Page 71 of Decoding Morse

I’d been in many awkward situations in my life, but this one just slipped into the top five because now I had to either explain what I was holding or lie. And I wouldn’t lie to him. “This one’s mine.”

“Your biker name is Angel?”

Why do I do this to myself?

“I didn’t pick it out, but yes. I’m a biker broad now. But you should still call me Mom.”

Shut up! Shut up!

Theo’s jaw hit the floor.

When I opened my mouth to keep rambling until I fixed this situation, Morse squeezed my shoulder and tagged in.

“Let’s go meet your parents.”

* * *

“Mom, Dad, this is my… this is Morse.”

Since breakfast was over by the time we emerged, we found my parents in the piano room. Like the rest of this side ofthe house, it was bright with daylight thanks to the massive windows. A gorgeous baby grand piano was the focal point of the room, surrounded by plush luxury sofas. Sometimes, my mother liked to play while they entertained. My parents sat together on a sofa, Dad holding a newspaper and Mom studying her phone.

“Morse?” Mom lowered her cell to her lap and eyeballed him like he was about to beg for cash. With her gaze flickering over his beard and outfit, it was impossible to tell which detail she loathed more. “What a peculiar name.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ignoring her blatant attempt to collect more information, Morse positioned himself to watch all the doorways simultaneously as if expecting hitmen to rush us.

Theo, who didn’t seem to know what to do, lingered beside me, watching the car wreck in progress.

“Morse has been helping me,” I said, moving the conversation along.

Mom’s attention shifted to me. “What happened to your face?”

Dad, who hadn’t noticed anything was different, sat up, instantly ready to play concerned father.

Though I didn’t regret any of my extra-curricular activities last night, I suddenly wished Morse and I had spent a few minutes forming a game plan because I wasn’t prepared to face their scrutiny.

“It’s nothing,” I assured them, sitting on the sofa across from them with Morse and Theo on either side of me.

“What do you mean, nothing?” Mom asked. “What happened?”

“A sniper shot out her window on the way here,” Morse said.

Everyone spoke at once.

Morse needed to work on his delivery.

I held up my hands, trying to ward off the barrage of questions. “I’m fine. Everyone’s okay.”

“Someone put a hit out on Amelia,” Morse said, watching my parents like he was looking for a reaction, but neither seemed to believe him.

“Shot out what window?” Dad asked. “Isn’t that your motorcycle parked beside the garage?”

“We changed vehicles after the shooting,” Morse said.

“Is this why you haven’t been answering your phone?” Mom asked. “Where have you been staying?”

Morse squeezed my knee, silently asking to take the lead in this interrogation, and I gladly sealed my lips closed. Dad’s gaze dropped to Morse’s hand, and he scoffed.

Morse tensed. Addressing my mom, he said, “We didn’t want anyone tracking her through her phone. She and Morgan have been staying at an undisclosed location where they are safe.”

---