Page 34 of Decoding Morse

Grateful it’d be him and not Prospect, I answered, “We need to leave by eight a.m.”

Specks quirked his mouth to the side. “I can handle that.”

“Thank you, brother.”

He nodded. “No problem.”

Link leaned forward and stared me down. “Good. Take Prospect, too.”

I wanted to argue but knew it would be useless, so I ground my teeth and bit back my frustration.

“Yessir.”

12

Morse

ACCORDING TO THE limited information I’d uncovered online, Carol Renee Landry was an eccentric hermit worth 1.2 billion dollars. Her home, a 4.5-million-dollar lakeside mansion, was located near Joint Base Lewis–McChord. She came from old money and married an Army staff sergeant named Henry Eugene Landry, who’d grown up on a soybean farm in Iowa. They were married for fifty-three years before Henry died of a heart attack thirteen years ago in May. Their only child, Eric Eugene Landry, born when Carol was nearing forty, had taken over his mother’s family business and was now one of the biggest real estate moguls in the country.

It was all public knowledge if you knew where to look, and I’d collected almost no personal data on Carol. A deeper dive into her information would require resources I wouldn’t access without club approval or an immediate threat to life, as per the agreement I’d signed when Link had made me a prospect. A day might come when I’d have no choice but to break our contract,but gathering information about a military widow was not the hill I would lose my home on.

Because that’s what the club was. Home. The only one I’d ever known.

Prospect Jed leaned forward in his seat and breathed entirely too close to my ear. I gritted my teeth, annoyed. I’d followed Link’s orders and resisted the urge to run even the most basic internet search on the interloper. Primarily due to the watchdog software on my computer that even I could not circumvent. I’d been the one to insist on the software since unchecked power was dangerous, and when it came to the World Wide Web, I was basically Galadriel, offered the one ring of power. As honorable as my intentions might be, I could easily become a cyber servant of darkness.

So, yeah. I’d hobbled myself. As a result, I knew nothing about the guy currently sitting behind me, at my fucking back once again. I hated leaving the club at all, especially with some asshat I didn’t know. Specks wasn’t much better since he kept asking questions about Amelia that were none of his damn business. The only positive thing about this trip was the casserole dish in my lap, making my mouth water.

We stopped at the community gate and gave our names to the guard. He picked up a receiver, mashed a few buttons, and called it in, screwing up his face when someone on the other end confirmed that Mrs. Landry was, in fact, expecting three male visitors by the names of Specks, Morse, and Prospect. I couldn’t blame him. In his shoes, I would have demanded IDs and the car registration. Even without our leather cuts, we didn’t exactly fit the mold of respectable businessmen who belonged in an upscale neighborhood. My beard was clean and trim, but Specks looked like a nutty professor with thick, round glasses and a wiry, chest-length beard. Prospect’s five-o’clock shadow was patchy and looked more like dirt than hair. We were allthree dressed in worn T-shirts, jeans, and motorcycle boots. Had we ridden our bikes, the guard likely would have shit himself. Instead, he warily opened the gate, using his phone to snap pictures of Specks’s eleven-year-old Audi as we drove by.

Following the navigation, Specks turned onto a long, paved driveway that cut through a thick copse of trees. The drive circled around the front of a massive three-story red brick, colonial-style mansion with an attached three-car garage and multiple outbuildings partially camouflaged by the forest-like landscape.

Parking in front of the garage, he turned off the engine and took in the scene. “Refresh my memory. Why the hell is Amelia’s non-profit feeding this woman?”

“She’s a military widow. Black Lace Rations is about companionship more than food. Mrs. Landry might be loaded, but Angel says she’s lonely.”

Specks’s eyebrows shot up. “Angel?”

“Amelia.”

Shit.

Pissed at myself, I glared at Specks, daring him to say something, which was probably the worst course of action to take because his lips stretched into a shit-eating grin, and his fucking eyeballs laughed at me. “That’s the nickname you’re having put on her cut tomorrow, isn’t it? Rabbit was right. You are into her.”

“Rabbit needs to shut his trap and worry about himself. Just a slip of the tongue.”

“Yeah. Sure. Bet I know right where you want to slip your tongue.”

In response, I raised my fist between us and extended my middle finger.

Specks laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, brother. I get it. The ass on that woman?—”

My blood boiled, and my skin caught fire. An emotion I hadn’t felt in a long-ass time threatened to overwhelm me. I liked Specks. But at that moment, I was a heartbeat from gouging his goddamn eyeballs out for objectifying Amelia.

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that,” I spat.

Specks stared at me like my mouth was foaming, and I was threatening to slip my leash.

But this was Amelia, and I was serious. “I mean it.”

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