Page 69 of Cursed
“He’s made himself look like it.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Morgan snapped, then made an effort to calm her voice, since her anger wasn’t directed at her boss. “I called to tell Dan what happened and ask him to come straight to the house—rather than stopping in town.”
“He’s already on his way to the airport. But we’re flying him down in a private jet, so there are no restrictions on calling him en route. Just a minute, let me get his cell phone number.”
Morgan copied down the number. She was about to hang up when Frank said, “Do I detect that you’re getting emotionally involved with your client?”
The question sent a shock wave through Morgan. She’d hoped that Frank wouldn’t zero in on the personal aspect of her distress. Apparently, the man was tuned in enough to read between the lines of the conversation very well.
Morgan sighed. She might have denied it. But it felt like a relief to admit, “I guess you can say that.”
“You trust him?” Frank asked sharply.
Again, he was picking up more from the conversation than Morgan was actually saying. “I want to,” she whispered.
Frank cleared his throat. “When you came to us, you were so closed up. It sounds like you’re letting someone into your life again. I just wish I were down there so I could meet him. But I can’t. I’ll just say that if he hurts you, I’ll tear him apart.”
Morgan couldn’t repress a small laugh. “Thanks—I think.”
“Be careful,” Frank ordered. “I mean be careful of those small-town cops. And be careful of yourself. Or is it too late to give you that warning?”
“It may be too late,” Morgan whispered, then changed the subject. “I’d better get off and call Dan.”
“He should be there in a couple of hours.”
“Frank, thanks.”
Morgan had a quick conversation with the lawyer, filling him in on recent developments. After putting down the phone, she paced restlessly up and down the length of her room, frustration bubbling inside her.
She couldn’t just sit here and wait for the men from the sheriff’s department to take over the estate. If she wanted to do something constructive without anyone tracking her movements, it had better be soon.
Exchanging her tennis shoes for hiking boots, she stuffed her gun inside her knapsack. She was about to leave her room when she stopped. Going back to her luggage, she took out a bulletproof vest and put it on. It looked totally weird under her shirt, so she pulled out the leather jacket that she hadn’t needed since she’d arrived.
With the protection in place, she headed for the back stairs.
Janet was standing at the counter, kneading bread. Morgan stopped. Making bread was such a strange thing to be doing at a time like this that Morgan found herself staring at the woman, trying to figure out if she’d lost her mind.
Janet lifted her head so that Morgan could see the desperation on her face. And suddenly she understood better.
“I guess that helps calm you,” she said.
“Yes,” Janet answered grimly. “I love to cook. When anything worries me, I come into the kitchen and start pounding dough and beating batter.”
She peered at Morgan. “Child, what are you wearing?”
“I was feeling cold,” Morgan answered. “And I’m not so calm either. So, I’m going out to have a look around before the boys in blue get here.”
“Is that safe?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t just sit inside.” She hesitated for a moment. “If I’m not back in an hour, call my office.” Walking across the kitchen, she wrote the Decorah number on the pad of paper beside the phone.
“You should stay in. You’ll broil in that outfit.”
“I have to go out.” Turning, she cleared her throat. “Do we have a large hunk of meat I could take with me?” she asked.
Janet’s eyebrows lifted, “Why?”
“I need it for bait.”
