Hard telling with her.

However, I was desperately trying not to worry about any of that. Or to wonder what I’d be once my baby flew the coop, leaving me with an empty nest. Nope. No siree. No harshing my vibe with future worries because I had neither the time nor the desire to become a sobbing mess of emotions. I had shit to do.

Instead, I marched toward the bathroom, intent on rolling up my sleeves and jiggling the chain until the flap closed, but as soon as I touched the door, the universe solved the problem for me. Silence.

“Have you considered planting clover instead of grass?” Morgan asked.

My brain stuttered and backfired before I realized she’d switched tracks to address the problem with our shaded, weed-infested lawn. Sometimes, I needed GPS and a skilled conductor to follow my daughter’s train of thought.

“Why clover?” I asked, returning to the living room. Where had I left off cleaning?

“It’s hardier than grass, better for the environment, and easier to grow.”

“Hm. I’ll have to look into it.”

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