Page 96 of The Mourning Throne
“Gabriel probably got caught lying about taxes. It may affect the business deal, but it’s not our personal problem.”
“Yeah? I don’t fucking believe it. Itold youthere was something off about him.I told you.”
Morgan sighed. “And I told you that you’re looking for problems where there are none. If Gabriel did something illegal? Our team will figure it out before we leave. You’re spiraling.”
Lex choked out a laugh.
“And if they’re not here for him? If they’re here forus? What’re the fucking chances a U.S. cop flies out here forpaperwork?”
“I don’t know, Lex,” Morgan murmured, so damn calm Lex wanted to shove him off the booth. “I didn’t go to college to become a lawyer. I went to become a doctor. Breathe.”
Lex inhaled. Exhaled.
It helped a little.
“Let’s go,” Morgan said. His hand squeezed Lex’s thigh—hard enough to stop the words still building in Lex’s throat. “I’m not comfortable with this little stunt of yours, and you don’t need to be over-analyzing something mundane.”
Lex nodded.
Did it feel like over-analyzing to him?
No.
But it wasn’t worth the argument. His head was pounding.
Morgan moved like a shadow through the crowd, one hand brushing Ollie’s elbow. Ollie flinched—of course he did—but he slid off the stool, trailing behind as Morgan led him to the front.
“Lex!”
Halfway to the door, Lex stopped.
Damn, why did that voice sound so familiar? He knew it from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it. Couldn’tfocuswhen Gabriel and that detective were still there, breathing the same air.
If Morgan waswrong?
God, if the cop was there to tear apart their carefully constructed lives?
He couldn’t have that.
Jesus, they had been socareful.
It couldn’t have had anything to do with Pete. The police here still didn’t even know his name, for fuck’s sake. They wouldn’t have called someone from the States for a one-off murder. That wasn’t FBI territory.
Stop it.
This was—it was paranoia. Plain and simple. Nothing else.
Morgan was right more often than not. Even if it physically hurt to admit.
He kept walking, but the cop stayed with him—lodged in his throat like something he couldn’t get out.
That badge. That damn southern twang. That familiar silence right before someone’s about to pounce.
There was too much shit to unpack. Too many ways everything could go sideways before he had a chance to blink.
What if—
What if Morgan was wrongjust this once?
